Puck — October 16, 1878 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

PUCK. “PUCK”. No. 13 North William Street, New York. FOR SALE BY ALL NEWS DEALERS. —— ‘ Terms To Srascripers. Ore Copy one year, or s2 numbers... 16 Copy, ax months, or 36 numbers, 01 Copy tor thirteen weeks. Post H. C. BUNNER SFECIAL NOTICES. Pvcx will hereafter be o9 Sale in London, at the News Agency of Messrs, HENRY F. GILLI & CO.,' 449, Strand, Charing rots. Americans in Paris, hitherto reduced to Punch’, “Fun and “judy”. will sow find their natural paper on file at the “Herald” Office, 49 Avenue de l'Opéra We cannot undertake to return rejected communications, and to this rule we can make no exception. way _Remitances by Money Order, ete, are to be addressed to Kerrier & SCHWARZMANN. Our advertising frien aly required to a ids presented on the billheads fof Pci, with oun EPPLER & SCHWA feze) NTEN TS. ‘The Turning of the Scales : Positive Facts AustralianCr | The Cypher Dispatches. Another Adaptation of Modern ~Pass Fiend. Tmprovements, Brother Taimage, What | The theatres. ‘are you going todo about it? | Awswaxs To THE ANxiovs. Me, Simian Kekenutt and. the | The End Royal Ethiopian Water Cure. | Increasing Popularity of the The Exposition Awards Electric Cure. The Comi The Camel's Back Patient Kitty. Finesse, Puck’s Excnancas. THE TURNING OF THE SCALES. OS UD yez carry me top-coat in yer dog-cart, yer honor, only as far as Widdy McGinnis's shebeen?” This was a very modest request from Pat. But when the 'Squire asked him how he was to get the coat again, Pat said, ‘“ Well, begorra, I intind to keep inside of the same.” That is very much the position in which Mister Kelly stands before the people of this city. They are not very unwilling to allow Mister Kelly, personally, to hold any promi- nent position in the municipality, and to draw the fat salary thereunto appertaining. But they don't want to have foisted upon them all the mongrels, puppies, whelps and hounds which, politically speaking, are inside of Mister Kelly, which constitute his Tammany family. Just now Mister Kelly is crowing. His ancient enemy, Sammy Tilden, is crushed between the ponderous folios of those stolen account-books. He is bound, hand and foot, with those cipher-telegrams, and is erupted all over with cryptograms of “ten twenty Captain Anna,” “Ask Ithaca,” and like political boils of corruption. In fact, a deader live man than Sammy Tilden is, at this present writing, does not linger on the threshold of utter dissolution. Whereat Mr. Kelly laughs. As he has the tight to do. But the scales are slowly turning, and Mr. Kelly will doubtless find himself overweighted in November. A tax-ridden people hardly care to increase their burdens for the sake of perpe- tuating the power of ‘Tammany. A simoon, a whirlwind, a water-spout, a tor- nado, are feeble expressions to describe the up- rising of the Peope when they realize that they are supporting in luxurious idleness a set of half-employed but enormously overpaid politi- cal office-holders. Look out, Mister Kelly, Come in out of the storm. Be so kind as to have modesty enough to be- lieve that the Peope of this great city can Or, if you must govern something, remember that O'Donovan Rossa has resigned, and there is a fair chance for you to organize a skirmish- ing fund and go home and govern Ireland. ‘There's your chance. You'll have slim chances in November. New York after “POSITIVE FACTS.” ‘THE Sun publishes, now and then, some items under the above heading. Recently it published some theatrical ‘positive facts.” Among them were the facts that Mrs. Agnes Booth was the wife of “J. W. Booth who used to act but who now keeps a hotel.” Also, that Miss Rose Eytinge is the wife of Col. Geo, H. Butler, “who is a nephew of Gen. Benjamin //. Butler.” Now, as positive facts, we submit that these are curiosities. ‘The only J. IV. Booth “who used to act” was recently shot for murdering a President of the United States. Consequently he can't keep @ hotel, ‘As to who Benjamin H. Butler may be, we don’t know. But it is a positive fact that no such name will appear on the ballots of the great contestant for the Gubernatorial chair of Massachusetts, next November. AN OLD FABLE REVIVED. NCE upon a Time there was a Frog, who thought Himself a Very Fine Fellow, until one day he espied an Ox. Then he. saw that the Ox was a Bigger Fellow than he was, and he became, in a measure, very" Mad, He waxed wroth. Then came to him a Scientific Person who sat himself down upon an Air-Cushion, and quothed to him:—You are a bigger man than Old Ox. You area Rana Palustris, while he is only a Vacca. You have only to Inflate yourself and you will soon be larger than the Ox. Now the Frog commenced to Swell himself; and then commenced to Blow; and the Ox only Laughed. But at last the Blowing of the Frog became a Nuisance; and Mister Ox got his Back up; and his Horn went through the Frog, who then Collapsed, and it was found that after all he was only Wind: or, to use the language of Cicero, he was a Gas-Bag. This little fable which is hereby translated from AEsop scems to have some pertinent re- lation to present affairs in this country, A certain blowing crew of political hacks have been inflating themselves to such a degree that even well-considered minds began to think they might be as big as they bragged to be. But that solid old animal, the Bos Americanus, the Honor of the Country, quietly put his horn through the theories of the Inflated Party; which thereupon collapsed; and went out into thin air; and very bad air, too. Whereat, Major General Benjamin F. Butler, M. C,, who is sitting on the fence, weeps. For he sees the Governor's chair, which he so covets, rapidly rail-roading away from him. And this is about the end of those politicians who desire to feast on all good things of earth, and leave the bills to be paid and the burden to be borne by their prospective grandchildren. Good-bye, Greenbackers! Two thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry has been stolen from a store in Philadelphia. In consequence, all the New York Maiden Lane jewelry “ drummers” have gone there to repair the ravages of fate. A city without jewelry is like a body | without a soul. But then, is Phila- delphia a city? Puckerings. Our regards to Mr. Thomas Nast, and when next he utilizes Mr. Peter Cooper's air-cushion, will he please not put it on any old gentleman’s head—but rather, put it where it will do the most good. Staten Istanpers, you have tried to lynch Reinhardt. The authorities ought to let him get to Europe to escape our rope. Campanini denies that all the Italians in the city are bootblacks and organ-grinders. He is tight. Several of them are peanut men. Manrie Bates is said to begin her perform- ance of Topsy in London by turning head over heels. Quite right to turn Topsy-turvy. In view of Courtney's positive denial that the race up north was so/d, public opinion deter- mines that it must have been dough by Hanlan. “A napy swims naturally, if you'll let it,” says Frank Buckland, the English Icthyologist. But that would depend very much on its pa- rents’ whims. e youth who can eat a fifty-cent dinner every day on a two-dollar per week salary, is the fellow who succeeds in life and sends his sons to college. “From the spire of the Congregational Church at Pawlet, Vt., 125 pounds of honey were recently taken’—Comb, now, that's a steepl-ittle story. HENCEFORTH we refuse to return rejected communications, It saves us trouble; but then we suffer by having to buy postage-stamps for our private correspondence. Tak about grit? The boldest frontiers- man that ever faced a horny-handed grizzly bear, can’t hold a candle to the last two or three spoonfuls of an oyster stew. ‘THE mosquito about this time loses his mid- summer timidity, and exhibits a cynical reck- lessness that takes away half the glory of a suc- cessful attempt at his destruction. Ir may have been cramps, it may have been vertigo or the effects of improper food during his training, or it even may have been too much Hanlan, but it has not yet been definitely set- tled what was the matter with Courtney last week at Lachine. Or course Mr, Foley visited the editorial rooms of Puck, and sought to be the divinity that shapes our ends, refuse him how we will; but we're not going back on Bennett— James Gordon Bennett—the Prince of Polo, and fu- ture Prince of the North Pole oh!—at any price. He's our raan for Mayor. Ir is not a matter of congratulation that the office of Puck has been for several days besieged by thousands of anxious contributors—some of them gifted citizens. On the contrary, we have been obliged to lock our editorial selves in against the mob, ‘he errand that brought all these persons to our door was in every case a desire to sell a single line of matter—always on the same subject, and often in the same words. In despair we printed a poster and hung it out of the window: No Puns on rue WALKING IT’S NO 'UGHE: And that settled it. faTcH WANTED! govern themselves without your assistance. comicbooks.com