Puck — August 14, 1878 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

PUCK. ON FINDING A FLY DROWNED IN AN INKSTAND, Cold death stole on thee like a breath of frost From frigid climes upon the bléom of spring, And wrote thy name among the early lost, And stilled the motion of thy gauzy wing. Plunged in this bowl of chill and murky ink, No more thy buzz shall greet the Sabbath dawn, Nor thy Orphean numbers swell and sink On ears of noontide sleepers on the lawn. Thou shalt be missed; there is a void that aches, A painful lengthening of the morning snooze, The pastry cook weeps o’er untrodden cakes, The artist's brush yields no blue-bottle hues, ‘Thy punctuation shall be seen no more— Thy “specs” are broken, and the sorghum slough Vainly invites thee through the larder door, No effervescing jug can charm thee now. “Time flies.” Loo true, no life for thee beside, For thou wert but a time fly with the rest, ‘Thy dreamless sleep in this lethean tide Blots out thy sun, not hides it in the west. Some other flies have passed away before, From chill exposure to the autumn frost; And some,too bold, have ventured from the shore Of divers soups, and been forever lost; Some, like the storied chest-imprisoned bride, While buzz and revelry went gayly ’round, Have hid away in plastic pies and died, To mar the joy at festal boards when found; And others still, on smooth metalic cheeks Of traveling agents have caught fatal falls, Or through the hot and sultry summer weeks Have starved to death on journalistic walls. Perhaps some time another fly will come ‘To bring nepenthe for our grief and tears, And on our dreams will steal a drowsy hum, And tiny feet crawl softly up our ears. Ha! there is one now! we are blessed overmuch; ‘The fly-blown trumpet will put forth its wail, And nasal organs thrill beneath the touch Of tickling feet that run the blistered scale! —H.S. Tomer, in Elmira Weekly Adv, Srripep stockings cover a multitude of shins, —Rome Sentinel. Mrs. Henry Warp Beecuer travels with her husband this season as a protector.—/icayune. We are of the opinion that Mr. Lowell in tended to ask: “And what is so Rarus 2:13 34 ?” —Derrick. Mr, Hayes appears to be such a nice man that it seems a pity he wasn’t born a woman.— Kronikie-Herald, Byron speaks of “the nympholepsy of some fond despair.” ‘This probably is what ails Mr. Tilden. - Derrick. Paste the date of the next eclipse in your hat. You may forget it. May 8, 1900.—Mew Orleans Picayune. Ir was a Boston girl who referred to Bea- consfield’s new honor as “the order of the clas- tic." —Buffalo Exp. Women measure their dresses by the finger, and this is also the way men measure their drinks.— Rome Sentinel. Ir is a strange fact that whenever a whisky- barrel explodes a prohibitionist is always an eye-witness to the occurrence,— /%cayune. YELLow fever has appeared at Cincinnati, and Sunday-school scholars there make $5 an hour teaching the old inhabitants how to pray. — Kronikle-Herald. ‘Tue Ohio Nationals have nominated a minis- ter for Congress. There, women of Washing- ton, remember, we've warned you in time.— Kronikle-Herald, THE CREAM OF THE BUCKET. A DEFINITION. An inside passenger—the taciturn but vo- racious tape-worm.—JV. Y. News. THE RIGHT MAN IN THE RIGHT PLACE. Jim Anderson peddles lightning-rods in Washington.— Boston Fost. THAT WAS ALL. Did Eve have a bathing-dress ?—Limira Ad- vertiser, She had nothing else.— Oi? City Der- rick, HE DIDN'T GO. People returning from the French capital have a “ pizen " look—sort of a Paris grin.— Keokuk Constitution, UNNECESSARILY. A Boston girl never thoroughly enjoys herself while bathing. She is too suspicious.— Wash- ington Post. Fact! “ Death is death, after all,” says the London World. ‘That is the bother of it. Now, if it was something else—however, it isn’t.— Buffalo Express. A GRAND IDEA, Picnic pantaloons are made of nankeen this season. ‘They are much admired, as they so much resemble the custard pie that it is not easily detected.— Chicago Times. LIVES OF GREAT MEN ALL REMIND US. Beaconsfield is a silent man and avoids la- dies’ society. As he remarks, Simon Cameron's little scrape has been a warning to him.— Phi/a, Kronikle-Herald. LOFTY. ‘The only topic of general interest is beer. —New Haven Register. Of course you speak only for yourself. Hereabouts such subjects as the Origin of Species, Science and Theology, Communism and its Effects on Trade, Market Money and how to obtain it, take precedence. —WNorristown Herald. NEVER. An ungenerous public will never learn to appreciate the work of the world’s greatest hu- morist, the intelligent compositor; he who speaks of “Caledonia, stern and wild, wet nurse of a poetic child,” and who tells of the pride the college graduate experiences in turn- ing to his “alum water.”— Zurner’s Falls Re- porter. HE TAKES THE CAKE. A chap in Arkansas, in the act of ramming a heavy charge into an old musket, was killed by a premature discharge of the piece. The local papers speak of it as a tragical affair, but to us it seems to partake more of the nature of a mellowed-rammer.— Yonkers Gazette. A CALIFORNIA “TOCAL.” We don’t mean to say that Petaluma is a particularly poor town, but we remember that once when a misguided San Francisco burglar tried to enter a store in that burg, the inhabi- tants caught him, went through his pockets, and business generally brightened up in conse- quence for the next six months.—San Fran- cisco News Letter. ON THE PORTUGUESE PLAN. Courtship in Portugal is queerly conducted. When a young man over there gets sweet on a girl he never hints ice-cream once, but stands around the curb-stone in the broiling sun and permits the damsel to feast her eyes on him from an upper window. If the girl heaves out a panful of ashes on him, he concludes that his addresses are not desired, and moves on to the next house.— Cin. Breakfast Table. AD VENEREM. O Venus, of Cnidos and Paphos the queen, Thou'lt tell me the reaton why Sarah, I ween--- My Sarah, my tender, my sweet Sarah Green— Refuseth my suit. I will lead to thy altar a ewe and a lamb, A bullock, a heifer, a two-year-old ram, A couple of bottles of raspberry jam, And a dollar to boot. —Eugene Field in St, Louis journal, I REMEMBER one night in particular when I set 3000 ems an hour out of a bag by moonlight, and had to take every letter to the window to see what it was.— Zjpographical Ananias, Genera Howarp has ceased telegraphing what he is going to do, and the only persons who found fault with him for so doing are those holding telegraph stock.— Kronikle- Herald. “Ts gold a debased coin ?” asks the Graphic. Yes, it is awfully, terribly debased, It is so degraded that it is ashamed to associate with honest and truly good persons like ourselves.— Norristown Herald. Puck complains that the Graphic anticipates many of its cartoons. The only way for Puck to get even with the Graphic is to issue a daily edition, and make its 1,000,000 readers doubly happy.—Norristown Herald. Bereaven relatives, who send in a lengthy and very flattering piece of obituary poetry, ask: “Do you think we could add anything more?” Yes; you might add a five-dollar bill, as a guarantee of good faith.— Rome Sentinel, A younc M. D, who graduated from a Phila- delphia Medical College last spring claims to have discovered an infallible cure for yellow fever. He says painting the patient red will keep the yellow in the fever from showing.— Kronikle Herald. Maxine the best of it is a good rule for everybody. ‘What is the matter?” asked a lawyer of his coachman. “The horses are run- ning away, sir.” “Can you not pull them up?” “1 am afraid not.” “Then,” said the laywer, after judical delay, “run intosomething cheap.” —Unknown Ex. Tue St. Paul Daily Globe says: “It gives us pleasure to announce that the present Beech- erian lecture tour is a lamentable pecuniary failure. Small or moderate audiences greet him everywhere, and though he has a contract which gives him his money, every association which employs him loses money.” We were really afraid at one time that Frank Murphy would slight us—but he has now done the thing up handsomely—sending us a wood cut of his angelic features (from the chin up) and a cordial invitation to attend his big tem- perance love feast at Round Lake. We have just written him that our terms are $150 a night, board at the best hotel, and a handsome widow to wait upon us. We are now on the pause for a reply.—Boston Post. ‘THERE was no nonsense about Petruchio when he undertook to kiss a woman. At his wedding, according to William Shakspere, dec'd, “ He took the bride by the neck and kissed her lips with such a clamorous smack, that, at the parting, all the church did echo.” And you should have seen Petruch. playing copenhagen at a Sunday-school picnic! Persons living a quarter of a mile distant thought com- panies A, B, C, D, E, F and G were firing at a target; and every minute or so a girl would cry out, “Oh, don’t, Pet.; you are breaking my neck!” And Pet. would don't.— Norristown Herald, comicbooks.com