Puck — June 4, 1879 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

PUCK. PUCK. Nos, 21 & 28 WARREN STREET. FOR SALE BY ALL NEWS DEALERS. TJerus To Susscriners SPECIAL NOTICES. sar Remittances by Money Ordet, etc., are to be addressed to KEPPLER & SCHWARZMANN, We cannot undertake to return rejected communicaticas, and to this rule we can make no exception. Puck 1s on Sale in London, at the News Agency of Messrs. HENRY F. GILLIG & CO., 449, Strand, Charing Cross, and at THE INTERNATIONAL NEWS COMPANY, 11, Bouverie Street, Fleet Street; in Paris, at TERQUEM'S, 19 Boulevard Poissonniere, and oa the "Herald" Office, 49 Avenue de YOpera. CONTENTS. Puck's Compliments to Mr. | Love's Inquiry (poem)—C. C. Nast. ‘Starkweather, Illustrations to Famous | Muldoon’s Still—poem. No. I. Live and Let Live (poem) —W, S. Walsh. The Languagerus South. Literary Notes. Archbishop Purcell to Resume Business. The Corching Club Parade. The s3th in Canada. The Power of Fancy—illus, XCI. The Theatres. A Broken Fan (poem).—Arthur | Axswans ron Them Avxi0v3. Hostage. ‘Ancute Gascovwe—Joba Fraser ‘he Cathedral. Puck's Excnances. ‘Tom Moore—poem). Beware! (poem)—Erratic En- rique. Frrzxoopue me Auxnica.—No. PUCK’S COMPLIMENTS TO MR. NAST. [See cartoon on last page.) 'HE season is awfully dull and dead. There are no cashiers running away with other ple’s money, no Hilton Christians barring their palatial’ hostelries to Seligman Jews, no reverend mountebanks disgracing their religion, no cartoonable wrongs to be righted, and no pictorial abuses to be exposed. And so our Independent Artist has calmly walked off to the country, and, while the balmy breezes of the sea fan his artistic brow, left it to the editorial force to get up a cartoon for the last page. This is something quite out of the editorial line, and we can only ask the in- dulgence of our readers for presenting them with the work of alleged art on the sixteenth eC. Pane fact is, we have had to turn to our estimable friend, Mr. Thomas Nast. Puck is a paper for the hour and for the need of the hour, but Harper's Weekly is a species of cur- rent classic, like the City Directory. Mr. Nast’s cartoons have always the beauty of being made useful for any possible situation, social or poli- tical, by the introduction of a little extra letter- press. In fact, it isin the item of letter-press that they possess a vast advantage over all other cartoons. You see, Mr. Nast’s recipe for a cartoon is simple. You take a young woman—that is, a woman something under one hundred and ninety years of age—with an anatomy which shows how much superior Mr. Nast is to nature in originality and eccentricity, you stand her up in the middle of a sheet of a paper, with a Roman sword in her hand, a Grecian cornice _ On her head and an expression of mingled agony, enthusiasm and, nausea in her face, you surround her with a howling wilderness of posters, newspapers, extracts and literature in peea: and you have your picture—after you ve put a chapter from the Patent-Office re- ports under it, for a “caption.” Of course, it is certain to please all readers. If your taste is for a cartoon on the Chinese question, you may so consider it. If you want a yellow fever picture, there it is. If you want a’caricature showing up the awful prevalence of acute cerebro-spinal meningitis among the Papuans of South Utopia, why, bless you, it fits the case to a dot. So there you have our cartoon, and we hope you like it. We think, ourselves, it’ is rather a neat little thing in its distinguished originator's line. Observe the beautiful cross-hatching, done with a ruler that cost two dollars and a half. Note the anatomical novelty of the left arm, Cast your eye over the interesting lite- rature in the midst of which the young person is standing. And if there isn’t enough of the cartoon to satisfy you, insatiable reader, turn over the page. The matter there comes quite within the range of the cartoon proper, according to the canons of the school of Mr. Thomas Nast. ILLUSTRATIONS TO FAMOUS POEMS. “ She was not fair or full of grace.” —Barry Cornwall. JUNE. Now the druggist hauls out the can of va- nilla-syrup left over from last summer, and skims the layer of dead flies off the top thereof, and he poureth of the liquid in equal quantities iato the various syrup receptacles in his soda-water fountain, Then he winketh a wicked wink, and he taketh down from the shelves cans and jars, containing citric and picric acids, and saf- flower, and aniline dyes, and other chemicals calculated to deceive, and he mixeth of them in the different syrup-holders, according to their respective colors, and degrees of acidity or sweetness, And soon the generous youth will escort the girl he loves to the front of that counter, and request her to bawl out. And she will request “strawberry,” and he will take “lemon” in his'n,‘and, if her little brother is along, as oftentimes happens, he will call for “ pineapple;” but all the same shall each. of them be given the extract of the odoriferous va- nilla-bean, and the variety of flavor shall be in imagination alone. Puckerings, Herearter he is Dr, Lorne, Jerome Park is quite a little Hascot, y know. Ir you want to be the Correct English Kj. bosh, ‘say “ what's the Hodds?” Is there anything more aggravating than a mantelpiece polished on the under side? No, young man, Lisle-thread gloves are not legal tender for a lost bet with a pretty girl, “Girts of true mettle are scarce.” — Har. pers Bazar, Stupid! Thought everybody numismatics! Lonpon’s fashionable drive is known as Rotten Row, because addled horses are so nu- merous there. More Parole! ‘The English Jockey is already evincing a tendency to speak of 'orses with an American haccent, and an H, Man is a gudgeon—woman is the line: her smile, the float: her kiss, the bait: Love‘is the hook. And marriage is the frying-pan. «LARGE COLLARS. will be fashionable this sefson.” Yes, but probably scarcer than last year. Cashiers and sich-like are more: care- fully watched. June, with a rose in her hair; Sweet as her breath is sweet; Her lips a-quiver with song, With a ripple of soft warm air Stirred by her love-urged feet, Is*booming right along. AND now the young man whose ambition it is to be known as a “‘ masher” lingereth at the street-corner florist’s, and purchaseth a button- hole bouquet for a nickel, and exhibiteth it in the office, and sayeth, “A fair maiden pinned this on.” And he doth not lie, for the flower vendor's daughter is fair; but only fair—not even middling. Soon the love-lorn maiden will hid to the meadows, and pluck the dandelion that has run to fluff, and, as she blows the “ feathers” off, will murmur alternately, ‘ He loves me” and, ‘He loves me not.” And the chances are one in two that the oracle will decide as pleaseth her best; but if it prove obstinate, then will she say, “ Surely I counted not correctly,” and will give herself another show. Were we right? We killed a man the other day because he said that billiard-players would not go to Jerome Park because they could not play pool—that the horses won the baize by making good runs—that it was a pity Jem mace was not on hand—that racing was cue- rious, in that you had to make your scratch be- fore the game—and he went on like that for two hours,