Puck — October 9, 1878 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

“ Be the powers!” said Mr. O’Flanagan to him- self, ‘this is the mansion of the vinerable Docther Penuckle, where me adored Bridget Malloy is quane of the culinary department. i'll go in and make her a visit.” —S=> 4. The Doctor and Mrs. Penuckle came down to the kitchen on their nightly tour of inspection. ‘They had come home after the first act of the opera, Mrs. Penuckle’s nerves being unequal to the strain of Wagner. S: nerves were destined to a further shock when covered on the kitchen-floor a male glove, size 18. 2. And he did. ould counthry till the door-bell rang. folks!” said Miss Malloy, greatly agitated. And they drank the health of the “Its the ould 5. “Go to your room, unhappy woman! We will speak of this to-morrow.” “The unhappy woman went, 3. ‘Pat, get into this mate-safe, will yez?” And tLe warnor bowed his haughty crest and tanied his heart of fire, and got into the meat safe. 6, But Mr. O’Flanagan styeu SHANKS, THE PEDESTRIAN. HERE was a time when I was of no im- portance socially or politically. But now wherever I go people look at me with wonder and admiration, and whisper, “ There goes Shanks, the long distance pedestrian, you know. Two hundred miles in twenty-four hours!” Whenever I chance to visit a bar- room, as I sometimes do to see what time it | is, the loungers, cease their conversation and observe, ‘There's "— hic—‘ there's Shanks! Won—wonderful feller. ‘Two hundred milesan hour. Fact, s’ help me.” So it goes. I am too celebrated for my own peace of mind. Before pedestrianism became the fashion I was simply no go, as the phrase is. I might as well have tried to sit upon the back of my neck as borrow a quarter. 1 could do nothing but walk, I used to pace the sidewalk of a certain street, mornings, until a policeman remonstrated. ‘ You are a nuisance,” he said, “you are not useful, and blow me if you are ornamental. They can’t hitch a horse to you, ‘cause a horse-post mustn’t perambulate. You're no good as a sign-board, ‘cause you ain't thicker 'n a shadow set up edgeways. | You'd better toddle off. ‘The corporation can’t keep you in sidewalk, you know.” | I tried letter-carrying for a while, but that occupation wasn’t up to my genius. I made too many mistakes. On one occasion I de- livered a gentleman's private postal card to his submit to beef-tea and gruel. wife. The mail exposed a female and tiere was an explosion. I suffered. I next walked Broadway between two advertising signs. That too failed because my feet got mixed with other people’s feet, and humanity is so uncharitable. My good ‘genius appeared in the shape of Justice Oldcock, befor: whom I had been taken to give my reasons for sleeping in the gutter. ‘ Shanks,” said he, “you're either a bummer or a genius, I'm inclined to think the latter. If-so, your genius lies in your feet. Such a pair of hoofs was never turned out of Nature’s workshop since Noah's flood. If you can’t make them support you, I’m mistaken in your understandings. Goto the Tombs, Shanks, for ten days, ‘Ihink the matter over in quiet. Come out, walk and make your fortune. Next!” I took his advice, walked in public, and suc- ceeded. Behold, then, the poor Shanks, who, ten days before would gladly have hypothe- cated his future hopes fora square meal, raised toeminence. I am famous. People are anx- ious about the dimensions of my legs. ‘The state of my digestion is of more importance than the state of the country, The public is feverish when I insist upon horseradish or co- coanut pie, and can only be calmed when I The newspapers discuss the state of the corn upon my great toe. I hear that Congress is about to vote me a medal—but that is aside. I interview re- porters between ten and twelve a.M., and keep a pugilist for the benefit of tract-deliverers and book-agents, Do 1 not richly deserve my fame? What nobler sight can greet the public eye than that of a slim man, with a small head and huge feet, clutching two silver-headed corn-cobs, ambling round a track with the gait of a lame horse, and flapping his arms like the wings of a tur- key-buzzard as he goes? Is it a wonder that | people who will not sit out two acts of ‘ Ham- let ” will sit countless hours watching me sham- ble on like a goat in a cider-mill? I’m an in- tellectual amusement; I raise the tone of the public mind, | _ In conclusion, I wish to observe that 1 may tire of popularity; I may retire to. the calm | precincts of the City Hall. ‘The power of walking one hundred and fifty miles in twenty- four hours is certain evidence of executive | ability. When a man can sail into the city | government ina shell-boat, or crawl through | fifteen consecutive bull’s-eyes to the justice’s | bench, why should not Shanks walk into the | mayoralty? Consider me then a caadidate, Kye HILpretu. Tue Sun calls attention to the fact that in every one of the recent murder sensations there is ‘a woman in the case.” In the Sta- ten Island Mystery, we may remark, there is a woman in the barrel. Kearney may justly merit the odium which is attached to his name; he may be a villain- ous character in every sense of the term, but no One can come forward and prove that he plays on the cornet, comicbooks.com