Puck — March 1877 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

But the curse of contrariety is on them all. The form is there; but the fun is not. It is the soda-water bottle, but with uneffervescent dish- water within. You can foretell the result of a presidential election; you can anticipate the course of wo- man’s love; but the man does not live who is able to cash a sight-draft on humor. It seems as if fun had to come of itself, and the mere idea of preparation or expectation took the very soul out of fun, and turned wit into barren and un- profitable multiplication of words. ’Twas ever thus, and we know it. But again, in view of the appalling fact that a large num- ber of the before-mentioned brightest orna- ments of journalism have to be funny for their feed, again we ask the reason why? And echo whistles: Why? AN OSCULATORY SONNET. Wits JANE SWISSHELM has renewed W. { het protest against the highly improper habit of promiscuous kissing, which has drawn forth the following burst of poetry from Puck's myse: "Tis wrong, says Mrs, S., to osculate; ‘And wrong to have a kissing apparatus; And wrong to feel the undivine afflatus Given to the world by paroxysmal fate; All of which proves profound self-abnegation. She puts the grave physicians on their wits, To prove that kissers catch Keniption fits.— Query: Would hugging work as vaccination? But can’t she let the little ones pass muster, Permitting us to wet our oscular whistle With kisslets—call the verb-form thence, to kissle— Avoiding thus the full-blown labial buster? And if you'll so arrange it, Mrs. Swisshelm, You needn't join the maidens when we kissle ‘em. AN INTERESTING OBJECT. E are not in the desperado line our- selves, which is probably the reason why we are enabled to appreciate the the thrill ‘of sympathetic emotion which has electrified the country ever since the case of Mr. Joseph Coburn was brought prominently before the public—a recent pleasing exhibition of playfulness on the part of that gentleman. Personally, we have utterly failed to thrill. We have not thrilled a thrill. But that is pro- bably because there are no fine fibres in our nature to respond to the agitation which is un- stringing ‘the chords of Mr. Coburn’s soul. Still, we must confess that we do not see why this individual's movements should have such a deep interest for the whole civilized world. Some few days ago, at an hour when the trailing pemene of the night were sweeping through er marble halls, Mr. Coburn, unaffected by the peaceful stillness of the earth, enwrapped in the wings of slumber, saw fit to indulge in a little pistol practice, and discharged a consider- able amount of lead into a limited quantity of police officer. As a natural consequencé, he has since been induced to join the Riverside Guards, the headquarters of which organization are located at Sing-Sing on Hudson. Sine then, Mr. Coburn’s case has occupied the columns of the daily press to a most extra- ordinary extent. The country has learned, with a shock of anguish that he has been ‘‘rail- roaded.” The land has listened, with bated breath, to the reporters’ accounts of the con- versations between Mr. Coburn’s counsel and the prosecuting attorney—conversations which consisted principally of ——!— —!— —!! and similar remarks. And now the erse is hushed to hear how the interesting victim has been removed from Sing-Sing to that lovelier PUCK. village of the plain-cyclept Auburn. . What a pity that the inexperienced reporter who dis- patched that last special about the di: see traveler’s agitated countenance, agonized linea- ments and general air of anxiety, should have spoiled his effect by stating that Mr. Coburn was “‘attired in the customary prison garb, and his head was shaved"! A martyr in‘stripes! An interesting object with a shaved head! The idea is ridiculous! Inexperienced reporter, our blessing be upon you. For, perhaps, after this, the public will cease to take a sentimental interest in Mr. Co- burn, and we shall no longer be left apart from the world, solitary, unsympathetic and un- thrliled. SIGNS OF SPRING. HEN the pensive poetrascends the steps of the editorial office, and there is a smile on the face of the OI C man, who gives three dollars a hundred-weight for that kind of literature. When the grind of the hand-organ is heard in the land. When the wife of your bosom beams upon you with a tenderness which only a diseased imagination could regard as suggestive of a love of the Easter bonnet. When the Lent-stricken butchers begin to look audacious again. When the doctors prepare to mix the mild aperients, and to send alluring paragraphs to the newspapers about the absurdity of the pop- ular delusion concerning the unhealthiness of unripe fruit. When the average husband accounts for his exhilaration by saying that he has to dine at the Club, unless he is willing to be cleaned out of house and home. When the real estate spent tubs his hands. When the utility actor begins to talk of starv- ing during the summer season. en the venerable dandy once more orna- ments Fifth avenue. When the old woman at the street corner fills the interregnum between shriveled apples and green peaches with taffy and pop-corn. When the Chatham street hatter hangs out gorgeous “‘spring styles.” When a fellow commences’ to case off on Bourbon, and the cobbler supplants the cock- When all the theatres give their annual bene- fits to favorite artists in the stock. When Stuart Robson brushes the dust off the MS. of the ‘Two Men.” When the hatter, as he views your tile, re- marks that ‘you can’t get much more wear out ote Sai Re When the ists display year’s soda- water placards. 4 When the impecunious journalist can get his strawberries at $4.50 a plate, ‘Then you may know that there is spring in the air. Paurkerings, Pucx’s spiritualistic reporter was visited the other evening by the ghost of General Frank It took off its spurs and laid them on the table, glanced furtively over its shoulder, and re- marked: ‘If any mortal wants to play prophet, he can have my shoes. 'L; Grant has gone back on me, When I said he would never re- tire from the White House except feet foremost, I didn’t think he would hear of my prediction and put up a job to beat me. He’s an awfully obstinate man. ’ But I predict tha ——” -__ Just here there came a buzzing sound, a siz- zling undertone, and our reporter glanced around and found himself aloné. Puck protests against these recent experi- © ments in raising hogs on grapes. It is encour- aging the hog to luxurinus modes of living, and making him extravagantly high-toned in his notions. _If this thing keeps on, the pig of the future will insist upon a bottle of wine with every dinner he takes. Ex-officials in Washington often have a hard time of it. Unfortunate men! Some were recently found in ‘‘a club” by the police. We have frequently wondered what became of ex-officials, now we do know how they fare—oh! We learn with sorrow that Mrs. Goodrich, residing in Philadelphia, was burned by her clothing faking fire from a pipe she was smok- ing in bed. If ladies must smoke pipes, they ought not to take them to bed with them. MLLe. Pattt, Puck is glad to hear, asserts that her behavior has been uniformly De Caux-ovs, There was an eclipse of the sun on March 14th, but that part of the map containing the United States had got by before the eclipse came along. Hence these tears. O, ye disk- on-so-late! Yes, to be sure, as Shakspeare says, Her Majesty's East Indian title is ‘a little more than Queen, and less than Ki-Hind.” Under the head of Foreign Notes,” the World, of the 14th inst., says, ‘An Efiglish edition of Pucx is out to-day.” Puck is not a foreigner, but “native here and to the'man- ner born,” and as good an American as any in the World. Mark the progress of universal morality. Mrs. William Webster, of West 45th Street, has a husband whom she does not like; so she threatens to pour molten lead on his head while he is wrapped in the arms of Morpheus. This is away ahead of the old coals of fire theory. The Evening Telegramhad a coiumn the other day on the methods in which Mr. Daly allows his literary genius to expand; the writer waxed poetic over the places where Mr. Dalv's ideas for plays were born. This is all very fine, but it would be interesting to trace Mr. Daly's ideas still further back, and learn how the foreign author feels, while Mr. Daly is evolving his % plans for devastating his works. Two hundred and eighteen was their number. They admired Darwin. Nay, more, they wor- shiped him. They yearned for some mode of showing their love. ‘Two hundred and eighteen Dutch photographs were the result; ‘and as Darwin now gazes fondly on their faces in his album, he can hardly realize that this is the result of his ‘‘ Natural Selection” or the ‘*Sur- vival of the Fittest.” President Hayes’s accomplishments are find- ing their way into print, one by one. The lat- est items bong he Toons is that he is a good basssinger. The country won't feel fully at ease until it has learned what sort of a poker- player he is, . Younc Lapy in Country; “Aunt Tabithy, my fur-sack of imitation mushrat is about played s—whoddy: you think I’d better git into for summer wear?” - “Rooshy, I'd jest like to in one of these new-fashion: bias, turned over on the edge and around the top!” (Sensation.) ¢ your lovely form -cuspidors, cut x-pleated