Puck — January 1, 1879 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

PUCK. DIARY OF A NEW YEARS CALLIST. 8 a:m. Gotup. Braced for the day. Dressed. Braced. 9. Breakfasted. Braced. 10. Braced Started off, after commending my spirit to the care of my guardian angel, whoever he may be. 10:30 A.M. rst call. Joneses. Wished Mrs. Jones'a Happy New Year. Told her weather was cold. She asked me if I thought so. I said Yes. Took a little sherry. Met old Jones, com- ing out. Wished I hadn’t taken sherry. Spoiled the ensuing cocktail. ; 10:45. 2d call. Van Hooroarsnests. Fine old Dutch family. Eight daughters. Told six of them the weather was cold. Told other two it was warm, by way of variety. Curacoa. Fine old Dutch family. Spread magnif. All the solids, Mem, for next New Year’s—Call on Van Hooroarsnests later in the day. Subsidiary mem.—Advise all my friends to do so, too. 11:5. 3d call, Jowls, Fine new Western family. Old Jowl member of firm of Cheekby, Jowl & Co., Pork, Cincinnati, Rich, Good for a year or so before bust-up. Two Jowl girls. Also Miss Cheekby receiving with them. Fine girls; but rather too boundless. Said I was throwing off on them, coming so early. Asked me to come into refreshment room and wind myself up. Went. Raw champagne. Checkby gitl took some. Called me Skeezicks. It takes at least two centuries of solid breeding and metropolitan ancestry to_give a girl a head for wine. Girls fresh from Cincinnati should con- fine themselves to cider. More in the pro- vincial tone. 11:30. 4th call, Sandimans. Mrs.and Miss, us family, Rooms very dark. Flower of Sandiman family twenty-nine years old. One caller on hand, Reverend Nehemiah Hotchkiss, Been there since nine o'clock. With an umbrella. No wine. No nothing. Guess flower of Sandiman family has about given up the fight. After leaving, felt as if 1 had been in a cemetery. Went off and braced by myself. 11:45. §th call. Youngish. “Handsome. go. Goes fora fellow. Not me. But might. Lots of wine here. Good champagne. Old Burgundy. Real sherry. Late de Lilas good judge of wine. Nevermind, Better not think of late de Lilas Aere. Bad taste. Drink his wine all the same. Bottle of beer behind side- board for intimate friends. I had some beer. 12:13 Between calls, Went to see a girl who lives at three hundred and twenty-some- thing East 14th street. Went fo three hundred and twenty-something West 14th street. Some- where about middle of North River. Might have known better. Mem.—Go to Bouillon house next, 12:30. 6th call. McCrackenlauchies. Scotch family. Very Bouillon. Three Miss McCrack- enlauchies, Don’t know which is scrawniest. Willing to remain in ignorance, Was asked (by dryest Miss McCrackenlauchie) if I had read Dr. Newman's latest work on the Conflict of Science and Religion. Said I hadn't. She said it was “improving " Said it conclusively es- tablished the identity of Huxley and one of the False Prophets mentioned in the Apocry- pha. Mem.—must read Apocrypha some day. 12:37. 7th call. Pollexfens. Nice-ish, But new. Not long in city. Came from somewhere —forget where. Think Boston. Mother and two daughters. All three radiant. Told me of distinguished visitors who had just called. Millionaires, Various industrial interests re- presented, Was informed that if 1 had called half an hour earlier I might have met descend- ant of my grandfather's furrier. Couldn’t look upon lost opportunity with sufficiently poig- nant regret to satisfy Pollexfeus. Descend- Mrs, de Lijas, Widow. Good style. Lots of ant of my grandfather's furrier worth several millions, Has sunk the shop. Attempted some pale sherry. Pollexfen’s idea of pale sherry species of complimentary Croton. 12:45. 8th call. _Fotheringay- Simpsons. Four girls.» Very low-necked, Two auxiliary low-necks “ assisting.” Assisted me to claret punch, Mem.—Ask Doctor what is an anti- dote for cochineal, Addressed my conversa- tion to Miss Mamie Fotheringay - Simpson. Pretty much the usual sort of girl that ends in te. Asked me if I was going to Yurrup next summer. She couldn't exist without going to dear Yurrup. Sympathized with her. Fother- ingay-Simpson pére took me into dining-room to give me some Port. ‘Told me the price he paid for it. Said shat was Port. If so, shall hereafter confine myself to molasses. 1PM. gthcall, Pilkington girls. Two of them. One an old maid. Other almost quali- fied. Plucky, however. Keeps it up. Sister acts as trainer, Pretends to treat Angelina as an infantine creature, sweetly innocent of the wicked ways and wiles of masculinity, So she is; and will probably remain so. Stayed ten minutes. Then went. Sherry good; but got tired of being treated, by Miss Jemima, as a Don Juan bent on captivating the pet lamb of the Pilkingtons. Don’t mind being considered a Don Juan; but want to exercise my own taste in pet iambs, 1:10 P.M. to 5:15 P.M. Confused wilder- ness of cards, sherries, servants with salvers, champagne, gas-lit rooms, punches, girls, cura- Goa, low-necks, solid refreshments, lemonade, small-talk and Bouillon. Lots of Bouillon. Oceans of Bouillon, No end of Bouillon, Too much Bouillon, And all horrid thin, §:15 P.M. 19th call. Miss Maude Randolph, Maude with ane, Society actress. Receiving between matinée and evening performance. Changes costume five times at each show. Another toilette for reception. ‘Talk about decadence of the stage! Miss Randolph lives in French flat, Pretty rooms. Good deal of red and pink, though. Big crowd. One soli- tary actor at refreshment table, eating very hard. Rest mostly politicians and newspaper men. Widespread tendency to evening dress. Good many young men. ‘Too young. Vealy. Bring her bouquets. She hands them—young men, not bouquets—over to her mother, who utilizes them at refreshment table. Mother very conspicuous. Don’t think same one I used to see. Better article, probably, hired for the occasion, Go for some punch. Mother smiles on me and ladles it out liberally. Good. Strong. Very strong. Refreshments heavy counter-attraction to Miss Maud Randolph. Big blond journalist pushing actor very hard. Man in evening dress and oily hair seems to know me. Very friendly. Think I have seen him before. He tells me the advertising busi- ness is bad, Lescape. Blond journalist and vealiest young man, hitherto bibulously affec- tionate, grow combative. Miss Randolph un- easy. I calm them. Rewarded by saile of galvanized graciousness, from hostess. Good exit cue. I take it. 5:45 P.M. 2oth call. Fitzgeralds. Fitzg. is a politician. Once a gentleman. Very nice wife. House down in some awful street with a name to it. Has to live there. Fitzgerald's ward. Would offend constituents by living in num- bered street. Bloody aristocrat—all that sort of thing. Constituents all on hand to-day, Decid- edly Celtic. Warm complexions. Rooms hot. Heat brings out peculiarly Celtic flavor. Have met a good many of Fitzgerald’s constituents before. Didn’t mind it so much then, Bar be- tween us. Fitzgerald off visiting constituents’ wives. Poor Fitz. Remember days when we chummed together. Just after he left college, Nice fellow, then. Enthusiastic. Reformist ten- dencies. Said gentlemen ought to elevate poli- tics. Wanted me to help him elevate. Glad I didn’t. Mrs. Fitzgerald very glad to see me. Looks pale. Tired. Hard work helping Fitz elevate. Sweet girl once. Lovely complexion, Soft myself. Supposing—well, no matter now. Fitz is a good fellow. But it was a lovely com: plexion. Must be fond of Fitz. Introduced me to lots of politicians. Good deal of swallow-tail coat and light trousers. Politician in roomy gloves—bright lilac—says he isa gentleman and is glad to meet any other gentleman, Offers me acigar. Take it—not to injure Fitz, Mrs. Fitz looks pleased. Take cigars from every politician in room. Shake hands with Mrs, Fitz and go. Give cigars to small boys in street—with com- pliments of Assemblyman Fitzjurrld, Feel blue, Go home. Take warm bath, Dress for evening. 8 p.m. Aunt Maria’s. Introduced to coun- try cousin whom Aunt Maria is bringing out. Nice girl, but gawky. Will do, Couldn't be in better hands than Aunt Maria’s. Tell her so, Seems shy, Aunt Maria not shy, Garru- us. Visitors have smashed her wine-glasses. Tells me how they used to make calls in her day. Early Dutch period. Gives me to under- stand that Peter Stuyvesant used to call on her every New Year’s day. Think Aunt Maria must have had her New Year's. Say good- night. Country cousin wants to know if she shall see me again. Bless her heart, Yes! Gen- erally good stuff in these gawky girls. But the noisy ones are horrors—girls who go in for me- tropolitan ease and vivacity—and get them, in a falsetto key. This girl not that kind. No. 8to11 P.M. Buckle down to business, and get in a good deal of steady calling. Rather think I’ve done all that society requires of me. Duty performed is a rainbow in the soul, De- serve a reward. Will go and see Edith. Last Call. Please her. Dear girl! 11:10, Last call, Edith's, Of course—that infernal Bings there. Lights half down. At- mosphere languorous and dreamy. Edith look- ing lovely. Just what I wanted—Bings ex- cluded. Stupid fellow: doesn’t know enough to go. Edith ought to give hima hint. Wonder why she doesn’t. She might be a little more —well, demonstrative—to me, considering I pay her the compliment of my trump call. Why doesn’t she get rid of Bings? I'll give him ten minutes to go. Give them, He doesn't go. Suppose he’s giving me ten mi- nutes to go. I suggest, with subdued irony: “Think I’ll have to tear myself away.” Edith says: “ Must you really ?” Says it faintly. All right, If Bings is her sort, I'm off. 11:30 P.M. On Edith's door-step. Don't feel like turning in just yet. Remember— Aunt Maria had a headache, Aunt Maria is subject to fits. Headache premonitory symp- tom of fits. Perhaps had better just look in on my way home and see if old lady got to bed all right. Might be well to tell little girl from the country to be careful of Aunt Maria. Old lady needs watching over. Explain it to little girl, Yes, think I'll call on Aunt Maria—just for a minute, ‘Tey picture the devil with a cloven hoof, but never yet was an artist found who could put on canvas the cioven breath of the Demon of Intemperance. Wuar is Fame? Ask of the favorite “song and-dance” man, who, clad in cream-col- ored trousers, velvet coat, white vest, and cardinal tie, with tilted hat, crossed legs, arms akimbo, and a monstrous cigar in his mouth, leans against a post in front of the “leading theatre” at which he is engaged for the current week, and receives, with condescending non- chalance, the awe-inspired homage of a col- lected crowd of admiring boot-blacks and office-boys. comicbooks.com