Puck — June 25, 1879 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

PUCK. 243 ANOTHER AMERICAN ATHLETIC VICTORY IN ENGLAND! TALMAGE TRIUMPHANT! 600 Shouts, 47 Flip-Flaps, and 21 Yawps in 59 Minutes. 4] URRAH! Let the eagle scream! We wish we could write all this article in poetry, set it up in music type, and send a telephone full of Arbuckle to all our readers. We confess to the exhilaration we feel. With our horsemen, our rowers, our walkers, our yachtmen beating the best that England can produce, it seemed as if America must slumber upon her laurels, until something new in the way of athletic sports arose; when in the midst of our satisfaction at our triumph and in our desire for more tests to which to put our mettle, suddenly, like an unexpected legacy from a remote maiden aunt, comes the news of the greatest athletic triumph of which America can boast. Talmage. The one word, the magic name, tells the story, and our readers know all. And yet how we have ignored him; how little we have realized what all his course of training for the past half dozen years was fitting him for; how far from comprehending his full capabilities was even Puck, ‘Talmage’s best friend. We know what he could do with Brooklyn; if audiences fell off in the Tabernacle on one Sunday and buttons instead of nickels were put in the hat, he had only to stand on his head the next Sunday, play india-rubber- man with his legs, and the Church coffers were filed. We knew he could go out West to Kalamoozam—is that the way to spell it?—and exhibit his mouth to crowded audiences, But we never believed this was merely in training for the capture, athletically, of the British Empire, : How noble, how superior he is to his great rival Beecher! ‘The latter was content to straddle a nag with a Mexican saddle, and con- quer Canada; ‘Talmage goes to England itself, and without horse or saddle rides over the best that England can produce. ‘There never was such a circus before. Ten thousand people turned away from the doors, and ticket speculators drowning themselves in the river, hard-by, driven mad at the demand for tickets. When the word “Go” was given and he let out his first yawp all the donkeys within twenty miles chewed and swallowed their tongues—which has secured peaceful slumber ever since to the hierarchy and the lowerarchy of that beautiful portion of sweet Albion. When he tied a bow-knot around his neck with his legs, and skipped around the pulpit platform on his hands, says Tummas Noakes to William Styles, “See ye thot, mon? It’s better nor a mug o’ beer at the‘ Green Ele- phant.’” But when he monkeyed around the organ-pipes, caroming from the great diapason on to the baptismal font; then with a clever massé reaching the oriel window, and nursing himself, as it were, between the Communion service and the contribution box, with a yawp at every thirty seconds, a howl at every two and a half minutes—then, at last, the Christian audience rose at him. Parole, O’Leary, Bogardus, Hanlon, Weston, you have never seen anything like it. Squire J. C. Chubbleigh Cholmondeley of the Beefy Manor, Harrow, Yarrow, Wilts, Hants, arose and said, ‘I kem over with the Conqueror—ah, em—but this Conqueror has come over me, As a Christian Circus and a Moral Menagerie, not to speak of his explosive lung-power he has left me a flabbergasted man, I'll back him agin the Archbishop of Canter- bury for a thousand pounds.” Great enthusiasm prevails. After the Ameri- cam champion had pocketed the gate-money, he issued the following challenge: To Tug CLercy or GREAT BRITAIN. I will bet £1000 even to any member of the profes- sion that I can howl louder; yawp more barbarically; do more with my legs and arms; show more square, cubic or composite inches of mouth; make more noise and say less in an hour than any man, be he deacon, dean, D.D., Bishop or Archbishop, in’ the Kingdom. Man and money ready at the sign of the “Bore.” Time and place to be decided by the toss of a penny. Tasste ps ToMMACLE TOLWiDGE. We regret to say that there is but a small chance of this challenge being accepted; the athletic English ‘clergy being engaged of weck days so much in fox-hunting, steeple-chasing and cricket that on Sundays they have only time to preach the Gospel. This is the usual British idea of letting ‘‘ the best men win.” When they find an invincible antagonist, they skulk behind some absurd plea —in this case the Bible. Nevertheless, Talmage is our champion. When he comes home we'll meet him in Coney Island steamboats, with calliopes, and Talmage will yawp in a duet of triumph. All the resorts in the ‘Twenty-ninth precinct will be illumi- nated, and Capt. Williams will feel that satis- faction which the anticipation of good business and increased fees can impart. If you never win another triumph again in England, Talmage, you are still ours. Bring back your money-belt, your legs, your lungs, your arms, above all your mouth, and “Sing hey, the merry ‘Talinage that you are.”” INFANT PRECOCITY. Proup MotHer.—Come, Mamie darling, what is three times three? Mamie hesitates, P, M.—Is it nine, darling? Smart child is not quite prepared to answer. P. M.—Now, isn’t it nine, precious? Smart child sees safety in its mother’s eyes, and nods. Admiring female relatives pass the dear child around the osculatory circle—and nasty old “bach " leaves the room in disgust. SUPERIOR TO THE MERCURY. Dumptinc:—“ Is it hot enough for you?” Beanpote:—‘I can’t complain. It’s cool enough up here.”” D.:— Well, confound it, old man, you're above the thermometer, CANADA HAPPILY PUT.OUT OF HER MISERY. [See cartoon on first page.) ‘OR many days the wires between New York and Montreal have vibrated with * me es alike coaxing and defiant, peaceful and warlike, between the hospitable Irishmen of the Canadian city and the gallant Irishmen of the Sixty-ninth Regiment of this metropolis. It seems that some good-natured Irishman had invited the Sixty-ninth up to Montreal to take part in a picnic on Dominion day; and that the Sixty-ninth became afraid that if they accepted the invitation the British flag would be flaunted in their eyes and toasts to the Queen be floated down their throats in copious libations of Canada malt whiskey. Whereat correspondence. And more correspondence; by mail and by telegraph. Public meetings were held, the daily papers were deluged with communica- tions, and grim-visaged war seemed imminent. Every effort to harmonize matters was made. ‘The Montreal Irish did not seem to fear that the 69th would capture Canada and carry it back to New York in their knapsacks. They were willing to give bonds for the safety of the Dominion. If Beecher’s regiment could come up there and stay nearly three days, and the sanctity of their homes was still secure, surely they felt they could insure that the 69th would not remove the face of their land. But it was no go. Lorne got excited. His ma-in-law had given him her Canadian Farm to keep, and he knew what he would get if he let these awful men from New York come and take it. Understanding that the 69th were armed with shillelahs, he practiced an hour a day in his back-yard at single-stick. He ral- lied himself by fours, on the muddy banks of the St. Lawrence, with snow shoes on to keep him from sinking in the mire, and drilled him- self in the tactics: ‘Repel In-vaders!” And, one morning, when he thought he should have to lead his forces against the picnicking enemy, Louise, more like an ancient Roman matron than a fashion-plate, exclaimed, “Then hadn’t you bettah put on anothah chest protectah?” Things were almost as bad on this side of the line, Some of the members of the 69th consented to go if the British flags were all draped in mud, so that the Celtic eye could not see the bloody field of the cross of St. George. Also the trade-mark of the royal family was to be taken off all the pianos, Some friends of the regiment offered them large sums for expenses; notably the furniture dealers, who know what the results of an Irish shindy are. Many members of the corps resolved to go, and it is rumored that one man in his manhood arose and said that if all the rest of the regi- ment -backed down, he would go alone—as a battalion; provided his expenses were paid, Things looked serious, Canada trembled, and Lorne felt so pale that he was compelled to use alittle rouge. He might be forced to fight; he had given permission to the terrible 69th to enter the Dominion, and they might carry it off to fill in the marshes back of Coney Island. What should he do? Aha! Happy thought! Go back on himself. Retract the permission given. He did so; but the same wires that transmitted his retraction conveyed to him simultaneously the determination of the New York regiment to let his little Do- minion severely alone. And so the tempest in the tea-pot has sub- sided. Canada can sleep in its bed secure. But wouldn't it look more dignified if a “Domi- nion” felt so sure of its government and its power of keeping the peace, as not to be afraid of a few (possibly) sore-headed visitors hissing the flag and refusing to drink the health of the Queen? comicbook s.com