Infomotions, Inc.Punchinello, Volume 1, No. 15, July 9, 1870 / Various

Author: Various
Title: Punchinello, Volume 1, No. 15, July 9, 1870
Publisher: Project Gutenberg
Tag(s): punchinello; fernande; clotilde; sic semper; cupboard
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Title: Punchinello, Vol. 1,  No. 15, July 9, 1870

Author: Various

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[Illustration: Vol. I. No. 15.]






       *       *       *       *       *



Continued in this Number.

[Sidenote: See 15th Page for Extra Premiums.]

       *       *       *       *       *


The July Number of


An Illustrated Monthly of

Literature, Science, and Education.

Containing Seventeen Valuable and Entertaining Articles.


The July number of Lippincott's Magazine commences a New Volume (VI.)
The Publishers will send gratis the May and June Numbers, containing the
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FLORA, having no relations in the world that she knew of, had, ever
since her seventh new bonnet, known no other home than Macassar Female
College, in the Alms-House, and regarded Miss CAROWTHERS as her
mother-in-lore. Her memory of her own mother was of a lady-like person
who had swiftly waisted away in the effort to be always taken for her
own daughter, and was, one day, brought down-stairs, by her husband, in
two pieces, from tight lacing. The sad separation (taking place just
before a party of pleasure), had driven FLORA'S father into a frenzy of
grief for his better halves; which was augmented to brain fever by Mr.
SCHENCK, who, having given a Boreal policy to deceased, felt it his duty
to talk gloomily about wives who sometimes died apart after receiving
unmerited cuts from their husbands, and to suggest a compromise of ten
per cent, upon the amount of the policy, as a much more cheerful
settlement than a coroner's inquest. FLORA'S betrothal had grown out of
the soothing of Mr. POTTS'S last year of mental disorder by Mr. DROOD,
an old partner in the grocery business, who, too, was a widower from his
wife's use of arsenic and lead for her complexion. The two bereaved
friends, after comparing tears and looking mournfully at each other's
tongues, had talked themselves to death over the fluctuations in sugar;
willing their respective children to marry in future for the sake of
keeping up the controversy.

From the FLOWERPOT'S first arrival at the Alms-House, her new things,
engagement to be married, and stock of chocolate caramels, had won the
deepest affections of her teachers and schoolmates; and, on the morning
after the sectional dispute between EDWIN and MONTGOMERY, when one of
the young ladies had heard of it as a profound secret, no pains were
spared by the whole tender-hearted school to make her believe that
neither of the young men was entirely given up yet by the consulting
physicians. It was whispered, indeed, that a knife or two might have
passed, and two or three guns been exchanged; but she was not to be at
all worried, for persons had been known to get well with the tops of
their heads off.

At an early hour, however, Miss PENDRAGON had paid a visit to her
brother, in Gospeler's Gulch; and, coming back with the intelligence,
that, while he had been stabbed to the heart, it was chiefly by cruel
insinuations and an umbrella, was enabled to assure Miss CAROWTHERS, in
confidence, that nothing eligible for publication in the New York Sun
had really occurred. Thus, when the legal conqueror of Breachy Mr.
BLODGETT entered that principal recitation-room of the Macassar,
formally known as the Cackleorium, she had no difficulty in explaining
away the panic.

She said that "Unfounded Rumor, Ladies, is, we all know, a descriptive
phrase applied by the Associated Press to all important foreign news
procured a week or two in advance of its own similar European advices,
by the Press Association[A]. We perceive then, Ladies, (Miss JENKINS
will be good enough to stop scratching her nose while I am talking,)
that Unfounded Rumor sometimes means--hem!--

  'The Associated Press
  In bitter distress.'

In Bumsteadville, however, it has a signification more like what we
should give it in relation to a statement that Senator SUMNER had
delivered a Latin quotation without a speech selected for it. In this
sense, Ladies, (Miss PARKINSON can scarcely be aware of how much cotton
stocking can be seen when she lolls so,) the Unfounded Rumor concerning
two gentlemen of different political views in this county was not
correct. (Miss BABCOCK will learn four chapters in Chronicles by heart
to-night, for making her handkerchief into a baby,) as proper inquiries
have assured us that no more blood was shed than if the parties to the
strife had been a Canadian and a Fenian. We will, therefore, drop the
subject, and enter at once upon the flowery path of the first lesson in

This explanation destroyed all the interest of a majority of the young
ladies, who had anticipated a horridly delightful duel, at least; but
FLORA was slightly hysterical about it, even late in the afternoon, when
it was announced that her guardian had come to see her.

Mr. DIBBLE, of Gowanus, had been selected for his trust on account of
his pre-eminent goodness, which, as seems to be invariably the case, was
associated with an absence of personal beauty trenching upon the
scarecrow. Possibly an excess of strong and disproportionate carving in
nose, mouth and chin, accompanied by weak eyes and unexpectedness of
forehead, may tend to make the Evil One but languid in his desire for
the capture of its human exemplar. This may help account for the
otherwise rather curious coincidence of frightful physiognomy and
preternatural goodness in this world of sinful beauties[B]. Under such a
theory, Mr. DIBBLE'S easy means of frightening the Arch-Tempter into
immediate flight, and keeping himself free from all possible incitement
to be anything but good, were a face, head and neck shaped not unlike an
old-fashioned water-pitcher, and a form suggestive of an obese lobster
balancing on an upright horse-shoe. His nose was too high up; his mouth
and chin bulged too tremendously; his neck inside a whole mainsail of
shirt-collar was too much fluted, and his eyes were as much too small
and oyster-like as his ears were too large and horny.

Mr. DIBBLE found his ward in Miss CAROWTHER'S own private room, from
which even the government mails were generally excluded; and, after
saluting both ladies, and politely desiring the elder to remain present,
in order to be sure that his conversation was strictly moral, the
monstrous old gentleman pulled a memorandum book from his pocket and
addressed himself to FLORA.

"I am a square man myself, dear kissling," he said, with much double
chin in his manner, "and like to do everything on the square. I am now
'interviewing' you, and shall make notes of your answers, though not
necessarily for publication. First: is your health satisfactory?"

Miss POTTS admitted that, excepting occasional attacks of insatiable
longing for True Sympathy, chiefly produced by over-eating of pickles
and slate-pencils to avert excessive plumpness, she could generally take
pie twice without experiencing a subsequent reactionary tendency to
piety and gloomy presentiments.

"Second: is your allowance of pin-money sufficient to keep you in cold
cream, Berlin wool, and other necessaries of life?"

The FLOWERPOT confessed that she had now and then wished herself able to
buy a church and a velvet dressing-gown, (lined with cherry,) for a
young clergyman with the consumption and side-whiskers; but, under
common circumstances, her allowance was enough to procure all absolutely
requisite Edging without running her into debt, and still leave
sufficient to buy materials for any reasonable altar-cloth.

"And now, my dear," said Mr. DIBBLE, evidently glad that all the more
important and serious part of the interview was over, "we come to the
subject of your marriage. Mr. EDWIN has seen you here, occasionally, I
suppose, and you may possibly like him well enough to accept him as a
husband, if not as a friend!"

"He's such a perfectly absurd creature that I can't help liking him,"
returned FLORA, gravely; "but I am not certain that my utterly
ridiculous deeper woman's love is entirely satisfied with the shape of
his nose."

"That'll be mostly hidden by his whiskers, when they grow," observed her

"I hope they'll be bushy, with a frizzle at the ends and a bald place
for his chin," said the young girl, reflectively; then suddenly asked:
"If we _shouldn't_ be married, would either of us have to pay anything?"

"I should say not," answered Mr. DIBBLE, "unless you sued him for
breach." (Here Miss CAROWTHERS was heard to murmur "BLODGETT," and
hastily took an anti-nervous pill.) "I should say that your respective
parents wished you to marry only in case you should see no other persons
whose noses you liked better. As on this coming Christmas you will be
within a few months of your marriage, I have brought your father's will
with me, with the intention of depositing it in the hands of Mr. EDWIN'S
trustee, Mr. BUMSTEAD--"

"Oh, leave it with EDDY, if you'll please to be so ridiculously kind,"
interrupted FLORA. "Mr. BUMSTEAD would certainly insist upon it that
there were _two_ wills, instead of one: and that would be so absurd."

"Well, well," assented Mr. DIBBLE, rising to go, "I'm a perfectly square
man, even when I'm looking round, and will do as you wish. As a slight
memento of my really charming visit here, might I humbly petition yonder
lady to remit any little penalty that may happen to be in force just now
against any lovely student of the College for eating preserves in bed,
or writing notes to the Italian music teacher, who is already married,
or anything of that kind?"

"FLORA," said Miss CAROWTHERS, graciously, "you may tell Miss BABCOCK,
that, in consequence of your guardian's request, she will be excused
from studying her Bible as a punishment."

After due acknowledgment of this favor, the good Mr. DIBBLE made his
farewell bow, and went forth to the turnpike. Following that high road,
he presently found himself near the side-door of the Ritualistic Church
of Saint Cow's, and, while curiously watching the minor canons who were
carrying in some fireworks to be used in the next day's service, was
confronted by Mr. BUMSTEAD just coming out.

"Let me see you home," said Mr. BUMSTEAD, hastily holding out an arm.
"I'll tell the family it's only vertigo."

"Why, nothing is the matter with me," pleaded Mr. DIBBLE. "I've only
been having a talk with my ward."

"I'll bet cloves for two that she didn't say she preferred me to NED,"
insinuated Mr. BUMSTEAD, breathing audibly through his nose.

"Then you'll not lose," was the answer; "for she did not tell me whom
she preferred to the one she wishes to marry. They never do; and
sometimes it is only discovered in Indiana. You and I surrender our
respective guardianships on Christmas, Mr. BUMSTEAD; until when
good-bye; and be early marriage their lot!"

"Be early Divorce their lot!" said BUMSTEAD, thrusting his book of
organ-music so far under his coat-flap that it stuck out at the back
like a curvature of the spine.

"I said marriage," cried Mr. DIBBLE, looking back.

"I said Divorce," retorted Mr. BUMSTEAD, thoughtfully eating a clove,
"Don't one generally involve the other?"

[Footnote A: Oh, see here now, this is really too bad! The manner in
which the great American Adapter is all the time making totally
unexpected and vicious passes at the finest old cherished institutions
of the age is simply frightful. PUNCHINELLO should prevent it?--Well,
PUNCHINELLO _did_ remonstrate at an early stage of the Adaptation; and
the result was, that all the finest feelings of his nature were outraged
by an ensuing Chapter, in which was introduced a pauper burial-ground
swarming with deceased proprietors of American _Punches!_--EDS.

[Footnote B: The whole idea is nothing less than atrocious; and, in our
judgment, the Adapter's actual purpose in putting it forth is to make
his own superlative goodness seem proved by a logical conclusion.--EDS.



No husband who has ever properly studied his mother-in-law can fail to
be aware that woman's perception of heartless villainy and evidences of
intoxication in man is often of that curiously fine order of vision
which rather exceeds the best efforts of ordinary microscopes, and
subjects the average human mind to considerable astonishment. The
perfect ease with which she can detect murderous proclivities, Mormon
instincts, and addiction to maddening liquors, in a daughter's
husband--who, to the most searching inspection of everybody else,
appears the watery, hen-pecked, and generally intimidated young man of
his age--is one of those common illustrations of the infallible
acuteness of feminine judgment which are doing more and more, every day,
to establish the positive necessity of woman's superior insight, and
natural dispassionate fairness of mind, for the future wisest exercise
of the elective franchise and most just administration of the highest
judicial office. It may be said that the mother-in-law is the highest
development of the supernaturally perceptive and positive woman, since
she usually has superior opportunities to study man in all the stages
from marriage to madness; but with her whole sex, particularly after
certain sour turns in life, inheres an alertness of observation as to
the incredible viciousness of masculine character, which nothing less
than a bit of flattery or a happily equivocal reflection upon some rival
sister can either divert or mislead for a moment.

"Now don't you really think, OLDY," said Gospeler SIMPSON to his mother,
as he sat watching her fabrication of an immense stocking for the poor,
"that Hopeless Inebriate and Midnight Assassin are a rather too severe
characterization of my pupil, Mr. MONTGOMERY PENDRAGON?"

"No, I do not, OCTAVE," replied the excellent old nut-cracker of a lady,
who was making the charity stocking as nearly in the shape of a hatchet
as possible. "When a young man of rebel sentiments spends all his nights
in drinking lemon teas, and trying to spoil other young men's clothes in
throwing such teas at them, and is only to be put down by umbrellas, and
comes to his homes with cloves in his clenched fists, and has headaches
on the following days, he's on his way either to political office or the

"But he hasn't done so at all with s's to it," exclaimed the Reverend
OCTAVIUS, exasperated by so many plurals. "He did it but once, and then
he was strongly provoked. EDWIN mentioned the sharpness of his sister's
nose to him, and reflected casually upon the late well-known Southern

"Don't tell me!" reasoned the fine old lady, holding up the stocking by
its handle to see how much longer it must be to reach the wearer's
waist. "I'm afraid you're a copperhead, OCTAVE."

"How you do cackle, OLDY!" said her son, who was very proud of her when
she kept still. "You can't see anything good in MONTGOMERY, because,
after the first seven or eight breakfasts with us, he said he was afraid
that so many fishballs would make his head swim."

"My child," returned the old lady, thrusting an arm so far into the
charity stocking that she seemed to have the wrong kind of blue worsted
limb growing from one of her shoulders, "I have judged this dissipated
young man exactly as though he were my own son-in-law, and know that he
possesses an incendiary disposition. After the fireworks at Saint Cow's
Church, on Saint VITUS'S Day, that devoted Ritualistic Christian, Mr.
BUMSTEAD, came up to me in the porch, with his eyes nearly closed, on
account of the solemnity of the occasion, and began feeling around my
neck with both his hands. When I asked him to explain, he said that he
wanted to see whether my throat was cut yet, as he had heard that we
kept a Southern murderer at home. He was still very pale at what had
taken place in his room over night, when he finally said 'Good-day,
ladies,' to me.

"MONTGOMERY is certainly attached to me, at any rate," murmured the
Gospeler, reflectively, "and has made no attempt upon my life."

"That's because his sister restrains him," asserted the mother, with a
fond look. "I overheard her telling him, when she was at dinner here one
day, that you might be taken for a Southerner, if you only wore
dress-coat all the time and were heavily mortgaged. Withdraw her
influence, and the desperate young man would tar and feather us all in
our beds some night."

Falling silent after this unanswerable proof of Mr. PENDRAGON'S guilt,
Mr. SIMPSON mused upon as much of the dear old nutcracker as was not
hidden by the vast charity stocking. In her ruffled cap, false front,
and spectacles, she was so exactly the figure one might picture Mr. JOHN
STUART MILL to be, after reading his latest literary knitting on the
Revolting Injustice of Masculine Society, that the Gospeler of Saint
Cow's could not help feeling how perfectly useless it was to expect her
to think herself capable of error.

As, whenever the Reverend OCTAVIUS gave indication of a capacity for
speechless thoughtfulness, his benignant mother at once concluded that
he needed an anti-bilious pill, she now made all haste to the cupboard
to procure that imitation-vegetable and a glass of water. It was the
neatest, best-stored Ritualistic cupboard in Bumsteadville. Above it
hung a portrait of the Pope, from which the grand old Apostolic son of
an infallible dogma looked knowingly down, as though with the contents
of that cupboard he could get-up such a _schema_ as would be palatable
to the most skeptical Bishop in all the Oecumenical Council, and of
which be might justly say: Whosoever dare think that he ever tasted a
better _schema_, or ever dreamed in his deepest consciousness that a
better could be made, let him be anathema maranatha! A most rakish
looking wooden button, noiselessly stealthly and sly, gave entrance to
this treasury of dainties; and then what a rare array of disintegrated
meals intoxicated the vision! There was the Athlete of the Dairy,
commonly called Fresh Butter, in his gay yellow jacket, looking wore to
the knife. There was turgid old Brown Sugar, who had evidently heard the
advice, go to the ant, thou sluggard! and, and mistaking the last word
for Sugared, was going as deliberately as possible. There was the
vivacious Cheese, in the hour of its mite, clad in deep, creamy, golden
hue, with delicate traceries of mould, like fairy cobwebs. The Smoked
Beef, and Doughnuts, as being more sober and unemotional features of the
pageant, appeared on either side the remains of a Cold Chicken, as
rendering pathetic tribute to hoary age; while sturdy, reliable Hash and
Fishballs reposed right and left in their mottled and rich brown coats,
with a kind of complacent consciousness of having been created according
to Mrs. GLASS'S standard dictum, First catch your Hair.

Gospeler SIMPSON, by natural law, alternated from this wonderful
cupboard, very regularly, to another, or sister cupboard, also presided
over by the good old maternal nut-cracker, wherein the energetic pill
lived in its little pasteboard house next door to the crystal palace of
smooth, insinuating castor oil; and passionate fiery essence of
peppermint grew hot with indignation at the proximity of plebeian
rhubarb and squills. In the present case he quietly took his
anti-bilious globule: which, besides being a step in the direction of
removing a pimple from his chin, was also intended as a kind of medical
preparation for his coming services in the Ritualistic Church, where, at
a certain part of the ceremonies, he was to stand on his head before the
Banner of St. Alban and balance Roman candles on his uplifted feet. When
the day had nearly passed, and the Vesper hour for those services
arrived, he performed them with all the less rush of blood to the head
for being thus prepared; yet there was still a slight sensation of
congestion, and, to get rid of this, when he stepped forth from Saint
Cow's in the twilight, it was to take an evening stroll along the shore
of Bumsteadville pond.

(_To be Continued_.)

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration 'D']

Down again came the furious FRANK. But not the fiery Hun. Mr. STOCKTON
was Frank. He said he represented New Jersey. (Enthusiastic Groans.) The
constituents of New Jersey were a peculiar people. Such was their
depravity that they said they would rather have fifty per cent taken off
their taxes than to receive the speeches of their representatives in
Congress free of charge. Under these circumstances they looked upon the
franking privilege, he regretted to say, as a swindle, and remonstrated
with him, with tears in their expressive and fish-like eyes, against
being hidden by a shower of public documents. The Congressional Globe
made a very inferior article of lamp-lighters, and the proud pigs of New
Jersey declined to fatten upon the Patent Office reports.

Mr. TIPTON was in favor of the franking privilege. What good would it do
anybody if Congressmen drew postage-stamps in lieu of writing their
names. As for him, he found it much easier to draw postage-stamps than
to write his name, and he was sure that none of them were so lost to a
sense of their own dignity as to pay their own postages, like ordinary
human beings.

Mr. STEWART said certainly not. The only thing was that there would be
an account kept of the number of postage-stamps they drew, but nobody
knew how often a man used his frank. He himself had been censured for
franking a few tons of pig-iron from Washington to Nevada. But no amount
of postage-stamps would have carried it.

Mr. DRAKE referred to the darkest hour of the late war, when
postage-stamps were current, and when, if the proposed changes were
effected, they could have made the Post-Office department pay for their
drinks. But in the present state of the South, when the Ku-Klux Klan, in
spite of his most earnest endeavors, refused to kill anybody, he saw no
hope that those golden hours would return. Therefore he thought it best
to cleave to his frank.


Mr. LOGAN desired to expel WHITTEMORE permanently. WHITTEMORE had really
gone too far, and if they let him in people would consider that they
were no better, and institute investigations of a disagreeable nature
into the conduct of Congress generally. Of course the House had a right
to expel him. It had a right to expel everybody but himself.

Mr. ELDRIDGE said that directly Mr. LOGAN would be claiming that he--Mr.
ELDRIDGE--ought to be expelled. This would be unpleasant to him. He
would not die in spring-time.

MR. BUTLER said, in default of getting San Domingo annexed, he would
like to get the patent of a friend of his in Massachusetts extended.

Mr. FARNSWORTH objected, upon the ground that Mr. BUTLER had received
shekels from the patentee.

Mr. BUTLER said, if he had, he hadn't so much hair on his face as

The Comic Speaker performed a solo on the gavel, and said it was none of
FARNSWORTH'S business anyhow.

Mr. FARNSWORTH said Mr. BUTLER had got $2,000, and hadn't earned it.

Mr. BUTLER said Mr. FARNSWORTH was a coward and an assassin.

The Comic Speaker said he rather thought FARNSWORTH was a coward, but
assassin was unparliamentary.

Mr. FARNSWORTH said the evidence showed that BUTLER was on one side
before he got a fee, and on the other afterwards.

Mr. BUTLER said there was nothing green in his eye. As for FARNSWORTH,
nobody would ever pay him $2000 for anything.

The Comic Speaker said that all Mr. FARNSWORTH'S remarks were perfectly
shocking. As for Mr. BUTLER, his conduct was admirable.

Mr. SCHENCK saw that the interest was absorbed by FARNSWORTH and BUTLER,
and tried to divert it by getting up a little shindy with LOGAN. He said
LOGAN wanted everything done in LOGAN'S way, when notoriously everything
ought to be done in SCHENCK'S way.

Mr. LOGAN said SCHENCK had led the House by the nose for four weeks. Now
he proposed to lead it for a few days himself--by the ear.

The Comic Speaker said he liked to see this. It made things lively for
the boys. He hoped SCHENCK and LOGAN would keep on. But they didn't; and

Mr. DAWES said he had charged some time ago that the expenses of the
Government had increased. He wished to take that back. It seemed there
had been an error in the accounts. The Government had made a mistake
against itself of seventy-six millions, and another in favor of itself
of seventy-seven millions. Both added together made more than a hundred
and fifty millions, which would reduce the expenses below those of the
traitor, murderer, viper, and unpleasant person known as ANDREW JOHNSON.

       *       *       *       *       *



The Lion claimed dominion over all the beasts wherever they were found,
but some of them were rebellious. Among the malcontents were the Bulls,
part of whom inhabited a pasture so rich that it was called the Green
Isle, while others lived in a charming country with "the best government
the world ever saw," owned and occupied by the Eagles. Adjoining the
latter was a colony of quiet and inoffensive Beavers. The Bulls, angry
at the Beavers for their humble submission to the rule of the remote
Lion, resolved to make war upon them. Accordingly, those Bulls who lived
in the Land of the Eagles proceeded to invade the colony, intending to
dispossess the Beavers and form a government of their own. But the
Eagles had a reasonable degree of respect for the Lion, not so much on
account of his individual strength, which was comparatively trivial, but
because he was the ruler of all manner of beasts. So their leader, after
making the second memorable speech of his life, in which he said "The
Eagles is at peace with the Lion," despatched a little Eaglet to arrest
the progress of the Bulls. This messenger, flying to the edge of the
Beaver's colony, caught and confined in a prison the leader of the
Bulls, who, as he was being conducted to jail, cried out, "Verily it is
not the strength of the individual, but the number of his supporters,
which is the measure of his power."

       *       *       *       *       *


In the present torrid state of the weather, can the Oriental
craftsmanship lately introduced here be properly termed Coolie labor?

       *       *       *       *       *


The OATES troupe now performing at the Olympic Theatre must not be
confounded with the Horse Opera.

       *       *       *       *       *


It occurs in PUNCHINELLO, at this late day, to remark that the friends
of America in England, even in the darkest hours of the rebellion, were
ever disposed to look on the BRIGHT side.

       *       *       *       *       *


A traveller, who has lately been shipwrecked on the ocean, has a notion
that there is precious little poetry in being Rocked in the cradle of
the deep.

       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: 'S']

Since President GRANT's famous trouting excursion to Pennsylvania,
piscatorial pastimes appear to have become quite the thing among the
magnates of the Government. The following item from Washington, cut from
a morning paper, reads very like a bit of gossip from the history of the
Court of CHARLES II:

"General SPINNER and some of his female Treasury clerks went to the
Great Falls to-day to catch black bass."

Redolent of all that is rural and sweet, is the idea of SPINNER,
surrounded by a bevy of his "female Treasury clerks," reclining upon a
shady rock just over the Great Falls. We behold SPINNER, with our mind's
eye, "fixing" a bait for one of the lovely young fisherwomen, while half
a dozen of the others are engaged in fanning him and "Shoo-ing" the
flies away from his expressive nose. The picture is a very pretty one,
recalling to mind some brilliant pastoral by WATTEAU. There are numerous
accessories arranged in the foreground, such as hampers of cold chicken
pie, hams of the richest pink and yellow hues, and baskets of champagne,
and it would be interesting to know who pays for all. "Spinning a
minnow," as the anglers term it, for black bass, is a very appropriate
pastime for SPINNER, but, for a fresh-water fisherman, there is
something very Salt Lakey in that arrangement regarding the "female
Treasury clerks."

       *       *       *       *       *


DEAR PUNCHINELLO: One of my friends, who, much to the disgust of his
fellow boarders, is constantly playing an adagio movement in B flat upon
a flute, (that may not be the correct musical term, but no one will ever
know it unless you tell,) informs me that you are astute; another
friend, who makes cigar stumps into chewing tobacco, says, you're "up to
snuff." Assuming the truth of those statements, I apply to you for
information. You have the ability, have you also the inclination, to aid
a poor, weary mariner on the voyage of life, (in the steerage,) who has
been buffeted by reason, tempest-tossed by imagination, becalmed by
fancy, wrecked by stupidity, (other people's,) and is now whirling
helplessly in the Maelstrom of conundrums? (If that doesn't touch your
heart, then has language failed to accomplish the end for which it was
designed--to deceive others.)

I'm the great American searcher after truth, and, though I've been at
the bottom of every well, except the Artesian ones, I am still a
searcher. Can you refuse to throw a straw to a drowning man, or a crumb
to a starving fellow-creature? Knowing that you have a mammoth heart,
and abundance of straw, and lots of bread, I feel that you cannot. List!
oh, list! and I will my caudal appendage unfold.

Is enough as good as a feast, if the former is enough of walloping and
the latter is composed of pheasant and champagne? (i.e.: Is real pain as
good as champagne?) TOM ALLEN evidently got enough in his late fight,
but I'm inclined to think that he would rather strain his jaws at a
feast than at a fisticuff. The Young Democracy once got enough staying
out in the cold, but, when some of them were admitted to the feast, they
did not appear to be at all satisfied, but grabbed at the choicest

Is one bird in the hand worth two in the bush, if the one in the hand is
the Police Board, and those in the bush are the Supervisorship and the
Health Board? And suppose you've succeeded in getting your fingers on
those in the bush, wouldn't you try to make a haul? Why, I can imagine a
man who might have the Governor's place in hand, and yet consider one
bird in the bush better, if that bird could sing an old tune called
White House.

How can it be possible that this world is all a fleeting show? I've
visited a great many shows, and have found that all of them are
conducted on the same principle. You pay your money at the door, sit
undisturbed through the performance, unless some junk-man should take to
junketing, and get out easily, the proprietor in fact seeming rather
glad to get rid of you. But when you enter the world, you pay nothing,
on your way through it you pay constantly, and getting out of it--at the
present prices of coffins and bombazines--is one of the most expensive
things on record.

Why mustn't you look a gift horse in the mouth, if you are prudent
enough to do it on the sly? Besides, don't everybody look in the horse's
mouth, as soon as the giver has departed? Suppose you're patriotic, and
offer your son to Uncle SAM as a gift, to use in his civil service,
isn't Mr. JENCKES's bill designed as a means of looking into your son's
mouth? Maybe it's to find out if he's a public cribber. What I want to
know is, does this prohibition apply to donkeys?

What possible connection can there be between doing handsome and being
handsome? Now there's BROWN, who persuaded me, on or about black Friday,
to buy his gold at the highest figures, and thus did a very handsome
thing (for himself), but he is still the ugliest looking man in our

If it be true, as stated in "The Gates Ajar," that there will be pianos
in heaven, haven't the men who learned harp-making, on the theory that
it was a permanent business, been grossly deceived, and haven't they an
action for damages against somebody, if they can find out who it is?

If all the world's a stage, what are cars? I admit that all Broadway is
a stage, but is it at all probable that GOV. HOFFMAN vetoed the Arcade
railroad bill on that account? Besides, if all the world's a stage, why
should the men who carry passengers care about the duty on steel rails?

Is it true that a man must not laugh at his own jokes? Don't you suppose
that the man who invented the _canard_ about the Jews in Roumania is
laughing at the squabble which he has raised between the Associated
Press and the American Press Association, by means of his little joke?
And don't you suppose, when the returns of the last election came in,
that Mr. TWEED laughed very vigorously at his little joke, called the
new election law? If Congress should keep on joking for the rest of the
session, and, as a result, the Republican party should be turned out of
power, don't you suppose that the members will laugh--on the other side
of their mouths?

There is a certain saying, which everybody retails, about the kind of
people who tell the truth. Now I always tell the truth. I'm exactly like
GEORGE WASHINGTON. If I had cut down the cherry tree, and my stern
parent had appeared upon the scene with a rawhide and asked me who did
it, I should have instantly replied, the hatchet. But I am not a child.
Can it be that I am the other thing?

Now, Mr. PUNCHINELLO, can you do those sums? I have tried them in every
possible way. I have let X equal the unknown quantity, but I don't know
Y. If you can solve the problems, will you send me the answers by the
first post?



[Our correspondent seems to labor under the impression that we are a
primary arithmetic, or a dictionary, or a conundrum book. We regret his
mistake, and can simply say that we are nothing of the sort. Any
reasonable conundrums, such as, How old is the world? How many
individuals is Mrs. BRIGHAM YOUNG? What becomes of the Fenian money?
When will Cuba be free? we would willingly answer, but our correspondent
cannot expect us to solve problems which are as old as BARNUM said JOYCE
HETH was. He should be able to see such things as others see them. They
are the unwritten law, and PUNCHINELLO does not propose to alter them.]

       *       *       *       *       *


  'Tis well enough that GOODENOUGH
  Dr. LANAHAN should teach,
  That, sure enough, there's law enough
  Such slanderers to reach.

  But, like enough, this GOODENOUGH
  Dr. LANAHAN may impeach,
  And prove enough that's bad enough
  To justify his speech.

       *       *       *       *       *


TOODLES made a solemn vow the other day, in presence of MUGGINS, that he
"would never shave until he had paid off his debts," but MUGGINS, in
relating the fact, said simply that "TOODLES had concluded to wear a
full beard the rest of his life."

       *       *       *       *       *


Old Mother Hubbard

GENTLE READER: You have a soul for poetry. Even when an infant, and in
your cradle, you had a soul for poetry. You were not aware of it at this
early stage, but your mother--if you had one--was. With what fond
alacrity did she hasten to your cradle-side, when some wicked little pin
was trying to insinuate itself into your affections much against your
inclination, and soothe you with the pleasing strains of Mother Goose.
And how your eyes brightened and your little feet and hands commenced
playing tag, when you heard the wonders of Mother Goose extolled in
pretty verse. Ah! those were the days of romance. I will leave them now,
to search for the hidden beauties of one of your childhood's melodies,
the eventful career of Mother HUBBARD and her dog.

I will begin with the opening Canto of the poem, and limit myself, for
the present, with detailing the beauties of its many incidents.


  Old Mother Hubbard
  Went to the Cupboard
  To get her poor dog a bone;
  When she got there
  The Cupboard wan bare.
  And so the poor dog had none!

Now, Kind Reader, follow closely whilst I display the hidden beauties of
Canto First. You will notice that the author, who now sleeps with the
unnumbered dead--a presumption on my part--has no dedication, no
introduction, no preface. He scorned a dedication, that misnomer for
gratuitous advertising. He wanted no patron, no Lord or Count somebody
or other, who might, perhaps, insure the sale of one more copy. No. He
determined to paddle his own canoe. And he did, you bet.--He wrote no
preface. What was it to the public how many ancient authors he had
ransacked to obtain ideas for his poem? What was it to the public how
many noble minds he had associated with him to help him in his laborious
work? What would the public care about his intentions to have his book
in such a form, to appear at such a date, or to be sold for such a
price? What would be the use of apologizing to the public for his many
weak points, when he thought that he knew more than they? On the
contrary, he very naturally determined that if his Poem, wasn't
readable, it would not be read, and a Preface of ignorance would make
the matter no better.--He kept clear of the folly of an Introduction-a
something which a writer gets up just to keep his hand in, perhaps, or
to tell the reader that _he_ knows all about it!--The empty dishes on
the banquet-board: no one cares for them.

Our felicitous Author, throwing aside all these traditional
idiosyncrasies, launches boldly into the billowy sea of his
idea-scattered brain[A], and in his very first line gives a full,
concise description of the heroine, Mrs. HUBBARD; and having finished
her description, enumerates, as was meet, the peculiarities, and, I
might say, dogmatic tendencies, of the hero of the tail, Herr Dog! [He
(not H.D., but the Author) says "Old Mother HUBBARD."] Here is
simplicity for you! Here is brevity! "Old Mother HUBBARD!" How sweetly
it sounds; how nicely the words fit each other! What an immense range of
thought he must have who first said "Old Mother HUBBARD." Less gifted
authors of the present would rejoice exceedingly, could they do
likewise. Ah!--and a spark of enthusiasm lightens up your countenance,
[Highfalutin,]--they have no HUBBARD. And if they had they would
commence with a minute detail of how old she was, how venerable she was,
what kind of a mother she was, whose mother she was, and all about her
aunt's family.

Alas! for the fallen state of our Literature, which tells you
everything, and leaves you nothing to guess at, lest you might not guess
correctly. Well, as I previously observed, the author says "Old Mother
HUBBARD." He must have been correct. You know how it is yourself.

This felicitous writer then proceeds, and in the next line gives vent to
his pent-up feelings thusly: "Went to the Cupboard."  "Went!" What a
happy expression! How appropriate! Besides, it supplies a deficiency
which would have occurred had it been left out. "Went!" There's Saxon
for you. Our happy author, overburdened by his transcendent imagination,
has not the evil propensity of thrusting upon his reader the mode of how
she went; but, noble and manly as he was, he leaves it to you and to me
how she went!

Here is a vast range for your imagination. Give your fancy wings. One
may think she waddled; another that she rambled. One may say she
preambulated; another that she pedalated.[B] One may remark that she
crutchalated; [C] but all must concede that she "went".  Now whither did
she "went"? Ah! methinks your brain is puzzled. Why, she "went to the
Cupboard," says our author, who, perhaps, just then took a ten-cent nip.
She did not go around it, or about it, or upon it, or under it. She did
not let it come to her, but she went herself to the above-mentioned and
fore-named Cupboard.

Now, when a woman undertakes to do a thing, she has always a reason for
her undertaking; argoul, as my friend, the grave-digger, said, the
heroine of this Epic must have had an object in view. Otherwise, what
would take her to the Cupboard? She was evidently a strong-minded woman,
and would not fritter away her valuable time for nothing. To the
Cupboard she went "to get her poor dog a bone," says the author,
following out the logical sequence of the plot. The hero of the tail was
not in the Cupboard. Of course not. The "bone" was there. Ah! but _was_
the bone there? The sequel will show.

Just imagine the mild complacency, the unutterable sympathy, the
affectionate lovingness of the heroine for her hero! And with what
gentle expression she speaks of him--"her poor dog." Verily, must there
have been an abyss of kindly feeling in that Old Dame's large heart for
her poor dog!

But alas! for human care and anxiety. Away ye smiles and hopes.

  "L'homme propose, mais Dieu dispose."[D]

In other words, when she got there, to the Cupboard, and peered into its
dark recesses, and searched the hidden corners of its many shelves, "the
Cupboard was bare."

Alack-a-day for Mr. D.! When he saw his kind mistress toddling along to
the receptacle of many a remnant of many a luxurious feast, he was,
perchance, filled with affection. Melting tears came to his eyes, and
poured, like a cataract, down his noble cheeks. Would it do to have his
loving mistress witness the outburst of his long pent-up feelings? Alas!
No. He must hide his tears. He tore his tail from the wag which was
about to seize it, and gently wiped away his tears! Poor fellow! Your
heart warms towards him, and you stretch out your hands to embrace him,
or to kiss him for his mother, perhaps. How must the author have felt?
If there was one grain of compassion in him, he would feel as I do, as
you do, as we all do, and trust that the loving affection of that poor
dog would be amply repaid by the promised "bone."

The decrees of Fate are inexorable, however. When she went to the
Cupboard, the Cupboard was bare; had not even one bare bone, and so that
poor heroic dog "had none." [Very long O.] I pity him truly, and fain
would shed tears of grief over his melancholy affliction, if I wasn't so
awfully warm. For was never dog so disappointed as this dog. "Nev-a-r-e,
by all-l-l that's h-h-holy-y-y-e-e."[E]

Not wishing to be an unwilling witness to the sad scene which was
enacted between these two loving creatures on the disappointment of
their fondest hopes, I will draw the curtain, and leave them, solitary
and alone--alone with themselves, and with no aching eye to witness
their grief, to give vent to their heart-bursting anguish.

The author did wisely and well to close the Canto.

Let us have--a rest!

[Footnote A: Original. By GUM.]

[Footnote B: Copyright for sale for all the States.]

[Footnote C: Ditto.]

[Footnote D: This is French--H. D.]

[Footnote E: Quotation from XII T.]

       *       *       *       *       *


A writer in the _Standard_, thinking that the title Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals is clumsy on account of its length,
proposes that it be changed to Animalthropic Society. It is not likely
that Mr. BERGH, who has some reputation for scholarship, will adopt a
suggestion in which a bit of Greek is brought in "wrong end foremost,"
unless, indeed, his well-known partiality for the canine creature might
induce him to look with favor upon a compound so manifestly of the "dog
Greek" description.

       *       *       *       *       *


Might not the child's new-fangled humming-top, which is advertised to
dance sixty seconds, be said to dance a minuet?

       *       *       *       *       *


WESTON'S great Feat.

       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *


When you see "excellent trouting in a romantic mountain district"
advertised in the papers, go somewhere else.

On arriving where you have reason to believe trout exist, inquire of
some rural angler which are the best brooks, and fish exclusively in
those he runs down.

In making a cast, throw your line as far as you can. The biggest fish
are usually obtained from the long Reaches.

Never angle under a blistering sun, nor with Spanish flies.

Keep as far as possible from the brook. If the trout see you they will
connect you with the rod, in which case you will find it difficult to
connect them with the line.

Many anglers fish up stream, but the surest way to secure a mess of
trout is with the Current.

Take some agreeable stimulant with you to the water-side. You will find
it a great assistance when Reeling in.

One of the best places for obtaining the speckled prey is under a
Waterfall--but you needn't mention this fact to the ladies.

When a brook divides among the trees, angle in the main stream, not in
the Branches.

In playing a trout under the willows, be very careful, or you may get
Worsted among the Osiers.

When you land a two-pound trout (which you never will,) double the
weight, else what's the use of having a Multiplier.

If you wish to take anything heavy you must walk right into the water.
The regular Sneezers are generally caught in this way.

The experienced angler goes forth expecting nothing, and is rarely

Superstitious Piscators have great faith in the Heavenly Signs, but
often fail to find a Sign of a Fish under the fishiest sign of the

Avoid water-courses infested with saw-mills. These dammed streams seldom
contain many trout.

To jerk a fish out of the water with a wire is even more despicable than
political wire-pulling.

A rod should never consist of more than three sections, and the angler
should look well to his joints after a wetting, as they are apt to swell
and stiffen in the Sockets.

Rise early if you would have good sport. Should you feel sleepy
afterwards, the river has a Bed that you can easily get into.

Catching trout is strictly a summery pleasure, and when indulged in at
any other season should be visited by Summary punishment.

There are numerous treatises on angling, but in "JOHN BROWN'S Tract" the
youthful Piscator will find the best of Guides.

It often happens that trout do not begin to bite till late in the day,
in which case it is advisable to make the most of the _commencement de
la Fin._

As the culture of fish is now engaging the attention of philanthropists,
it is probable that the superior varieties will hereafter be found in
Schools, where, of course, the Rod will be more profitably employed than
in Whipping (under present circumstances,) "the complaining brooks that
keep the meadows green."

       *       *       *       *       *


  Miss SARAH SAGOE'S boarding-house--I recommend her steaks;
  Two plates of pudding she allows, and--oh! what buckwheat cakes!
  We're all so very fond of them, (we deprecate the grease,)
  But we'd a greater fondness for Miss SARAH SAGOE'S niece.

  In heavenly blue her eyes surpassed--the milk; "her teeth were pearl."
  That's BROWN! Poetic genius, BROWN, (devoted to that girl.)
  JOE TROTT to flowers took; SAWTELL, and PETERS to croquet;
  GREEN thrumbed guitar; while as for me, I sighed and pined away.

  Not one but lost his appetite--at no less price for board.
  Meanwhile this heartless ARABELLE, by all of us adored,
  Gives out that she's to marry a rich broker from New York;
  We heard the news at dinner--down dropped each knife and fork.

  We're glad our eyes are open now, though every one's a dupe,
  'Tis queer we didn't see before how she dipped up the soup;
  And, now I think it over, I wonder man could wish
  To win that hand unmerciful that so harpooned the fish.

  "That vulgar girl," as JOE TROTT says, "a helpmeet fine will make"--
  She never failed to help herself most handsomely to steak;
  The pudding holds out better now that she is gone away--
  And it's consolation precious that I've not her board to pay.

       *       *       *       *       *




(_Suggested by an Indignant Sister of Sorosis._)]

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration 'M']

Manager DALY found _Frou Frou_ so popular, that he has given us a second
dose of M. SARDOU'S Dramatic Mixture, three times stronger than the
first, and warranted to restore the moral tone of all repentant Pretty
Waiter Girls. The label borne by the new Mixture is "_Fernande_," but as
"CLOTILDE," and not "FERNANDE," is the principal ingredient, the name is
obviously ill-selected. Though the materials were imported from the
celebrated Parisian laboratory of M. SARDOU, the Mixture in its present
form was prepared "_in vacuo_" by two dramatic chemists of this city,
and ought properly to bear their name. As compared with _Frou Frou_, it
is much more palatable, and far more powerful, and there is no reason to
suppose that it contains anything deleterious to the moral health of the
play-goer. An analysis made by order of PUNCHINELLO shows that it
consists of the following materials, combined in the following

ACT I.--_Scene, a Gambling-House. Enter_ M. POMMEROL, _a benevolent

POMMEROL. "I am a lawyer with an enormous practice. Having nothing
whatever to do, I came here to find FERNANDE, the pretty waiter girl.
Here comes my cousin CLOTILDE. She is an angel of virtue and the
mistress of my friend ANDRE. What can she want here?"

CLOTILDE. "My carriage has just run over a young girl, who lives here.
As the horses trampled upon her for some time, I came to see if she had
sustained any inconvenience."

POMMEROL. "CLOTILDE, this girl is named FERNANDE. She is as bad as she
can well be, therefore I implore you to take her home with you and adopt
her. Will you do it?"

CLOTILDE. "Of course I will. Who could refuse such a trifling request!
But look, here come the people of the house."

_Enter various gamblers and disreputable women, who conduct themselves
with appropriate freedom from the restraints of conventionality._
FERNANDE, _who is too lachrymose to be a cheerful feature, is wisely
placed on guard at the outer door. The company proceed to play at faro,
the bank being the loser. There is a false alarm of police, and the game
is suddenly stopped. The Banker, being naturally indignant, attempts to
relieve his mind by punching_ FERNANDE's _head. Heroic interference by_
POMMEROL, _and consequent tableau. Curtain._

SATIRICAL PERSON, _to one of the ushers._ "Will you tell me what street
this house is in?"

USHER. "Twenty-fourth street, sir."

SATIRICAL PERSON. "All right. You see I came up in a University Place
car, and I was beginning to think, after having seen that last scene,
that I had made a mistake, and gone down town instead of up town."

RESPECTABLE LADY, _to female friend._ "Isn't it shockingly improper! But
then it is so interesting, and it is really one's duty to know how those
creatures conduct themselves when they are at home."

ACT II.--_Scene,_ CLOTILDE's _Garden._ CLOTILDE _soliloquizes as

CLOTILDE. "I have adopted FERNANDE and shall call her MARGUERITE. ANDRE
has deceived me, and I will test his love at once." (_Enter_ ANDRE.)

CLOTILDE. "ANDRE, I think we have made a mistake in fancying ourselves
in love. Would you like to leave me?"

ANDRE. "My dearest friend, I really think I should. You see I have just
fallen in love with an innocent little angel. By Jove! there she is.
Tell me her name."

CLOTILDE. "That is MARGUERITE, a protege of mine. You shall marry her.
Go and make love to her." (_He goes._)

CLOTILDE. "The base wretch deserts me. I will proceed to become a
tigress. I will marry him to FERNANDE, and then tell him what a base
wretch she is. We'll see how he will like that. He thinks her innocent!
Ha! ha! (_Aside._--On reflection she is innocent according to this
version of the play; but SARDOU told the truth about her, and I will act
on the supposition that she is a wretch.) That will be a fit revenge,
and I can't do better than rave about it for a while." (_Raves
accordingly until the curtain falls._)

COLD-BLOODED CRITIC. "I have never seen a finer piece of acting than
that of Miss MORANT in the last scene. But then her revenge becomes
absurd when you reflect that FERNANDE is just what ANDRE fancies her, an
innocent girl. That is a fair specimen of the way in which American
writers adapt French plays. They sacrifice probability to prudery."

FASHIONABLE LADY. "How sweetly penitent FERNANDE looks in her black
dress. I hope she will be innocent enough to wear white in the next act.
One shouldn't give way to repentance or grief for too long a time. Now
when my husband died I was in the deepest grief for six months, and then
slipped into half mourning so gradually that no one noticed the change."

ACT III. FERNANDE _and_ CLOTILDE _are discovered discussing the question
of_ FERNANDE's _wedding outfit._

FERNANDE. "But does ANDRE know how naughty I behaved when I was an
innocent girl in a gambling-house?"

CLOTILDE. "He does, my dear, but you mustn't speak of it to him,"

FERNANDE. "I will write to him then, and confess all. There isn't
anything to confess, but still I am determined to confess it."

CLOTILDE. "Write if you choose. (_Aside._ I will put the letter in a
lamp-post box, so that he will never get it. On second thought I will
keep it. Some day I might want to use it.")

FERNANDE _writes the letter and_ CLOTILDE _confiscates it._ ANDRE,
POMMEROL _and a variety of people come and go and talk of a variety of
things. Finally_ FERNANDE _and_ ANDRE _are led out to marriage, and the
dread ceremony is perpetrated. Curtain._

The fourth act opens with a pleasant family party at the house of the
newly married couple. The company play at that singular game of cards so
popular on the stage, in which everybody plays out of turn, and nobody
ever takes a trick. Finally they all go to bed except ANDRE, who goes to
sleep in his chair, as is doubtless the custom with newly-married
Frenchmen. Presently CLOTILDE enters through a secret door and wakes him

ANDRE. "My dear CLOTILDE, you really mustn't. Think what my wife would
say. So innocent an angel would suspect there was something wrong in
your visiting me at midnight."

CLOTILDE. "Base villain, you have deserted me. Now I am revenged. Your
wife was once a pretty waiter-girl and her name is FERNANDE. Call her
and ask her if I speak the truth." (_He calls her._)

ANDRE. "Is your name FERNANDE? Ah, I see by the disorder of your back
hair that CLOTILDE's story is too true. Wretched girl, why did you not
tell me all before I married you?"

FERNANDE. "Spare me. I was a pretty waiter-girl, but I wrote you a
letter and confessed my innocence."

(_She faints on a worsted ottoman, while her husband raves like an_
OTTOMAN _who has been worsted in a difficulty with an intruder into his
harem.) Enter_ POMMEROL.

POMMEROL. "She speaks the truth. Here is her written confession. I took
it out of CLOTILDE's pocket. I will read it." (_Reads it._)

FERNANDE. "You hear it? I confessed all my innocence. If you did not get
it, blame the post-office authorities, but do not throw the poker at

ANDRE. "FERNANDE! My love! My wife! Come back, and I will forgive your
innocence!" (_Tableau._) _Curtain._

RESPECTABLE MATRON. "Well, I will say that of all indecent plays this is
the worst. It isn't half as nice as that pretty _Frou-Frou_. The idea of
that miserable ANDRE forgiving such a hussy as his wife!"

From which virtuous and venomous opinion the undersigned begs to differ.
The play is simply superb, in spite of the faults of the translation. It
is shocking only to the most prurient of prudes; and in point of
morality is infinitely better than _Frou-Frou_. And then it is played as
it ought to be. Miss MORANT is magnificent, Mr. LEWIS is immensely
funny, and Messrs. CLARKE and HASKINS are equal to whatever is required
of them. If _Frou-Frou_ ran a hundred nights, _Fernande_ ought to run
five hundred. And that it may is the sincere hope of


       *       *       *       *       *


It is stated that the Oneida Indians have organized a cornet band. This
new combination of Copper and brass will doubtless have a very pleasing

       *       *       *       *       *



Last week Mr. PUNCHINELLO took a run over to Saratoga. He bought
DISRAELI'S new novel to read in the cars, and he very soon made up his
mind that if the book correctly described the tone of society in
England, it is safe to say that it is low there.

Reaching the town of merry Springs and doleful Swallows, Mr. P. went
straight to the house of the good LELANDS. When he got there he was
amazed--he couldn't believe that that grand palace was the old "Union."
But he soon reflected that it was the fashion, now-a-days, to
reconstruct old Unions of every kind, and so it wasn't so surprising to
his mind after he had got through with his reflections. But he couldn't
help hoping that the fellows down at Washington, who were also at work
on an old Union, would turn out as good a job as the LELANDS had. As
soon as he got inside, Mr. P. summoned his friend WARREN, that they
might consult together about his accommodations. There were plenty of
vacant rooms, but Mr. P. made up his mind that he would prefer to take
one of those delightful cottages in the court-yard. One of these was so
much more gorgeous than the others, that Mr. P. chose it on the spot.

"Ah!--yes--" quoth the gentle WARREN, "I should be delighted, I'm sure,
but that cottage is reserved especially for the Empress EUGENIE, who,
you know, is expected here daily."

"Indeed!" said Mr. P. "If she is coming so soon, I could not, of course,
keep it very long. So tell me, my good friend, for what trifling sum
will you let me have this cottage till the Empress comes?"

Mr. LELAND gazed earnestly at Mr. P., and asked him what he thought of
the Chinese question; and whether he believed that this would be a good
year for corn. Then Mr. P. struck a bargain for a back-room in the
seventh story of the right-hand tower.

Early the next morning Mr. P., like a conscientious man as he is, went
to drink of the waters of the place. He had a strong belief, based upon
experience, that he would not fancy any of the old springs, and so he
tried a new one--the "Geyser."

Mr. P. stayed a good while at the Geyser. There happened to be a young
lady there who insisted upon helping him to the water with her own lily
hands--the boy might dip it up, but she _must_ hand it to him--and she
had such a way with her that he drank fifty-one glasses. When he came
back to the hotel, and the good WARREN asked him what was the matter, he
merely remarked:

"I'm a quiz, LELAND. If you choose, you may call me a Guy, sir."

Mr. P. got himself analysed that day by Dr. ALLEN, and he was found to
consist principally of carbonate of Lime; Silicate of Potassa; Iodide of
Magnesia; and Chloride of Sodium; with a strong trace of Sulphate of

At night, however, he was able to attend the hop in the grand saloon.
For a time Mr. P. danced with one girl right along. A pretty girl she
was, too, and the style of her dress showed very plainly that it was
EUGENIE she was hoping to see at Saratoga, and not Madame OLLIVIER.
Well, she had not danced with Mr. P. more than a couple of hours when
she left him for a Pole--one of these wandering Counts that you always
see at such places--a regular hop-Pole, in fact. Mr. P. got very angry
at this insult, and if he had had his way he would have had the fellow
partitioned off--like his beloved country. He was so wrathy, indeed,
that when the hop was over he started on an Arctic expedition, but he
had the same luck as KANE, HALL, and the other fellows.

He never saw that Pole.

After this, Mr. P. thought he would keep away from the ladies--but it
was of no use to think. There is a _something_ about Mr.
PUNCHINELLO--but it matters not--suffice it to say that he went out
buggy riding the next day with ANNA DICKINSON on the Lake road. The
horse he drove had belonged to LEONARD JEROME--he was out of "Cash" by
"Thunder," and he had sold him to the livery-man here. He was called a
"two-forty," but when he began to go, Mr. P. was of the opinion that a
musician would have considered his style entirely too _forte_. They had
not ridden more than half way to BARHYTE'S, before Mr. P. began to feel
his arm bones coming out. But the "Princess of the Platform" was

"Why, you're a capital fellow, Mr. PUNCHINELLO," she cried. "There's
nothing slow or fogeyish about you. You ought to be on the _Revolution_,
now that TILTON is putting live people there."

"I shall be a tiltin' myself, and on a revolution too," said Mr. P., "if
this confounded horse don't slack up."

"Why, what do you mean?" said Miss D.

"I mean we shall upset," said he.

"He's got his head too much your side," screamed Miss D. "Hadn't you
better pull on the left string?"

"No, I hadn't," yelled Mr. P., as the horse commenced to run.

"But _I_ think you had," cried she. "Don't you believe that women are
naturally as capable of understanding and determining what laws will be
as equitable, and what measures as effective to those ends, as men?"

"No, I don't!" cried Mr. P., sawing away at the horse's mouth, and
beginning to make a little impression upon it.

"You should pull that left leather string!" she cried again. "Don't I
know? How dare you make sex a ground of exclusion from the possession
and exercise of equal rights!" and with this, she made a grab at the
left rein.

It is of no use entering into further particulars of this ride. Towards
evening, Mr. P. and his companion returned to Saratoga and delivered to
the livery-man his equipage--that is, what was left of it.

That evening, Mr. P. was sitting in his room, very busy over a new
conundrum for his paper. He had got the answer all right, but to save
his life, he could not get a question to suit it. While he was thus
puzzling his brains, there came a knock at the door, and to him entered

"Good evenin', P.," says JOHN, taking, at the same time, a seat, and one
of Mr. P.'s _Partagas_. "I want you to do something for me."

"And what is it?" said Mr. P., with a benevolent smile.

"Why, you see," said the Hon. JOHN, "I'm very busy just now--the
commencement of the season, you know--and I would like you to serve in
my place for a while."

"Why, Congress will soon adjourn now!" said Mr. P.

"Oh, yes!" said MORRISSEY, "but I'm on a committee which must serve in
the recess. Me and BILL KELLEY are the two chaps appointed as a
committee to weigh all the pig-iron that has been imported in the last
year, and to see if the gover'ment hasn't been swindled, in either the
deal or the play. Now you see that ain't in my line at all, and as soon
as I heard you were here, I thought you were the man to take my place."

"I'm sorry," said Mr. P., "but really, JOHN, I haven't the time. It's a
sort of committee of ways and means, isn't it?"

"Well," said JOHN, "a fellow weighs, that's true; and the whole business
is mean enough. But if you can't take hold of it, we'll say no more
about it. Come on down with me to my place and have some supper."

"Your place!" said Mr. P. "Have you a place here?"

"Yes, _sir_," said the Congressman, "a bully club-house, and it's paid
for too; and if you'll come along I'll give you a hearty welcome and
some good cigars--and not dime ones, either," added he, throwing away
the greater part Mr. P.'s _Partaga_.

The personal property of Mr. PUNCHINELLO consisted principally of U. S.
5.20 coupon bonds of 1868; Chicago and Northwestern--preferred; Hannibal
and St. Joseph--1st mortgage bonds; a heavy deposit of bullion, mostly
gold bars; and Ashes in inspection ware-house, both pots and pearls.

When, early the next morning, he left the club-house of his friend, the
Congressman, he was still the proud owner of his Ashes--both pots and

Saratoga is too expensive a place for a long sojourn, and Mr. P. left
the next day.

       *       *       *       *       *



There are several species of the Rhinoceros, some of which have one
horn, like a Unicorn, others two, like a Dilemma. All the varieties are
as strictly vegetarian as the late SYLVESTER GRAHAM, but their fondness
for a botanic diet may be ascribed to instinct, rather than reflection,
as they are not ruminating animals. The most formidable of the tribe is
the Black Rhinoceros of Equatorial Africa, which is particularly
dangerous when it turns to Bay. Though dull of eye and ear, this
ponderous beast will follow a scent with wonderful tenacity, and the
promptness with which it makes its tremendous charges has earned for it,
among European hunters, the sobriquet of the "Ready Rhino." The fact
that the Black Rhinoceros is armed with two horns, while most of the
white species have but one, may perhaps account for the greater
viciousness of the former--it being generally admitted that the most
ferocious of all known monsters are those which have been furnished with
a plurality of horns. This is the position taken by the famous New
England naturalist, NEAL DOW, in his dissertations on that destructive
Eastern pachyderm, the Striped Pig, and it seems to be fully borne out
by the history of the great Scriptural Decicorn, as given by the
inspired Zoologist, ST. JOHN.

We learn from Sir SAMUEL BAKER and other Nimrods of the Ramrod who have
hunted up the Nile, that herds of the Black Rhinoceros are pretty
thickly sprinkled throughout the whole extent of the Nilotic basin, and
especially near the great watershed which forms the primary source of
the mysterious river. The natives of that region universally regard the
creature as a Rum customer, and not having the requisite Spirit to face
it boldly, they set Gins under the Tope trees, at the places where it
comes to drink, and thus effect its destruction.

As the Rhinoceros, whatever its species, seeks the densest covert, and
its hide is almost impenetrable, it is a difficult animal to bag. Its
peltry being of about the same consistency and thickness as the
vulcanized India Rubber used in cushioning billiard tables, balls often
rebound from it without producing a score. This difficulty may, however,
be obviated--according to Sir SAMUEL BAKER--by firing half-pound shells
from the shoulder, with a rifle of proportionate size, and if the
Sporting Bulletins of that enterprising traveller are not shots with the
long bow, he carried the war into Africa to some purpose, not
unfrequently bagging his Baker's dozen of Rhinoceroses in the course of
forty-eight hours. The African and the Asiatic species bear a general
resemblance to each other, although probably, if placed side by side,
points of difference would be observed between them.

It is a disputed question among Biblical commentators whether the
Rhinoceros or the Hippopotamus is the Behemoth of Scripture, but as the
Rhinoceros feeds on furze and the Hippopotamus does not, it would seem
that the terminal syllable "moth" more properly applies to the latter.
As numerous fossil remains of the animal have been found from time to
time in the Rhenish provinces of Germany, it is supposed by some
archaeologists that prior to the Noachian Deluge its principal habitat
was the Valley of the Rhine, where it was known as the Rhine-horse. The
"horse," it is alleged, was subsequently corrupted into "hoss,"
whereupon the lexicographers, uncertain which of the two renderings was
the true one, called it in their vocabularies the "Rhine horse or hoss,"
and thence the present still more senseless corruption, "Rhinoceros."
This is, of course, mere theory, but it is supported by the well
authenticated parallel case of the Nylghau--more properly Nile
Ghaut--which derived its name from the singular fact that it was never
seen by any human being in the neighborhood of the Ghauts of the Nile.
Although the Nile has such a fishy reputation that stories from that
source are generally taken _cum grano salis_, or profanely characterised
(see Cicero) as "_Nihil Tam incredible_," the above statement in
relation to the Nylghau will not be seriously disputed by any well
informed naturalist.

The general aspect of the Rhinoceros is that of a hog in armor on a
grand scale. The males of the genus are called bulls, but they are more
like boars, with the tusk inverted and transferred by Rhino-plastic
process to the nose. When enraged, the animal exalts its horn and
trumpets like a locomotive, whereupon it is advisable to give it the
right of way, as to face the music would be dangerous.

       *       *       *       *       *


  Oh, Star-spangled Banner! once emblem of glory,
    And guardian of freedom and justice and law,
  How bright in the annals of war was thy story!
    _Sic semper e pluribus unum go bragh!_

  Time was when the nations beheld thee and trembled,
    Though now they assure us they don't care a straw
  For wrath which they say is but poorly dissembled;
    _Sic semper e pluribus unum go bragh!_

  They _know_ our best ships are dismantled or rotten,
    _We_ know that they'll soon be abolished by law,
  And FARRAGUT'S triumphs are nearly forgotten;
    _Sic semper e pluribus unum go bragh!_

  The soldiers whose best days were spent in our service--
    Whose manhood we claimed as our right by the law,
  As paupers must die, since their cost would unnerve us;
    _Sic semper e pluribus unum go bragh!_

  We look for respect in the eyes of the nations,
    And man our defences with soldiers of straw,
  To save for vile uses their pay and their rations;
    _Sic semper e pluribus unum go bragh!_

  With armies reduced, and the ghost of a navy,
    Of course we must trust to our ancient _eclat_;
  Economy now is the cry, we must save a
    Few millions for thieves to steal--_unum go bragh!_

  "_Sun_" DANA may bluster as much as he pleases--
    Our friend, Mr. FISH, is sustained by the law,
  And old Mr. BENNETT just bellows to tease us;
    _Sic semper e pluribus unum go bragh!_

  There's LOGAN, who once had the heart of a hero--
    Alas! that same heart is now only a craw,
  And its vigor has sunk away down below Zero;
    _Sic semper e pluribus unum go bragh!_

  His action has sadden'd the hearts of more freemen
    Than fought under GRANT in defence of the law;
  Well--well--never mind--we can boast of our women;
    _Sic semper e pluribus unum go bragh!_

  The people may some day awake to the notion
    That statesmen can tamper too much with the law,
  And send them to regions less genial than Goshen;
    _Sic semper e pluribus unum go bragh!_

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OUR NURSERY-MAIDS.
  _Julia._ (_Who has been cautioned not to leave the private park on any
                account_.) "WHICH WAY NOW, MARY ANN?"




       *       *       *       *       *


Some cats are black, some brown, some white, some "arf and arf."

Some cats are gentle, and require a good deal of pinching and
"worriting" to bring them to the scratch, like some persons, who require
to get their dander up before they'll show fight.

Other cats, however, are very vicious. These, from their spitting
proclivities, might be called Spitfires. I dare say this regards black
cats most, whose backs, when rubbed in the dark, are seen to emit

A cat that is good at the spitting business, and well up in the trade,
can do a smart thing or two in the defensive line--as when confronted by
a dog, for instance. If the feline can only keep up a vigorous and well
directed spitting, the canine is almost sure to retreat, with his tail
between his legs, (if it is not too short to get there.)

Cats are generally considered rat and mouse destroyers. I dare say they
are, though the two I once kept (I drowned them in the cistern) were
more notorious as crockery destroyers than anything else. I thought, on
the whole, that they exterminated more raw beef than rats and mice, so I
consigned them to a watery grave.

It was a good thing for WHITTINGTON that there are such things as mice,
and cats (if they are not too fat) to destroy them. His cat was truly
worth its weight in gold to him. Such a cat should have been embalmed
for the benefit of posterity. It must have been a noble sight to see the
feline banquetting on the dainty joints of the _mus_ in the Fejee
palace, and WHITTINGTON getting a bag of gold for each victim his
follower devoured. Honor to WHITTINGTON and his Cat!

Cats are very fond of birds--when they can get 'em, "otherwise not." To
see a cat watching a bird, you would think there was some magnetic
attraction in the love line between them. There may be, _before hand_.
But let the cat once touch its sought-for, and I assure you there is no
love lost. By some accident or other, the little birdie goes down
Grimalkin's throat.

A cat has nine lives, we are told; something like old METHUSELAH, who,
they declare, got so tired of living that he had to die to get some
relief. I know some ladies who would like to borrow a life or two from
the cat, especially those on the wrong side of the line, as regards
thirty. Owing to the nine lives, a cat may be jerked about pretty
promiscuously from third story windows, _et cetera_. They have a knack
of falling on their feet, which a good many BLONDINS would like to
have--especially when a rope breaks, and when they "a kind of" forget
that "Pride must have a fall."

Such are a few remarks on Cats of every description. As this ain't a
Prize Essay, I don't give the different species, which are as numerous
as the hairs of my head, and these are now pretty numerous, as I am not
particular about cutting them.


       *       *       *       *       *


A Correspondent of one of the daily papers, writing from Athens, on the
subject of the brigandage outrages lately perpetrated in Greece, says
that "the Kingdom is scoured by soldiers."

That's right. It has long been a very dirty little Kingdom, and a good
scouring by soldiers is the only thing to obliterate the numerous Greece
spots with which it has been tarnished.

       *       *       *       *       *


The attention of the New York daily newspapers is called to the fact
that the mosquitoes down in Maine this season are uncommonly large and
extremely numerous. Now, it is well known that fleas can be trained to
do (upon a small scale) many things usually done by human beings; and
why may not the very largest of the mosquitoes be educated to manage the
daily newspapers? How beautifully would they buzz! how venomously would
they bite! how remorselessly would POTT, (of _The Independent_,) let
loose his insect champions upon SLURK, of _The Gazette_!

P. S. Mr. PUNCHINELLO begs leave to observe that no allusion is here
intended to Mr. TILTON'S _Independent_, which is extremely well supplied
with mosquitoes already.

       *       *       *       *       *


One of the most heart-rending elopements on record is that of MORDECAI
SKAGGS, an Indianian by birth, but a Chicagoan by adoption, who left a
legitimate spouse at Owen, Spencer County, Indiana, and fled with a
beautiful "affinity" toward the "Lake City." The deserted wife, like a
pursuing Nemesis, "went for him." She tracked him from stage to stage of
his journey, and finally overtook the fugitive, but not before he had
"consummated marriage a second time."

When found, she did not pause "to make a note" of MORDECAI, but seized
him by the beard, very much as OTHELLO did the "uncircumcised Jew;" yet,
not caring to slay him outright, she exploded a pitcher of ice-water
upon his heated brow, and while still clasping his dishevelled locks
pelted the supposed guilty partner of his flight with the fragments of
the broken vessel. But the chief shock of this disaster, to the
unfortunate SKAGGS, occurred in the interval of a brief cessation of
hostilities, when the enraged wife demanded to know of the other woman
why she had thus outraged the sanctity of her domestic altars, and the
"other woman" explained that the too seductive SKAGGS had represented
himself as a single man. Thereupon the two joined forces, and set upon
MORDECAI; pulling his hair out by the roots; scarifying his manly phiz
with their delicate claws; and so marring and disfiguring this
"double-breasted" deceiver that not even the penetration of the maternal
eye could discover in that battered carcass the once familiar lineaments
of a beloved son.

The thought suggested to PUNCHINELLO by this catastrophe is whether we
may not safely leave the iniquity of Western divorce law to work out its
own salvation, when it provokes the use of such weapons, and makes it
possible for the penalty to follow so closely upon the heels of crime.

       *       *       *       *       *



JAPANESE POPLINS at 50 cts. per yard; recent price $1.

LYON'S CHECKED SILKS, SPRING COLORS, $1 per yard; reduced from $1.50

LYON'S CHECKED SILKS, SPRING COLORS, $1.25 per yard; reduced from $1.75.

HEAVY CHINE SILKS, GRISAILLE COLORS, $1.50 per yard; value $2.50.

An Elegant Assortment of

Choice Colors In Mozambique Poplins,

Extra Fine Quality.


A Variety of Novelties in

Checked, Striped and Plain-Colored Poulte De Sole,

Just received per last steamer.


4th Ave., 9th and 10th Streets.

       *       *       *       *       *

A. T. Stewart & Co.

Have just received


Extra Fine Elboeuf Cassimeres,

The very Latest Paris Novelties.


4th Ave., 9th and 10th Streets.

       *       *       *       *       *

A. T. Stewart & Co.


Prior to taking their Semi-Annual Inventory,

Extraordinary Bargains


Silks, Dress Goods, &c.,

BROCHE GRENADINES, 25 cts. per yard; reduced from 40 cts.

PRINTED ORGANDIES, extra fine, 20 cts. per yard; reduced from 40 cts.

SHIRTING CAMBRICS, yard wide, only 12-1/2 cts. per yard.

Llama Lace Shawls, Jackets, Iron
Grenadine Bareges, Real
India Camel's Hair

_Plain Centres, Wide Borders, only $35 and upward._



Richly Embroidered Breakfast Jackets, &c.


4th Ave., 9th and 10th Streets.

       *       *       *       *       *

A. T. Stewart & Co.

Have made still further reductions in

LADIES' LINEN AND COTTON SUITS, $5 each and upward.

$10 each upward.

TRIMMED OR BRAIDED, $1.50 each upward.

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End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punchinello, Vol. 1,  No. 15, July 9,
1870, by Various


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