Puck — July 18, 1877 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

PUCK. ‘Tue young man who attended the maple sugar ‘party at Katonah, and danced with the black-haired beauty from Mamaroneck, re- ceived next day the following epistle: “If you wish to avoid further trouble, you will return the saucer and plated: spoon we missed yester- day. We come of a family who kill.” ‘Tue power of smell is greater in some ani- mals than in others, and we own up that we never were anything on the scent personally; but we want to catch sight of some highly organ- ized, double-barreled, full-fledged, super-cal- lendered nostril that can smell out a joke in some of the paragraphic puns that are sent in by casual would-be contributors. “Hore deferred maketh the heart sick.” We know it, and we refuse to have our heart sick- ened any longer, and if that fellow who bor- rowed two dollars until after the fourth doesn’t turn up next week, we'll not take any more chances in this heart-business at all, but we'll send a collector after him, with special instruc- tions to freeze on to his front door-step. We believe in patriotic displays every year, but not at our expense, ‘Tue Grand Union has put on a religion- proof overcoat, turned up its coat-sleeves, clutched hold of a six-foot cudgel, and, draw- ing a full breath, exclaims: “Now, just let me see any Jews coming along here, trying to get in.” ‘Tue eternal fury of clashing elements, the uncurbable volcano of human despair, bursting like a death-delivering brand of hell from the confines of virtue and peace, may stir this miserable earth to the core, and we shan’t mind it a bit, but the next man who steps on our corn, will be pitched out of a six-story window, if we swing for it. ‘Tere are hearts that beat quicker when the strawberry season comes; there are spirits that brighten when the raspberry puts in his gentle claim; there are souls that gladden when the pineapple slices himself up; there are eyes that glisten with joy when the watermelon moves in; but the average small boy's delight doesn’t reach its climax until it has tackled a fresh tomato. Tue Count Joannes is said to be very jealous of the decorations which Mr P. S. Gilmore wears upon his breast. ‘The Count is reported to have remarked that ribbons are very cheap now-a-days; but the one Ae wears did not come from Grand Street. A BEAUTIFUL story is related of Muley Ben, a wild Arab, now on exhibition in the Bowery. He was dying of homesickness, when his man- ager suddenly conceived the happy idea of taking him into Tompkins Squate. An instan- taneous cure resulted. Muley no longer pines for the desert ot Sahara, He says that our New York imitation of it only needs a lion or two to make it perfect. S Tue Reverend Harvey Spear of Illinois, is the latest. He has gone‘to prison, however. He stole $1,000 in greenbacks from a parishioner. Parishioners’ wives are the undisputed perqui- sites of the gay and festive gospel-slinger, but justice is beginning to feel that she must draw tenis somewhere, and she draws it at green- acks, We hear that the greeting between those genuine American products, ex-President Grant and the potato-bug, at Cologne, was of the most affectionate nature. His Serene Nuisance from Colorado remarked that he should prob- bably settle in Europe, and would have visited France in the first instance, but thought Paris green might not agree with him. A member of his family was now taking a run through Ireland, and attracting much attention from the Irish people. He believed the potatoes of that country would suit his relative’s constitu- tion admirably, in which case he would perma- nently reside there. ‘The two distinguished Americans parted from each other with the most sincere expressions of regret and deter- mination to meet again at an early date. Jos Harr, of the Eagle ‘Theatre, is suin; Jas. Gordon Bennett for alleged libels contained in the Herald “Complaint Book.” Libel? Josh Hart, you modern Chesterfield, cow/d anybody libel.you? Permit Puck to make only one ob- servation, Ha! ha! Josh, ha! ha! “Several New York newspaper offices exhibit over their doors the legend: ‘No loafers or Harvard students wanted here." —Detroit Free Press. What newspapers are these? Mention their names. Mention the name of some one of them. Or else retract and apologize. —Sun. Oh, Dana,—you're not the editor of aLondoh comic weekly. Can't you see a joke? Tus is the season of the year when the Chess Editor of the rural paper takes his va- cation at the seaside and when his chief wrestles with the following: If A. moves his knight nine paces from red to white and puts six pawns and a king in jeopardy .with.his castle, what must B. do to win the game in thirty-seven moves, allowing thirty minutes for lunch? Bitty Wurre, Georgia's strong negro, kills a steer throwing it over his head, and lifts a two-hundred pound man by a belt with his teeth.— £xch. It was noticed that when he passed the statue of Hercules in Atlanta, that character took off his hat. White should come North and wrestle with a paragraph or two, Is it possible that we are the same man who slipped timorously out of his overcoat, and hesitated two weeks and asked his wife’s advice six or seven times over before he laid aside his winter flannels? John, one ice-water with a flag-staff in it! Tue days have come when the adolescent rustic, returned to his home from his first visit to. New York, sits on the kitchen-table and swings his legs and tells of the wonders and mysteries of the great city, and the superior ityle and size of the metropolitan prayer-meet- ings compared with those of South Podunk, and then adds, with the nonchalant air of a man of the world, slightly subdued by some apprehen- sive doubt as to the reception the remark is likely to meet with: “I. ben to the play- house, tu."” WE are not proud. Humiliation has oft be- fore sat like an incubus upon our young ambition, and glories of a bright future have faded from our gaze like a beautiful dream; but nothing in life has ever obliterated us into everlasting nothingness, with half that crushing swift- ness, as the conductor on a horse car who punches, us violently in the ribs and says: “« Fare, please,”in a. voice that seems laden with mistrust and scorn. Answers for the Anvions. Send on your poem, if you wish tos jer take cut _an insurance policy on. its BARLEYCORN. DoLatKa.—Just between the shoulders, a little to the right of the spinal column, unless the oxygen is ex- hausted. J. P.. G.—We knew those war-maps would take effect some time. Still, you are young, and it may be curable in your case. Your communication has been forwarded to Bloomingdale. ‘Terentius.—None of your one-horse classicism. If you want to send us polyglot paragraphs, put ’em in Sanscrit or Kamschatkan or Devanagari, or something that will appeal to the popular heart. W. W. P.—Youth has its errors, and even age occa- sionally steps aside from the path of wisdom. But nothing short of chronic jim-jams, combined with second child- houd, will serve as an excuse for such a contribution as you have sent us. Buve-Nosk.—Canada may have its disadvantages as an abiding place, and it may be the cucumbers are mot 80 good there, but until the memory of your poem on “* Sum- mer” fades from the mind of the Editor, perhaps it would be as well for you to remain in your own, your native land. Younc Bectnwer.— Your “Lines on a Maid of Athens” are very pretty, particularly that part about the ringlets unconfined and the /Zgean wind; and we would be happy to print them but that we have already accepted «The boy stood on the burning deck,”* sent us by another youthful aspirant for poetic honors, and this is all the budding genius we care to encourage just at present. Accrivep.—Why didn’t we return your contribution? Why? Because you enclosed one two-cent stamp, with the corner torn off, to pay for seven ounces and a half of manuscript. Because you wrote your name and address on a piece of paper one inch square, and it took us three days to fish it out of a crack in the floor. Because the Editor held your article for a week, waiting to see if ou'd come and get it, and because his derninger was joaded right up to the muzzle. Because we had an offer from Barnum to exhibit your contribution as the boss specimen of literary lunacy yet produced by the nineteenth century. Because—if you want to find out any more, just come down here and ask. EnxnezeR SNAGGS.—Your predicament is somewhat similar to that of our last week's dent, ** Bash- fal Lover,” but more difficult to advise on. ’ You say whenever you call on the young lady she pitches some- thing at your head—on the last occasion it was a brick- bat, once before, the family Bible—and tells you at the same time to “get out,” which you do rather precipi- tately. Women’s minds are strangely constituted, and this may be her mode of showing her intense affection, Don't be discouraged, Snags. «* Faint heart never won fair lady.”, Continue to call until you are satisfied beyond. all doubt that she doesn’t care much about you. From our vast experience in such matters, if the young lady were to throw the piano out of the window on your head when she saw you coming to the house, and knock you down with a poker when you got in the hall, it is. pretty strong evidence that she respects you more than she loves you. B. B.—ALCoNAC.—Many thanks forfyour well-wishes and appreciation. You may spread yourself on anything you see fit—provided you do not run out of 15 grooves. Even a serial—that is not too serious—would we treat with consideration. The annexed acrostic we print, as the mast direct way of showing our apprecia- tion: . ‘AN ACROSTIC. Precocious boy, I love thy wisdom, beaming Under the guise of jests and roundelays; Crisp, pungent, terse—thy thougths like diamonds gleam- f Keep flashing sparks of wit in endless rays. ‘Bunch of the Westy than thy great sie a grater, Up-bear the right—wound only thou toheal; (Charge with thy pen on charlatan and traitor, ‘Keen in thy satire as thrice-tempered steel. Portray mankind with thy inamortal crayon, Ungainly, fair, elate or down on luck, Clownish, xsthetic—all his foibles play on— ‘Kind in thy castigations, caustic Posterity shall mark thy birth an era, ‘Unhappy foes stand mute, with envy struck; Crucem scelestis do sed laudo vera— ‘Keep thou this motto—all will love thee, Puck. comicbooks.com