Puck — June 1877 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

PUCK. AT THE PIANO. HEN o’er the ivory keys thy finger wanders” — Thus do Schiller’s charming lines begin; Picturing Laura playing, while he ponders, Statue-still, the sweet sounds drinking in. Yet I off feel, when plays my own sweet Laura, Quite unlike His High Teutonic Nibs. This much I must confess; like Metamora And George Washington, I ne’er tell fibs, For my Laura ceaselessly doth practice— Practice brings perfection, she believes— And my musical soul with anguish racked is, As I stand beside to turn the leaves. Music hath its mysteries, and I know not Aught more strange and wonderful to me ‘Than my Laura’s marvelous notes, that go not In the places where they ought to be. All the old-fashioned theories of precision She quite coolly puts upon the shelf; For time and tune she holds in wild derision; Does a little Wagner” for herself, Bat spite of ears that ache, watch eyes that love her Dainty hands that flit along the keys; Bright willful hair, and sweet low brow, knit over ‘What few errors by some chance she sees. Oh, the sweet little lips, all purséd and pouting— Resolute, if reckless, maiden she— ‘The tender eyes, whose timid look of doubting Now and then shoots sidewise up at me. It may be true that Schiller’s fair musician Clawed the ivory with skill and grace; But will he just respond from fields Elysian— Had she such a lovely little face? Come, rest in mine small hands already weary; On my breast your sins ’gainst art confess. If pianissimo I put a query, Let your lips adagio murmur « Yes,” H.C. Buyyer. SAYINGS AND DOINGS. AMUEL J. TILDEN'S speech at the s). Manhattan Club had better have been left unsaid. Despite his assurance to the con- trary, it was but the bitter statement of a per- sonal grievance. It would have’ been more dignified of Samuel to let the question of the Presidency rest. Let others speak on the sub- ject. The man who is supposed to have won it and lost it can afford to wait. There may be @ chance in 1880. People, during Hayes’s term, do not wish the unpleasant and perhaps disreputable business constantly discussed. So Grant has been presented with the free- dom of the city of London, His address in reply to that of the Lord Mayor was not con- sidered of sufficient importance for Herald en- terprise to cable; but it was doubtless very short. Grant can now, if he pleases, immediately open business in London. A good American hotel, run by an ex-President, would be a capital in- vestment. It would have at least the attraction of novelty; besides, the best London hotels are wretched, and if Pierrepont and Grant were to put their heads together, a model cara- vansery, well patronized by the Londoners, would be the result. Pierrepont has proved, beyond all doubt, by his fine entertainments that he knows how to do things, as the Cock- neys say, in “slap-up” style, and what more could be desired in a hotel-keeper? Grant could look after the bar and the cigars. Tam disgusted with the manner in which the war is being carried on, ‘The parties don’t fight worth a cent; and, in the absence of all other excitement, it is real mean of the belligerents to spoil the only summer amusement from which we anticipated any pleasure. The weather, too, isn’t behaving well, and some of the summer hotel men are already be- ginning to feel anxious. Talking of summer ‘otels, I hear that my friend, the genial Frank Simms, formerly of the Arcadian, is going to the Ocean House, Long Branch, in some im- portant official capacity. ‘The papers are unusually dull, although each tries to create an interest in some particular matter. The Hera/d has taken the Mormon question especially under its wing. The Sun is going for the Pennsylvania Railroad. ‘Then there is talk in the Wor/d about Evarts’ foreign policy, as to whether he is to declare war against Mexico—Bosh! Poor Tweed, he can’t get out of jail, notwith- standing his free and open confession. At- torney-General Fairchild is reported to have said that he would have nothing more to do with him. The way of some unlucky trans- gressors is very hard. Ex-Governor Hendricks is off to Europe. If he doesn't get the freedom of the city of London, or dine with the Prince of Wales, he may still have a very “good time.” I wonder if he knows Grant, in which case the meeting of the ex and the alleged Vice-President de jure will surely be a pleasant one. Pan. -BUNCOME'S « BEST MAN.” NFOUND that Buncome! I wonder if he will ever have the decency to pay me the ten dollars he borrowed last Christ- mas. I know if ever I come across the fellow, I shall publicly denounce him, if he doesn’t pay up.” Such were my musings as I stared vacantly into the window of a photographic store last Monday. Just as I was about to move again, I was roughly slapped on the back and accosted with: “Hallop Smith, old boy! Delighted to see you! How are you? Haven't come across you for a small century. Been out of town, have you? Or been laid up with the measles, eh?” T hastened to edge in a word here, and as- sured my valuable friend that my health was all that could be desired. He then put his arm through mine, and as we saunteréd along the street, he remarked: « By the way, Smith, it strikes me that I owe you some trifle—ten dollars, isn’t it?” I answered in the affirmative, and Buncome continued: “Vill give it to you in the morning. I am so glad I have met you now; you are the very fel- low I've been looking for!” “You appear to be in excellent humor,” I remarked. ‘And so I should think I ought to be. I may call this the most glorious day in my some- what checkered career. Congratulate me, Smith, congratulate me; I have proposed for a young and lovely heiress, and have been ac- cepted.”” “An heiress!” I exclaimed. ‘Who would think that such a piece of luck would fall in your way?” “And why not, sir, pray? I'll tell you how it all happened. It is a regular romantic tale; quite in the sensation-novel style, You see, 1 was taking a stroll in the Park on the fifth of last month—I have good cause to remember the date exactly,” he added, parenthetically— ‘when suddenly I was startled by a loud scream, and the sound of a horse and vehicle approach: ing from behind at a furious rate. I turned, and saw at a glance how matters stood. It was Miss Johnson's pony running away with the phaeton, and the lady herself quite helpless through fright, and unable to check the furious little animal in the least, You know Miss Johnson, don’t you? She has five thousand a year in her own right, and large expectations from a maiden aunt—who happened to be in the phaeton, also, when the accident occurred. I rushed at the pony as he approached, and at the imminent risk of my own life, succeeded in pulling him up. Miss Johnson and her aunt were profuse in their thanks, and begged me to call on them the following day. I called; and to make a long story short, the matter has re- sulted in my offering my hand and heart to the fair one this morning, and in her acceptance of the offer. She has fallen head-over-ears in love with me. Now, old boy, what do you think of that? Romantic, isn’t it?” “Most romantic,” I replied, ‘(and I should say a most fortunate affair for you.” “Most fortunate, indeed,” said Buncome. I don’t mind telling you that I have been despe- rately hard-up for a long time past. I have a favor to ask you, Smith: will you be my ‘ best man’? The wedding is to come off in July.” I confess I was delighted at the proposal, and gladly consented to see my friend sacrificed on such a fashionable altar. “It's rather awkward,” said Buncome, “ that lam so short of cash at present; but that little difficulty will be got over to-morrow. Would you mind obliging me with half-a-hundred un- til morning? I want to buy some little jew- | elry.” Anxious to accommodate such an aristocratic acquaintance as Buncome now proved himself to be, I opened my purse and placed the bills in his hand. “All right, old chap,” he said, “ we'll square up all scores in the morning. Ta, ta.” He now dropped my arm and disappeared rather hurriedly round a corner. * * * * Buncome has told all his acquaintances how nicely he gulled poor Smith. I have sworn a dreadful oath to have my revenge; but I have not yet determined what line of action to pur- sue. A CAR-ACTER SKETCH. AY. HEN she got into the car, there was a man in every seat. She leaned against the door-post, and tried to look as if she didn’t want a seat and wouldn’t take one if the whole shebang were empty. Every man glanced up at her out of the corner of one eye, ‘to see if she was good-looking, and then glanced out of the window on the other side, to'see how much further he had to go. Then they all. be- gan to read their newspapers with as much in- terest as if they hadn’t been through them three times already; and one iniquitous old duffer made an audacious pretense of perusing his Herald upside down, For just one minute and a half there reigned in that car an awful silence and a sensation of suspense by the side of which the feeling in Nicsic was easy and assured. Then a young and inexperienced passenger bounced out of his seat with a jerk like a jump- ing-jack, and slid sheepishly toward the front door. And as she dropped into the vacant place, between a messenger-boy and a big buck nigger, the twenty-one men heaved a sigh of relief, and sat back, each proudly conscious that if she had only waited long enough, he might have been the one to throw himself into the breach, comicbooks.com