Puck — December 25, 1878 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

“Tt is absurd for you to reproach yourself,” said Stephen, in a vexed tone; ‘you know that it was not your fault if you had a hired nurse, when she could not bear either of the’ girls to be with her; and as for your staying with her more, and being more patient, it is humbug. I only know I could not have borne what you have,’” “Do not say so,” muttered Sidney; “ you do not know what she was, and you have no right to pack **No, 1 had no opportunity of knowing,” said Stephen dryly. “Of course I know she was very weak, and all that sort of thing, and of coarse that was not her fault; but there was a screw loose with the brains of all the Wyn- fords, and it was a confounded shame of old father not tc tell you so,” Sidney was silent. If he had taken a rash step eighteen months ago, this was not the time nor the place for him to own it. There was a silence, Suddenly they all heard a distant unearthly wail. ‘‘Sidney!” it seemed to say, in a tone of faint—very faint—complaint. A dreadful horror crept through them, and they looked at each other in mute questioning. At last Sid- ney spoke in a hoarse whisper. “The cat must be in the room,” said he. The girls sprang up and began to look about, Stephen poking the fire to give them more light, ‘They soon gave up the search, “Te is not here,” said Maud. “Tt must be here,” said Sidney, feeling blindly under the chairs and table. But no cat was to be found. “It must have been our fancy,” said Stephen, What had been their fancy, and why had this fancy seized them all simultaneously ? “Something must be done,” said Sidney. “ Will you go up-stairs, Sidney ?” said Maud, in whispered terror. “T must,” said Sidney; ‘ must I go alone?” “Twill go with you,” said Maggie, lighting a candle. “O Maggie, do not!” said Maud beseech- ingly, and shuddering. “There can be no evil thing abroad to- night,” svid Maggie, with a strange unearthly look in her eyes. ‘Do not fear, my Maud; we shall aoon be back.” [To'be concluded] A mopest ring at the door-bell of a house on Brady street called the lady to the door yester- day to discover a tramp, who, to her great astonishment, pulled off his hat as he said: “Madam, did a big tramp with one eye call here to-day ?”” “Yes; about an hour ago,” she replied. “His breath smelt of onions, didn’t it?” “Yes, terribly.” And he asked for mince-pie and cold beef- tongue, didn’t he?” “Yes, he did. I never saw a more impudent fellow.” “ Well, madam, I am following him around to tell the people just what sort of a fellow he is. Don’t you give him a mouthful—not even a drink of water.” “But you look like a tramp, too,” she ob- served. “Well, I is one, ma’am, but I don’t eat onions, and I never ask for mince-pie. All 1 wants is a slice of bread with a bone on it, and if they dips the bone in v.negar first so much the better. Those of us who sleep in the old straw- stack back here wants to give families a chance to get through the winter, while that ’ere chap with one eye rushes around and deinands the very luxuries of kings and queens. Don’t en- courage him, ma’am; he can't appreciate good wittles after he gets ‘em.”—Free Press. Puck’ 8 Brvfanges.| “RAIN ON THE ROOF,” Iam lying on my pillows, In my second-story room, While the flickering lights and shadows Chase each other through the gloom, And without, in starless darkness, On the roof and on the pane, In a rhythmic pitter-patter, Falls the steady winter rain. As I list me to its cadence, So I yield me to its balm, And its slumbrous, soothing music Steeps my soul in perfect calm, By its lullabies maternal All its being is caressed Into rare and sweet contentment, Into tranquil trust and rest. And dim fancies, downy-winged, Float the ether of my brain— Shadows form the dusk of distance Forms from drowsy mount and main; Memories of my vanished boyhood, Full of pleasure, tinged with pain, Wooed unto me by the magic Of the gently falling rain, Many and many a phantom vision, Faint and far, and soft and sweet, Conjur — Hullo, here! (This rhythmic revery will probably be continued when I move my bed from under this leak.)— Quipple Yarrow in Louisville Courier-Journal, ‘A paper that is always full of good points— a paper of needles.—Bastimore Every Satur- day. Even a clothes-line becomes unsteady when it has too many sheets in the wind.—Hacken- sack Republican. Ir is not recorded whether the hero of the flood was ever tarred, but many a man has fea- thered an Noah.—J. ¥. Mail. For every loss there is some gain, When you lose your balance you gain a bunch on the back of your head.— Rochester Ex. Titpen demands a thorough investigation of the cipher dispatches, But think of the other hearts that would ache.— Cin. Sat. Night. Ir I had only known you would have thrashed me so soon, I should have written this note earlier.—Shere Ali.—_ Mew Haven Register. Yes, young man, honesty is a good capital now-a-days, if you can let people know you have got it without telling them of it.—Zoches- ter Express. Antuony Comstock heard somebo:ly speak of a “new departure.” “A nude departure? I'll have it arrested at once!” he exclaimed.— Buffalo Sunday News. One of the seventy-five points of difference between Judge Hilton and St. Paul is that the latter “kept his body under” and the former didn't.—Phila, Bulletin, Paper kerosene cans are the latest. By using them, servant girls and kitchens can be blown up much cheaper than they can be with the tin article.—WV. O. Picayune, Tivpen can do nothing now except to pub- lish a card in the newspapers, and deny that he ever was a candidate for President of the United States.—. 0. Ficayune, Tue spiritual mediums, not having found Stewart’s body, have reduced the price of seances twenty-five per cent. This is a severe blow to the business.— Wheeling Leader. «Wuy are the men of genius so often bach- elors?” asked Miss Kate Sanborn, We don’t know exactly, but understand now why it is that we have remained single.—S. F. News- Letler, Tue Princess Louise sneezed twice yester- day. The Marquis of Lorne, our new Gov- ernor-General, put on a clean shirt-collar this morning. It is rumored that he will undoubt- edly change his socks to-morrow.— Toronto Gosipper. : Tue Scientific American states that rapid and continuous action of the lower jaw will stop bleeding at the nose. There are frequent in- stances where such action has brought it on,— Cin, Breakfast- Table, Tue only society paper Detroit ever had is sleeping in its little grave, and now when any- body’s head servant girl makes a trip on the horse-cars the event is unheralded and un- known.— Detroit Free Press. Puck, who usually pays very little attention to dress, inquires: “Are watered silks dry- goods?” Certainly; they are the most primi- tive kind of dry, goods; there is nothing in that line moire antique.— Rome Sentinel. Wuat's the use of getting mad about a trifle? Merely because he tied ner up with a clothes- line, poured kerosene over her, and was about to light her, Mrs. Welton, of Plymouth, Conn., is suing for a divorce.— Detroit Free Press. Tuere is no subject so grave but that para- graphers will make light of it. Charley Ross has had to stand his share of their flings, and now they are A. T. Stewart (at Stewart). Spe- cial permit from London, by cable.—Rome Sentinel. A youn lady in Allegheny recently lost the use of one of her eyes, and was obliged to wear an artificial organ. She asked the young man to whom she was engaged if this misfor- tune changed his affection, whereupon f° re- plied, “ With all thy false eye love thee stiil.” — Pittsburgh Telegraph, Tue crowning ambition of many a man’s life is to belong to a secret society, and after listening for many years to the constant itera- tion of one collocation of words, to die and be followed to the grave by an awkward squad in black coats and white gloves two sizes too big. —Boston Transcript. Puck comes to us this week wrapped in the New Yorker Mustk-Zeitung. The “ Zeitung” has an interesting article entitled “ Beitrag zur Gesangsaussprache,” and while Puck is, as ever, full of good jokes, we take it to be a very poor joke to dash our interest with the unfinished Gesangsaussprache.— Camden Post. An Ansonia cigar maker went out hunting, and in addition to securing two quails, suc- ceeded in putting five buckshot into the back of a farmer who was measuring his corn with a view of making it higher than any other in the neighborhood, There is not much encourage- ment for scientific farming.— Danbury News. “My Grandfather’s Clock "—This is a new piece of music by the author of “Beautiful Snow” and “Sax Holm.” Its popularity will never reach outside of the press-room where it is printed. The author has evidently made a mistake. It will never be played on hand- organs, by variety show orchestras, or sung by bad lady vocalists. Ishall not attempt to write this piece of music in popularity, as its doom is sealed, I have the only record, and it is about to climb the golden basket. Any old man that has to be brought in on tick is no good,— Claude De Havin in Yonkers Gazette, comicbooks.com