Puck — November 27, 1878 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

THE SEASONS. SPRING. } IGH east the fervid morning sun i Creeps o'er the hills with verdure glare, To stir the vales one after one, To make the rills with vigor run, The birds complete the nests begui, ‘And sleepy cow-boys swear. SUMMER. ‘The tasseling grasses of fields are exhaling Alluring suggestions of opulent bloom, With delicate traces of scents—unavailing ‘When gardens inebriate with their perfume. All earth of exuberant life is partaking, And a mortal’s so closely with nature in tune, ‘That the heart in excess of enjoyment seems aching, ‘And we hope to find heaven a post-mortem June. ‘The vines of potatoes with dew are besprinkled ‘As pure as the nectar Love leaves on the lip, And old Colorados, with faces bewnnkled, Impatiently struggle, lest of they should slip. AUTUMN. Now the garnering blade overcgmeth the grain, And the farmer rejoices because of his gain, While the fruit and the fullness of esculent root Prove welcome, though less than he hoped to obtain, And the night-hurried tramp fora shelter doth scoot. WINTER. Behold the morning's serious gray, Meridian’s storm, the chill short day— The calm on either side of strife— A fit epitome of life. Behold the happy fireside Where virtue is exemplified. The gentle housewife, though seclate, Doth cheer the circle ‘round the grate; ‘The children, mindfal of the rule Enjoining proper diligence, Are studious 1n consequence, Preparing for the morrow’s school. The cat purrs loudly on the hearth, And all are so removed from wrath ‘That exultations seem to rise From that domestic paradise, From sweet, effalgent quiet born, Till someone hits the old man’s corm. M. B, ELI PERKINS NOWHERE. Editor Puck: Si—Your issue of November 13th contains the following: “Did you ever see a red-headed nigger?” In reply we would say that we have. An un- varnished fact. He lives here; and when we questioned him in regard to the cause of his being so, he replied that he thought the change from black to red occurred during the “heated term,” as he did not wear any head-covering during said period. LAD City, Mo., Nov. 16th. Bazoo JumBie. In Sunbeams the following: in Russia there is a religious sect called the “ Help- Their peculiarity is that they avoid lying, steal- ing, and getting in debt.” Our American “Helpers” are a political, not a religious sect; and they differ slightly from the Muscovite variety in being less scru- pulous about lying, stealing, and getting in te. ——— PUCK. SOME SOCIAL FIENDS IX. ‘Tue Fienp or THE BUTTON-HOLE. Don't you know him, Dan, my boy? Does he not seize you when you are intent “upon se- curing the revenues of your great and glorious country, and hold you by your button for lengthened conversation, long drawn out, about nothing? This is not a conundrum, and so it can be.answered by the word, Certainly. He does. He will. And he is a Fiend. Our dear friend, Mr. Megal O’Saurus, was meandering down Brcadway recently, when he met a“F. of the Button-hole, who seized him and begged one momert to inquire about the properties of a carbureted hydrogen and ole- fiant gas as'a light when compared with elec- tricity (he-got. this out of a dictionary), when evolved in any disturbance of molecular equi- librium. ‘This was a crusher upon our friend, O’Saurus, and he felt like hieing himself to a hostelry and retiring, with cocktails, to forty winks of peace. But, ehod, another Fiend of the B-h. seized him b-fore he could reach a 3-bed cara- vanserai, and commenced to quoth: “Ha, ha! He, he! Ho, ho, ho! Did you hear about—well, I won’t mention his name, but the manager of the—well, you know the theatre I refer to— how he was found—ah, me boy, I see you know what I mean—and she’s the prettiest woman in New York — of course there’s nothing in it—but her husband —you know him only as a great banker —1 needn’t men:ion his name—” Escaped again, Mr. O’Saurus, whose preno- men is Megal, secretes him in the far wilds of vhere chin-music is played not. , like the other Fiends of which mention is hebdomadally made in these columns is ubiquitous, A flea is nothing to him. Perennial summer buzzes about him, and his name is Mosquito. He stings. And when our firiend, Mr. O’Saurus, escapes him, he appears in another form and alights upon the button-hole of that truly good, but sad, man, Mr. McRometer, at the very moment when that noble soul was scratching its material head in vain endeavors to raise money to meet notes due that morning. “Aha!” he cries, I’ve got the best thing to tell you, Only one moment. Did you hear how Commodore Dickerbilk’s bay filly, Crasher, was hobbled and ham-strung? Well, I’ll tell you—" , Hours pass in horsey talk; the gentle nature of Mr. McRometer won’t allow him to wrench himself away from the Fiend of the Button- hole; so his notes go to protest, and he goes into bankruptcy. Alas, that we are not all policemen, with the manners. and weapons of policemen. Then, when this Fiend seized us and commenced to play to us the long-winded music of the chin, we could club him, and. jump upon him, and place our knees violently upon his ribs, and generally maul him, But these measures, in America, are only permitted to the blue-coated police; so when that interminable talker, the But:on-hole Fiend, approaches you, your only safety is in fight. ‘Turn tail and run. E.S. L. THE THEATRES. “Our Crus” holds the boards at WALLAcK's until such time as “My Son” shall be ready, It is a mild English attempt to touch the gothic lightness of Gondinet, and it comes not much nearer to its ideal than American champagne comes to the genuine article. It is little more than a page from Mr, Burnand's dramatic note- book—a faint sketch of London club life— a bright scene of equivoque—and then an act and a half written solely to lead to a dénod- ment which doesn’t come. It is acted rather better than its deserts, and gives Mr. Charles Coghlan an opportunity to depict a Frenchman with exquisitely artistic realism. 4 Frenchman, wesay. Possibly not ¢ke Frenchman of the play. It may be that Mr, Coghlan’s art spoils us, and inclines us to hypercriticism; but one cannot help wishing that he had given us, instead of his clever, business-like chef de durcau Parisian, the type that must have been in the playwright’s mind —that “ languishing and cloudy ” being— the French poct who aims at the de Masset style —the glorious being with the head of ‘hair and the de/le barbe and the unlimited capital of self- esteem, Miss.\Coghlan carries herself well. through the one ‘strong scene of ‘the ‘play; and’ Mr. Rockwell deserves more praise than we have room to ‘give him here for looking #London “military ‘swell’ to absolute © perfection—a captain in the guards and a gentleman, Miss Germon has nothing to do, and does it charm- ingly. The Fiero AVENUE rejoices in tragedy and Mr. Booth, who is renewing his hold on the af- fections of the New York public, and proving that this unfortunate metropolis is not wholly given over to the Fritzes and the Ottos, His present engagement is a marked contrast to the period he passed in the Fourteenth Street tomb of the muses two years ago. “RicoLerto” was on the Academy boards last week; and when the /ester received the body of his daughter in the traditional sack, one vast sniff arose from the whole audience, the policemen in the rear looked uneasy, and multitudinous mention was made of the name of the late Mr. Stewart. Fact, we assure you. Answers for the Anrious, Haseitine.—Yov are giving her ice-cream on a wire. Cutrcit Fatro.—A, M. D. G., in our * Godly Gam- bling” cartoon, stood for Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam— To the Greater Glory of God—or, A Most Dire Give- away—just as you please. K. Giest.—As soon as we can dispose of the regular November lot of fiends who make jokes about Turkey, we will hunt up your favor, and see which wants it the more, Puck oF you. We wish to call attention to the self- respecting heroism with which “ Puck” has refrained from making one single Thanksgiving Joke. Let your light so shine before American paragraphers that they may see your good works and go them some better. comicbooks.com