Puck — May 1877 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

PUCK. It, differs from any other attachment. It is apt to turn art most terribly unprofitable. The three combined attachments on that box-office found only $3.80 to levy on. Now I leave it to any disinterested citizen: what can a dozen hungry musicians, a printing office, and a company of spectacular artists do, with three dollars and eighty cents between them? ‘That was the end of ‘‘ Baba.” Manager McLoughlin dodged behind a flat when he saw Mrs. Palmer coming towards him, and he wondered why such a “truly good man” as he should be placed in such a terrible plight. Then he kicked a super over the footlights for calling him ‘Uriah deep,” and wrote a letter to the World, telling how everything didn’t happen the way it happened. And the Nubian slaves went out to borrow enough money to get drunk on. And everybody that could afford it came back to New York. And all the rest did the best they could. This is the sad history of the downfall of “Baba,” as it has been told me. T am sorry for “Baba;” but such things must happen as long as spectacles will be taken on the road without money. Unspeculatively yours, Stas Drirt. P.S,—Araminta says, the only thing she feels sorry about is that she didn’t have a chance to see Minnie Palmer play Amoret; but I think Minnie can get over it. Ss. D. CURIOUS ORIGIN OF TOWN NAMES. by is now pretty well known that the names of American towns were generally acquired through some real or fancied characteristic of the locality, or some curious habits of their founders, though the literary men of this day are far too busy or indolent to explore the ar- cana of the past, and ascertain the true origin of these familiar names. The result is, that we sometimes live in a town for generations with- out ever once thinking or inquiring as to the origin of the name so often on our lips, or we ignorantly attribute it to an English or abori- ginal source. Let us examine a few in the vicin’ v of New York, for a moment’s amusement a: informa- tion: “ Albany” was originally called “ Hare-leap,” onaccount of the multitude of rabbits chat frisked on the river-bank at that place, congregating there because water was easily accessible. Long before the French and Indian war, this had de- enerated (through careless speech) to “ Hair- fp.” which was found so Tapleasant that it was changed, by act of the Legislature, to “ All- bunny”—the inhabitants thus retaining an allu- sion to the great number of their favorites, the beautiful rabbits. ‘‘Albany” is a corruption, the result of vulgayity and economy concurring. “‘Morrisania” is a name which still carries within it, slightly disguised, a suggestion of the original depravity of the town. It was a small collection of disreputable houses when the great revivalist, Maffit, went through, and, in one of his sermons in the grove there, he declared that it was ‘“More-a-sinner” than any other town along the shore. The dreadful designation be- came coined into a name, which the mortifica- tion of the people has gradually modified and softened into the current euphemism. One of the stations on the New Haven road was originally called ‘“Horse-neck.” It was named in honor of Putnam's celebrated feat of dashing down the rocks there, clinging to his charger’s mane. ‘ Horse-neck”’ suited most people well enough, but the stuttering stage- driver, who carried the mail, an inquisitive and ee even somewhat erudite man, investigated the notable event referred to, and came to the con- clusion that the sex of the steed ridden by Put- nam had been shamefully misrepresented. Be- ing a man of sterling truth and integrity, he refused to call out ‘‘Horse-neck” any longer, but on coming in sight of the meeting-house would blow his horn, and shout with a stammer- ing voice “‘M—mare-neck!” He was mocked by the boys, and playfully mimicked by the older people, till the present name of ‘Ma- maroneck”’ was put on the map. There was once a shabby house on this same road, in which resided an old man who obtained a living by sitting on the roadside, and making jokes for pleasure-seekers who drove that way. His place became widely known as ‘ The Poor Jester’s,” and so appeared on the early maps of Connecticut, when that State came down so as to include “Wry.” Around the poor jester a small village grew up, and they adopted the name that had fastened itself on the place. But the lapse of almost two centuries has changed this “Poor Jester” to ‘ Portchester,” which the inhabitants probably think more dignified, especially as they have a very good jester in the lournal. “New Rochelle” is also a corruption, having been originally called “Newer Shell,” on account of the imaginary superiority of the conchologi- cal specimens at that point. “Hastings” and “Tarrytown” were named by the sleighing parties, a hundred and fifty years ago, who went up the Bladensburg road, and who always hurried by the former place that they might remain and dance longer at the latter. The names have remained without change. Another place which holds its own is ‘ Cats- kill”’—so named in consequence of the incred- ibly large feline population, and the sanguinary character of the human inhabitants on their midnight raids. “Youngcurs” has been somewhat modified in the direction of the phonetic reform; but the characteristic for which it was most noted when dog-fighting was a leading sport of the Metropolis is plainly indicated, even in the present spelling. “Tuckahoe” is called “an Indian name” in Bainbridge’s History of New York, but it is in fact colloquial and idiomatic English. The report, that it belongs to an aboriginal lan- guage, arose from the fact that a reformed In- dian was unwittingly the cause of its utterance at first. The Indian referred to had embraced religion, but declined to work; he would go fishing, beg, steal, sponge on the free-lunch counter, and sit on the cracker-barrel to the terror of the village-grocer. Seven years passed thus. Ho-ke-po was pious, but lazy. At last, to the joy of all, he asked for agricultural im- pment, and the one which he first laid his and on, leaned against a fence where “Tuck-a- hoe now stands. This generation is too thoughtless and frivol- ous. Young men ought to make a business of ferreting out the origin of town names. Too much valuable time is wasted on base-ball and croquet. If it were not for a few choice spirits like myself, much of the knowledge of the his- tory of our own beloved land would perish for- ever. W. A. Crorrut. Can a “fossil party” be called a petri-fac- tion? “Is President Hayes our Moses?” asks the Evening Telegram. We don’t know about Moses. He certainly had something of ‘“‘a run” for the office, and the Swn says, he was not counted in quite Pharoah. feo foaves and a Il | AN ENGLISH STORY. (This Story was begun in No. ¢. Back Numbers can be obtained at the office of PUCK, 13 North William st.) (Continued) ‘OM was again silent. “I say—pr’aps you can tell me who the young lady is!’ exclaimed Gregory, glar- ing like a consumptive maniac. “Well, I never told yeu a lie, sir, and I deu kneow, and I doan’t like to tell yeou.” “Why?” “Tt will make you angry, may-be.” “Curse me, Mr. Reynolds, you will tell me presently that I can’t control my teupess pe haps you will say I am irritable, hey? Well, then, now who is that young lady?” Tom said doggedly, “Her name is René Biron, and she is your granddaughter.” Gregory sprang from his chair, flung his rod in the water, and looked as though he would like to pitch Tom Reynolds after it; then he said, “And pray who told you this?” ‘A lot of people.” “Oh, it is the talk of the village?” “Yes.” “Well—go on, stupid-head, talk! What the devil are you waiting for? Talk! Why haven't Iseen them? Why weren't their cards sent up to me?” “You must ask Master Fox. his orders.” “That I wili. Home! and look alive about it.” When M. de Gaillefontaine and Miss Biron called at the lodge in the afternoon, they were at once directed to walk up to the house. M. de Gaillefontaine hummed a little tune of his own improvising as he thought over the task before him. He had heard sufficient to form a pretty accurate idea of the kind of man he was about to cope with, and he apprehended less from him than from René in the approach- ing interview. Had René been cunning or simple he would have feared nothing. He ceased humming, cleared his threat, and said: “In all likelihood we shall now at last see your grandpapa, Miss Biron. May I, so un- worthy, so humble, presume to offer a sugges- tion?” “T have none but you to guide me now,” said René. “This wide world is so cruel, so cold, so selfish, it is hard even for men with courage and strength and experience to live without endur- ing hardships and sights and cruelty. I would have you believe me. _ It is true.” “Ah, me! [know so much.” % “You will think deeply how miserable it is to drudge for bread like the poor girls in that dress-factory at Gomarche, mademoiselle, where infants no older, no stronger than your- self worked until their faces where white, until their fingers bled, until all the smile left their faces. You will think ofthis?” “Yes.” “Once in one thousand years it comes to a poor helpless child to make a fortune in half an hour. You will think that you are a helpless child, for, my faith, I find this morning I only half a pound left in my pockets. We have found that this grandpapa, this esquire, this great Mr. seis etd Biron is not without love. He cherished for nineteen years the son of your father’s brother, and that brother was no less disobedient than your father. He loved that Mr. Huhges.” “And then hated him, and turned him from his doors without one penny.” “Yes, and why?” asked Mr. de: Gaillefon- We are under