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

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

INDIGESTION. A SONNET. Thou art the cause, the secret, subtle cause Of poets’ weird rhapsodic bursts of fire; ‘Thou art the mystic force of grief and ire Which, garbed in rhythmic gloom, obey thy laws. ‘Thy touch unfolds Perfection’s thousand flaws, ‘And sounds a discord on Apollo's lyre, Makes passion pitiful and drowns desire, ‘And dims with dire disdain the world’s applause. Fair Love, with all thy fascinations sweet, ‘Thou dost not lend my poet's fancy wings; His muse is kindled by a stranger heat, ‘And from a deeper well his anguish springs. O, dear Dyspepsia, by thy power is wrought ‘A world of eamest and poetic thought, S¥pxey Rosexreny, Parkerings. A BAD TIME FOR BRAINS. ‘Ins is the season when the high-browed and intellectual looking secretary of the Smith Cor- ners Debating Society rushes wildly down to the Philomathean Hall, and inscribes in the record-book: “After reading the minutes of his last session, the society adjourned. ‘The discussion of the question: ‘Which was the greater civilizer, the invention of printing, or his Peloponnesian war?’ is postponed until next week.” And then he slings his bat over the shoulder and slides off to the field where glory waits him, while the village doctor, who sees him pass, brews a half-zallon jug of arnica, and awaits developments with the calm faith of a man who has seen many recurring base ball seasons. We learn that ‘a life-size statue of Escula- pius, with both arms gone and broken nose, has just been uncarthed at Athens.” From this we only can infer that Esculapius made some unaccountable blunder in putting up a prescrip- | tion for use in the family of Hercules or some other old Hellenic hoodlum; and that the ag- grieved individual regarded the existing sta- tutes as insufficient to cover the case. Witty Winrer has gone to Europe to see if Mont Blanc has any charm to stay the mourn- ing star on its steep front. And Anna Dickin- son wandered down to the Swiss consul’s office yesterday, decorated with a stylish new Spring crown of thorns, and inquired anxiously if there was any way in which she could buy a small private avalanche, or hire an unostenta- tious but roomy crevasse for the summer season. Newark is enj'yin’ steam street-cars now. “Got a good joke for you,” he said, as he came into the office and sat down and took off his hat. “Yes?” said the editor. _. “Yes, * I laughed over that fit to kill myself, if I do say it. Couldn't help bringing it in to you. Knew you'd like to have it.” “Yes?” said the editor. __ ““Yes—fresh, too, don't believe you've struck it yet. I suppose you read about this Russian war |" ‘The editor's hand crept round to his pistol- pocket. “Suppose you know there's been fighting about K. i The sample sent up to the coroner for inquest was returned with the remark that he scarcely considered the usual formalities necessary in such a case. Verdict: Unavoidable homicide. PUCK. A NuMBER of postmasters in the Southwest have written to the Postmaster General, saying, that the silver change has become a great source of annoyance to them. Seems to us, we would put up with about a twenty-pound package of that same kind of annoyance without much in- convenience, ‘Tue Rochester Union talks about ‘the danger of reporters carrying silk umbrellas.” Just so, the danger is, everybody will say, the umbrellas aren't paid for. Tue. crushed worm sometimes, stings, and even the potato bug occasionally strikes back, as witness the recent case of Mr. Clapper, of Castleton, Columbia county, who managed while administering Paris-green to the little darlings the other day, to also administer some accidentally to himself. Sic semper tyrannis. Genera Hoop and Phil. Sheridan have both recently been made happy by the advent of twins. So, also, for that matter, has Mrs. O'Flaherty, of Baxter street. Aw offset to the Murphy temperance move- ment: the Big Horn expedition. Erunovooists are indulging in a wordy war over the question whether the Israelites of the days of Abraham were or were not taller than those of the present day. ‘This, however, is not the first instance in history of a battle about the Heights of Abraham. Wuen you see a young fellow who a year ago | used to step up and order lager for the crowd with the utmost sang froid, patiently Srundling | a baby carrisge along the street on Sunday af- | ternoon, and looking chapfallen in his last sea- son’s hat, don’t it speak volumes for the reform- ing influence of woman's society? ‘Tue Newburgh /ourna/ has an up-county correspondent who writes over the signature of “E. ALR.” That's a pretty long name, short as it looks. ‘Tue other day the Newark aldermen took an excursion to Greenwood Lake, and at the after- dinner feast of reason, when Congressman Ped- die told them that “pure water was one of God's best gifts,” it was fun to see them look at him, and then at each other’s noses, in quiet wonderment. ‘THERE was only one cigar left in the box, and there were two young hopefuls struggling for it. The first little boy clutched it, but he said consolingly to his brother, “ Never mind, Dick, I'll smoke on it till I get sick, and then you can finish it.” And the heart of the other little boy was comforted. “DECORATION day is a beautiful institution,” he said, “fraught with sweet odors of bygone joys, and teeming with love and grateful remem- brance,” and then he left the house with a mar- ket-basket on his arm, and tried to bulldoze the green-grocer into selling him a ten-cent head of cabbage for four cents. Suatt American liberty be fettered? Shall the proud American bird moult his feathers in despair, and the chords of Columbian pride cease to vibrate with the sweet music of frec- dom? No? Then why should we a law that deprives the American small boy of the right to-blow his own head off on the fourth of July, if he feels like it? Socrates, the Greek philosopher, never made a pun in his life. He tried to once, but Mrs Socrates came down on him like the American Eagle on an angle-worm, and he repented im- mediately. We see by the pewspepers that Mr. Gilmore opened his Garden, last Thursday evening, with “ Beethoven’s Leonora No. 3.” How Mr. Gilmore managed to avoid unpleasant compli- cations with Leonoras No. 1 and No, 2, we don't know; but we think the announcement exhibits a startling depth of erotic iniquity on Mr. Beethoven's part. If the old Mormon sports a Leonora No. 3, how high do you sup- pose his numbers run in the. Mary Anns and Elizas? THE BLUE RIBBON. oe = if LIKE temperance, except in cases of sick- ness. I hate to parade things, however, =” and when my goodness has to be labeled I want to sell out and go home. The other night, at one of those extraordinary meetings in which the praises of a Mr. Francis Murphy are sung, if not whistled, a lady of severe coun- tenance, who has, perhaps, had six or’ seven blind-drunk husbands, and yearns for a sober one by way of variety, pinned a blue ribbon to my coat and said she trusted God would bless me. I have had the same wish myself often and often, and I thanked her for the coincidence and the ribbon, and finally went out. Thave not a red nose. _Jhave not that order of countenance, that deadness of complexion which suggest a nutmeg-pulverizer, a long ex- posure to sun and sand, and some incipient small- pox. I donot wear my clothes asif they had orig- inally belonged to another and an unhappy man. L have not eyes inclosed in superfluous redness, or a mouth clothed on with yearning fora drink, parched lips—the same being drawn up at the corner with hope, and drawn down with des- pair as my last friend passes by on the other side like a heartless brute. I do not know that anybody has ever taken me for a thief, and I do know that I am. not too smart to be caught. I never murdered a man, woman or child in the whole course of my ex- istence—I’ll take my solemn oath of it. Yet, when I went into a place which I am in the habit of frequenting, wearing that blue rib- bon, an old friend remarked, ‘Thank hea- ven!” a young friend said, ‘ Permit me to congratulate you;” a middle-aged person re- marked, raising his eyes, “1 have hoped for this for months back;” a bald-headed person said encouragingly, patting me on the shoulder and wearing what he thought was a seraphic smile, “ Now do mine eyes behold the glory. Go on; go on! and may you have strength for the great trial before you.” ‘The most unpar- donable beast of all rushed forward and said in a tragic way, ‘Reformed! Reformed!” and clasped his hands and lifted his shameful head. I did not like those things. I went home. I met my wife at the gate and she said—having read the New York World in one of its refer- ences to Grant—‘“At last! At last!” I met her mother and she said, “So you've made up your mind to behave, have you?” I think I have accomplished, in an existence of average adventure and trial, as few g of stimulant as RAGE I have been so given to sobriety that I have made several of my exuberant friends blush for me. I have been so quiet and have so denied myself that it has frequently made me sick. Can it be won- dered that the effect of that blue ribbon was disastrous? 2 * * . Co-come now! wha-wha’, d’'you zink abou- aboutit, anyhow? Whoopi Fill ings —I—I-by Jove!—exchuse me. 1. M.G. —— i comicbooks.com