Punchinello, Vol. 1, No. 25, September 17, 1870

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Vol. I No. 25






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The latest transient guest at the Roach House--a hotel kept on the
entomological plan in Bumsteadville--was a gentleman of such lurid
aspect as made every beholder burn to know whom he could possibly be.
His enormous head of curled red hair not only presented a central
parting on top and a very much one-sided parting and puffing-out behind,
but actually covered both his ears; while his ruddy semi-circle of beard
curled inward, instead of out, and greatly surprised, if it did not
positively alarm, the looker-on, by appearing to remain perfectly
motionless, no matter how actively the stranger moved his jaws. This
ball of improbable inflammatory hair and totally independent face rested
in a basin of shirt collar; which, in its turn, was supported by a rusty
black necktie and a very loose suit of gritty alpaca; so that, taking
the gentleman for all in all, such an incredible human being had rarely
been seen outside of literary circles.

"Landlord," said the stranger to the brown linen host of the Roach
House, who was intently gazing at him with the appreciative expression
of one who beholds a comic ghost,--"landlord, after you have finished
looking at my head and involuntarily opening your mouth at some
occasional peculiarity of my whiskers, I should like to have something
to eat. As you tell me that woodcock is not fit to eat this year, and
that broiled chicken is positively prohibited by the Board of Health in
consequence of the sickly season, you may bring me some pork and beans,
and some crackers. Bring plenty of crackers, landlord, for I'm uncommon
fond of crackers. By absorbing the superfluous moisture in the head,
they clear the brain and make it more subtle."

Having been served with the wholesome country fare he had ordered,
together with a glass of the heady native wine called applejack, the
gentleman had but just moved a slice of pork from its bed in the beans,
when, with much interest, he closely inspected the spot of vegetables he
had uncovered, and expressed the belief that there was something alive
in it.

"Landlord," said he, musingly, "there is something amongst these beans
that I should take for a raisin, if it did not move."

Placing upon his nose a pair of vast silver spectacles, which gave him
an aspect of having two attic windows in his countenance, the landlord
bowed his head over the plate until his nose touched the beans, and
thoughtfully scrutinized the living raisin.

"As I thought, sir, it is only a water-bug," he observed, rescuing the
insect upon his thumb-nail. "You need not have been frightened, however,
for they never bite."

Somewhat reassured, the stranger went on eating until his knife
encountered resistance in the secondary layer of beans; when he once
more inspected the dish, with marked agitation.

"Can this be a skewer, down here?" inquired he, prodding at some hard,
springy object with his fork.

The host of the Roach House bore both fork and object to a window, where
the light was less deceptive, and was presently able to announce
confidently that the object was only a hair-pin. Then, observing that
his guest looked curiously at a cracker, which, from the gravelly marks
on one side, seemed to have been dug out of the earth, like a potato, he
hastened to obviate all complaint in that line by carefully wiping every
individual cracker with his pocket handkerchief.

"And now, landlord," said the stranger, at last, pulling a couple of
long, unidentified hairs from his mouth as he hurriedly retired from the
meal, "I suppose you are wondering who I am?"

"Well, sir," was the frank answer, "I can't deny that there are points
about you to make a plain man like myself thoughtful. There's that about
your hair, sir, with the middle-parting on top and the side-parting
behind, to give a plain person the impression that your brain must be
slightly turned, and that, by rights, your face ought to be where your
neck is. Neither can I deny, sir, that the curling of your whiskers the
wrong way, and their peculiarity in remaining entirely still while your
mouth is going, are circumstances calculated to excite the liveliest
apprehensions of those who wish you well."

"The peculiarities you notice," returned the gentleman, "may either
exist solely in your own imagination, or they may be the result of my
own ill-health. My name is TRACEY CLEWS, and I desire to spend a few
weeks in the country for physical recuperation. Have you any idea where
a dead-beat,[1] like myself, could find inexpensive lodgings in

The host hastily remarked, that his own bill for those pork and beans
was fifty cents; and upon being paid, coldly added that a Mrs. SMYTHE,
wife of the sexton of Saint Cow's Ritualistic Church, took hash-eaters
for the summer. As the gentleman preferred a high-church private
boarding-house to an unsectarian first class hotel, all he had to do was
to go out on the road again, and keep inquiring until he found the

Donning his Panama hat, and carrying a stout cane, Mr. CLEWS was quickly
upon the turnpike; and, his course taking him near the pauper
burial-ground, he presently perceived an extremely disagreeable child
throwing stones at pigeons in a field, and generally hitting the

"You young Alderman! what do you mean?" he exclaimed, with marked
feeling, rubbing the place on his knee which had just been struck.

"Then just give me a five-cent stamp to aim at yer, and yer won't ketch
it onc't," replied the boyish trifler. "I couldn't hit what I was to
fire at if it was my own daddy."

"Here are ten cents, then," said the gentleman, wildly dodging the last
shot at a distant pigeon, "and now show me where Mrs. SMYTHE lives.

"All right, old brick-top," assented the merry sprite, with a vivacious
dash of personality. "D'yer see that house as yer skoot past the Church
and round the corner?"


"Well, that's SMYTHE'S, and BUMSTEAD lives there, too--him as is always
tryin' to put a head on me. I'll play my points on him yet, though.
_I'll_ play my points!" And the rather vulgar young chronic absentee
from Sunday-school retired to a proper distance, and from thence began
stoning his benefactor to the latter's perfect safety.

Reaching the boarding-house of Mrs. SMYTHE, as directed, Mr. TRACEY
CLEWS soon learned from the lady that he could have a room next to the
apartment of Mr. BUMSTEAD, to whom he was referred for further
recommendation of the establishment. Though that broken-hearted
gentleman was mourning the loss of a beloved umbrella, accompanied by a
nephew, and having a bone handle, Mrs. SMYTHE was sure he would speak a
good word for her house. Perhaps Mr. CLEWS had heard of his loss?

Mr. CLEWS could not exactly recall that particular case; but had a
confused recollection of having lost several umbrellas himself, at
various times, and had no doubt that the addition of a nephew must make
such a loss still heavier.

Mr. BUMSTEAD being in his room when the introduction took place, and
having Judge SWEENEY for company over a bowl of lemon tea, the new
boarder lifted his hat politely to both dignitaries, and involuntarily
smacked his lips at the mixture they were taking for their coughs.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said Mr. TRACEY CLEWS, in a manner almost
stealthy; "but, as I am about to take summer board with the lady of this
house, I beg leave to inquire if she and the man she married are
strictly moral except in having cold dinner on Sunday?"

Mr. BUMSTEAD, who sat very limply in his chair, said that she was a very
good woman, a very good woman, and would spare no pains to secure the
comfort of such a head of hair as he then saw before him.

"This is my dear friend, Judge SWEENEY," continued the Ritualistic
organist, languidly waving a spoon towards that gentleman, "who has a
very good wife in the grave, and knows much more about women and gravy
than I. As for me," exclaimed Mr. BUMSTEAD, suddenly climbing upon the
arm of his chair and staring at Mr. CLEW'S head rather wildly, "my only
bride was of black alpaca, with a brass ferrule, and I can never care
for the sex again." Here Mr. BUMSTEAD, whose eyes had been rolling in an
extraordinary manner, tumbled into his chair again, and then, frowning
intensely, helped himself to lemon tea.

"I am referred to your Honor for further particulars," observed Mr.
TRACEY CLEWS, bowing again to Judge SWEENEY. "Not to wound our friend
further by discussion of the fair sex, may I ask if Bumsteadville
contains many objects of interest for a stranger, like myself?"

"One, at least, sir," answered the Judge. "I think I could show you a
tombstone which you would find very good reading. An epitaph upon my
late better-half. If you are a married man you can not help enjoying

Mr. CLEWS regretted to inform his Honor, that he had never been a
married man, and, therefore, could not presume to fancy what the
literary enjoyment of a widower must be at such a treat.

"A journalist, I presume?" insinuated Judge SWEENEY, more and more
struck by the other's perfect pageant of incomprehensible hair and

"His Honor flatters me too much."

"Something in the lunatic line, then, perhaps?"

"I have told your Honor that I never was married."

Since last speaking, Mr. BUMSTEAD had been staring at the new boarder's
head and face, with a countenance expressive of mingled consternation
and wrath, and now made a startling rush at him from his chair and
fairly forced half a glass of lemon tea down his throat.

"There, sir!" said the mourning organist, panting with suppressed
excitement. "That will keep you from taking cold until you can be walked
up and down in the open air long enough to get your hair and beard
sober. They have been indulging, sir, until the top of your head has
fallen over backwards, and your whiskers act as though they belonged to
somebody else. The sight confuses me, sir, and in my present state of
mind I can't bear it."

Coughing from the lemon tea, and greatly amazed by his hasty dismissal,
Mr. CLEWS followed Judge SWEENEY from the room and house in precipitate
haste, and, when they were fairly out of doors, remarked, that the
gentleman they had just left had surprised him unprecedentedly, and that
he was very much put out by it.

"Mr. JOHN BUMSTEAD, sir," explained the Judge, "is almost beside himself
at the double loss he has sustained, and I think that the sight of your
cane, there, maddened him with the memory it revived."

"Why," exclaimed the gentleman of the hair, staring in wonder, "you
don't mean to tell me that my cane looks at all like his nephew?"

"It looks a little like the stick of his umbrella, which he lost at the
same time," was the grave answer.

After walking on in thoughtful silence for a while, as though deeply
pondering the striking character of a man whose great nature could thus
at once unite the bereaved uncle with the sincere mourner for the dumb
friend of his rainier days, Mr. TRACEY CLEWS asked whether suspicion yet
pointed to any one?

Yes, he was told, suspicion did point very decidedly at a certain
person; but, as no specific reward had yet been offered in sufficient
amount to justify the exertions of police officials having families to
support; and as no lifeless body had yet been found; and as it was not
exactly certain that the abstraction of an umbrella by unknown parties
would justify the criminal prosecution of a person for having in his
possession an Indian Club:--in view of all these complicated
circumstances, the law did not feel itself authorized to execute any
assassin at present.

"And here we are, sir, at last, near our Ritualistic Church," continued
Judge SWEENEY, "where we stand up for the Rite so much that strangers
sometimes complain of it as fatiguing. Upon that monument yonder, in the
graveyard, you may find the epitaph I have mentioned. What is more, here
comes a rather interesting local character of ours, who cut the
inscription and put up the monument."

Mr. MCLAUGHLIN came shuffling up the road as he spoke, followed in the
distance by the inevitable SMALLEY and a shower of promiscuous stones.

"Here, you boy!" roared Judge SWEENEY, beckoning the amiable child to
him with a bit of small money, "aim at _all_ of us--do you hear?--and
see that you don't hit any windows. And now, MCLAUGHLIN, how do you do?
Here is a gentleman spending the summer with us, who would like to know

Old MORTARITY stared at the hair and beard, thus introduced to him, with
undisguised amazement, and grimly remarked, that if the gentleman would
come to see him any evening, and bring a social bottle with him, he
would not allow the gentleman's head to stand in the way of a further

"I shall certainly call upon you," assented Mr. CLEWS, "if our young
friend, the stone-thrower, will accept a trifle to show me the way."

Before retiring to his bed that night, the same Mr. TRACEY CLEWS took
off his hair and beard, examined them closely, and then broke into a
strange smile. "No wonder they all looked at me so!" he soliloquized,
"for I did have my locks on the topside backmost, and my whiskers turned
the wrong way. However, for a dead-beat, with all his imperfections on
his head, I've formed a pretty large acquaintance for one day."[2]

(_To be Continued._)

[Footnote 1: "Buffer" is the term used in the English story. Its nearest
native equivalent is, probably, our Dead-Beat;" meaning, variously,
according to circumstances, a successful American politician; a wife's
male relative; a watering-place correspondent of a newspaper, a New York
detective policeman; any person who is uncommonly pleasant with people,
while never asking them to take anything with him; a pious boarder; a
French revolutionist.]

[Footnote 2: In both conception and execution, the original of the above
Chapter, in Mr. DICKENS's work, is, perhaps, the least felicitous page
of fiction ever penned by the great novelist; and, as this Adaptation is
in no wise intended as a burlesque, or caricature, of the _style_ at the
original, (but rather as a conscientious imitation of it, so far as
practicable,) the Adapter has not allowed himself that license of humor
which, in the most comically effective treatment of said Chapter, might
bear the appearance of such an intention.]

* * * * *



_Patchouli._--What is the substance which enables flies to adhere to the
_Answer._--Ceiling wax.

_Rosalie._--What is the meaning of the term "suspended animation?"
_Answer._--If you remain at any fashionable watering-place after the
close of the season you'll find out.

_Zanesvillian._--Your pronunciation of the French word _bois_ is
incorrect, else you could not have fallen into the blunder of supposing
that the Bois de Boulogne and the Bois de Vincennes are _gamins_ of

_Blunderbore._--Your suggestion is ingenious, but the refined sentiment
of cruelty revealed in it is deserving of the severest censure. It is
true that the introduction of German cookery into France by the
Prussians, as you propose, would in a short time decimate the
population, but what a fearful precedent it would be! You can best
realize it by imagining Massachusetts cookery introduced into New York,
and the consequent desolation of her purliens.

_Mrs. Gamp._--No; neither the French nor the Prussians are armed with
air guns. Your mistake arose from puzzling over those distracting war
reports, in which the word Argonnes figures so conspicuously.

_R.G.W._--What is the origin of the term "Bezonian," which occurs in the
Shaksperean drama?
_Answer._--Some trace it to Ben Zine, an inflammable friend of "ancient
Pistol's." It is far more probable, however, that the word was
originally written "Bazainian," and was merely prophetic of the
well-known epithet now bestowed by Prussian soldiers on the French
troops serving under BAZAINE.

_Earl Russel_--In reply to your question as to whether the thumb nail of
HOGARTH on which he made his traditional sketch of a drunken man, is now
in an American collection, we can only state that, of course, it once
formed a leading object of interest in BARNUM'S Museum. As that building
was destroyed by fire in 1865, however, it is to be presumed that the
HOGARTH nail perished with all the other nails, or was sold with them,
as "junk."

_Invalid._--To regain strength you should take means to increase the
amount of iron in your blood. Bark will do it, which accounts for the
fact that the blood of dogs has a large per centage of iron. Here in New
York, the ordinary way of getting iron in the blood is to have a knife
run into you by the hand of an assassin; but this is not considered
favorable to longevity.

* * * * *


It happened, once upon a time, that there was a great city, and that
city, being devoid of a sensation, yearned for a great man. Then the
wise men of the city began to look around, when lo! there entered
through the gates of the city a certain peddler from a foreign country,
which is called Yankee Land, and behold! the great man was found. He
dealt in shekels and stocks, and bloomed and flourished, and soon became
like unto a golden calf, and lo! all the wise men fell down and
worshipped him. Now it happened that at first, like all great men, he
was misunderstood, and the people ascribed his success to his partner,
so that everybody said,

The name is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's a GOULD for all that;

but the people were soon disabused of this idea, and the name of JEAMES
PHYSKE was in everybody's mouth.

Now it came to pass that there was a certain devout man called DEDREW,
who was the Grand Mogul and High Priest of a certain railroad
corporation called the Eareye, because, while it was much in everybody's
ear, no one could see anything of it or its dividends. So JEAMES PHYSKE
went straightway unto DEDREW and said unto him, "Lo! your servant is as
full of wiles as an egg is of meat. Make me then, I pray you, your chief
adviser, and put me in the high places." And DEDREW smiled upon him, as
he is wont to do, and finding that he was a stranger, he took him in,
and knowing that all were fish which came unto his net, he straightway
put him in the high places in Eareye, saying unto himself, "I will take
this lamb and fleece him." So PHYSKE sat high in Eareye. But it came to
pass very soon thereafter, that DEDREW and PHYSKE fell out, some say
about the division of the spoils which they had taken from the enemy,
which, being interpreted, is the people, while others do state that
DEDREW attempted to cut the wool from PHYSKE, but that it stuck so
tightly that PHYSKE caught him. Anyhow, it came to pass, very soon, that
DEDREW was sitting on the outside steps of Eareye, and PHYSKE was
sitting on DEDREW'S throne.

Then PHYSKE ruled Eareye, and he took the stock and he did multiply it
manifold, which is called, by some people, watering. Now it happened
that a certain man named PYKE did build him a costly mansion on the
street which is called Twenty-third, and did therein have foreign
singers and dancers, and players upon the violin, which is called the
fiddle, and upon the bass viol, which is called the big fiddle, and upon
sheets of parchment, which are called the drum, and upon divers other
instruments. And PHYSKE looked upon the mansion, and it seemed good in
his eyes, and he said unto PYKE, "Sell me now your mansion." And PYKE
did sell unto him the mansion, and the foreign singers and dancers, and
the players upon the violin, which is called the fiddle, and the players
upon the big fiddle, and the players upon the drums, and the players
upon divers other instruments. And PHYSKE forthwith built himself a
throne there, and did make the mansion the palace of Eareye. And he
would sit upon his throne and view the foreign singers and dancers, and
the players upon divers instruments, and would much applaud, when his
foreign dancers did dance a certain dance, wherein the toe is placed
upon the forehead, and which is called the _cancan_. And all the people
came and worshipped him, him and his foreign singers and dancers, and
players upon divers instruments, and his great diamond. And PHYSKE was
called Prince Eareye.

Then it happened that PHYSKE much desired to command upon the ocean; so
he forthwith bought him a line of steamers, which did run to the foreign
land, which is called Yankee Land, and he placed thereon a goodly number
of his players upon divers instruments, and he did buy him a coat of
many colors, and did stand upon the landing place, which is called the
dock, and the players upon divers instruments did play, "Hail to the
Chief," and all the people did shout, "Hurrah for Admiral PHYSKE, Prince
of Eareye!" for he was of a noble stature, being four hands wider than
his fellows.

Now it came to pass that divers envious persons did institute certain
troublesome actions, which are called suits, against him, and did
endeavor to drive him from the land, but PHYSKE took a field and went
before a barnyard, and did rout these envious persons, and did smite
them on the hip, which, being interpreted, is that he dismissed their
suits, and did smite them on the thigh, which, being interpreted, is,
did make them pay costs. But the field and the barnyard were much

Then PHYSKE took into his counsel divers persons, dealers in shekels,
and did say unto them, "Let us find us a man who can tell us whether
those in high places will sell gold. And if he say unto us, nay, let us
buy much gold and make many shekels." And the divers persons, dealers in
shekels, were astonished at his shrewdness, and were all of one accord.
Then PHYSKE found him a man who did say unto him nay, and PHYSKE and
the divers other persons did buy much gold. Now it happened that those
in high places did sell gold, and PHYSKE and the divers other persons
were sore afraid, and did fall upon each other's necks and did weep. But
PHYSKE straightway recovered and said unto them, "Lo, if I do murder and
the doctor say that I was insane, am I not forthwith discharged?" and
they said unto him, "It is even so." Then said he unto them, "Let us
send our broker into the board, so that he shall act like an insane man,
and can we be held for an insane man's purchases?" And they were filled
with great rejoicing. And the broker did go into the board, and did act
like an insane man, and PHYSKE and divers other persons did retain their
shekels. And it was Friday when they did these things, and when they had
done them they laughed until they were black in their faces, and the
day--is it not called Black Friday?

Then PHYSKE did bring unto himself other boats and other roads, and
waxed powerful, and became great in the land, and he was much
interviewed by the scribes of a certain paper, "It shines for all,"
which, being interpreted, is the Moon, and his sayings--can they not be
found in the pages of "It shines for all," which, being interpreted, is
the Moon, and are they not preserved there for two centuries?

And then it came to pass that PHYSKE sat himself down and sighed because
there were no more worlds to conquer. But straightway he resolved to
become a Colonel. So certain persons endeavored to make him commander of
the 99th regiment of foot, but a certain old centurion, which is Brains,
ran against him and overcame him. But the soldiers said unto each other,
"Is it not better that we should have body than brains, and had we not
better take unto ourselves the fleshpots?" So they deposed Brains and
chose the Prince of Eareye as their commander. And he straightway
submitted them to twelve temptations. Now it happened, that, as he was
marching at the head of his soldiers in the place wherein these twelve
temptations are kept, a certain servant of one Mammon did serve upon him
a paper, which is called a summons, and did command him to pay for his
butter. At which PHYSKE was much enraged and did wax wroth. And
thereupon he did march and countermarch his soldiers many times. And he
ordered another coat of many colors, and lo! in all Chatham Street there
was not cloth enough to make it, so they brought it from a foreign land.
And it came to pass that he and the centurion, which is Brains--for
should not body and brains work together?--did march the soldiers down
the street which is called Broadway, and did take them to the Branch
which is called Long, and there did divers curious things, all which are
they not found in the paper, "It shines for all," which, being
interpreted, is the Moon?

Now it happened that one HO RACE GREL HE, being a Prussian, did fall
upon PHYSKE and did berate him in a paper, which is called the _Try
Buin_. And PHYSKE became very wroth and did stop the sale of the paper,
which is called the _Try Buin_, upon his roads. And HO RACE GREL HE,
being a Prussian, was sore afraid, and did fall straightway upon his
knees, and did say, "Lo, your servant has sinned! I pray thee forgive
him." And PHYSKE did say, "I forgive thee," which, being interpreted,
is, "All right, old coon, don't let me catch you at it again."

And PHYSKE did divers other strange and curious things, but are they not
written down daily by the scribes of the paper, "It shines for all,"
which, being interpreted, is the Moon, and cannot he who runs, read them


* * * * *

From the Spirit of Lindley Murray.

When is a schoolboy like an event that has happened?
When he has come to parse.

* * * * *


Punchinello's Vacations.

Vain heading! This paper is not intended to communicate anything about a
vacation. "Would that it were! says Mr. PUNCHINELLO, from the bottom of
his heart.

Last week Mr. P. intended going to the White Mountains.

But he didn't go.

On his way to the Twenty-third Street depot, he met the Count JOANNES.

"Ah ha! my noble friend!" said the latter. ""Whither away"?"

Mr. P. explained whither he was away; and was amazed to see the singular
expression which instantly spread itself over the countenance of his
noble friend.

"To the "White Mountains!"cried the Count," why, my good fellow, what
are you thinking of? Do you not know that this is September?"

"Certainly I do,"said Mr. P." I know that this is the season when Nature
revels in her richest hues, and Aurora gilds the fairest landscape; when
the rays of glorious old Sol are tempered by the soft caresses of the
balmiest zephyrs, and--"

"Oh, certainly! certainly!" cried the Count, "I have no doubt of it; not
the least bit in the world. In fact, I have been in those places myself
when a boy, and I know all about it. But let me tell you, sir, as
_amicus curiae_, (and I assure you that I have often been _amicus
curiae_ before,) that society will not tolerate anything of this kind on
your part, sir. The skies in the country may be bluest at this season,
sir; the air most delicious, the scenery most gorgeous, and
accommodations of all kinds most plenty and excellent, but it will not
do. The conductor of a first class journal belongs in a manner to
society, and society will never forgive him for going into the country
after the season is over. As _amicus curiae_--"

"_Amicus_ your grandmother, sir!" said Mr. P. "What does society know
about the beauties of nature, or the proper time for enjoying them?"

"Society knows enough about it, sir!" cried the Count, drawing his sword
a little way from its scabbard and letting it fall again with: clanging
sound. "And representing society, as I do in my proper person here, sir,
I say that any man who would go into the country in the latter part of
September is a---"

"A what, sir?" said Mr. P., nervously fingering his umbrella.

"Yes, sir, he is, sir!"

"Do you say that, sir?"

"In your teeth, sir!"

"'Tis false, sir!"

"What, sir?"

"Just so, sir!"

"To me, sir?"

"To you, sir!"

The Count JOANNES drew his sword.

Mr. P. stood _en garde_.

Just at this moment the Greenwich Street Cordwainers' Target
Association, preceded by one half the whole body of Metropolitan Police,
approached the spot. The Target Society were out on a street parade, and
the policemen marched before them to clear Broadway of all vehicles and
foot-passengers, and to stop short, for the time, the business of a
great city, in order that these twenty spindle-legged and melancholy
little cobblers might have a proper opportunity of showing their utter
ignorance of all rules of marching, and the management of firearms.

Perceiving this vast body of police, with Superintendent JOURDAN at its
head, advancing with measured tread upon them, the Count sheathed his
sword and Mr. P. shut up his deadly weapon.

Slowly and in opposite directions they withdrew from the ground.

It was too late for Mr. P.'s train, and he returned to his home. There,
in the solitude of his private apartments, he came to the conclusion
that it would be useless to oppose the decrees of Society. The idea that
the Count, that worthy leader of the metropolitan _ton_, had put into
his head, was not to be treated contemptuously. He must give up all the
fruity richness of September, the royal glories of October, and the
delicious hazes of the Indian Summer, pack away his fish-hooks and his
pocket-flask, and stay in the city like the rest of the fools.

This conclusion, however, did not prevent Mr. P. from dreaming. He had a
delightful dream that night, in which he found himself sailing on Lake
George; ascending Mount Washington; and participating in the revelry of
a clam-bake on the seagirt shore of Kings and Queens and Suffolk
Counties. As nearly as circumstances will permit, he has endeavored to
give an idea of his dream by means of the following sketch.

Taken as a whole, Mr. P. is not desirous that this dream should come
true, but taken in parts he would have no objections to see it fulfilled
as soon as Society will permit.

Which will be, he supposes, about next July.

In the meantime, he advises such of his patrons as have depended
entirely upon his letters for their summer recreation, and who will now
be deprived of this delightful enjoyment, to make every effort to go to
some of our summer resorts and spend a few weeks after the fashionable
season is over,--that is, if they think they can brave the opinion of
society. It may not be so pleasant to go to these places as to read Mr.
P.'s accounts of them, but it is the best that can be done.

The following little tail-piece will give a forcible idea of how
completely Mr. P. has given up, for the season, his field sports and
country pleasures. Copies may be obtained by placing a piece of
tracing-paper over the picture and following the lines with a

* * * * *



TAFFY was a Welshman,
TAFFY was a thief,
TAFFY came to my house and stole a piece of beef.
I went to TAFFY'S house,
TAFFY wasn't at home,
TAFFY came to my house and stole a mutton bone.

It is not often that a poet descends to the discussion of mundane
affairs. His sphere of usefulness, oftentimes usefulness to himself,
only, lies among the roseate clouds of the morn, or the spiritual
essences of the cerulean regions, but, like other human beings, he
cannot live on the zephyr breeze, or on the moonbeams flitting o'er the
rippling stream. Such ethereal food is highly unproductive of adipose
tissue, and the poet needs adipose like any other man. And our poet is
no exception to the rule, for he well knew that good digestible poetry
can't be written on an empty stomach.

It is seldom that a writer is met with, who does not seize every
opportunity to attract attention to his own deeds. He is never so happy
as when, in contemplation, he hears the remarks of his readers tending
to his praise for the noble and heroic deeds he makes himself perform.

But with our poet--and we have been exceptional in our choice--he has
always been backward in coming forward, and it was not until he was
touched upon a tender point that he concluded to make himself heard,
when he might depict, in glowing terms, some of the few ills which flesh
is heir to.

The opportune moment arrived.

He had been out since early dawn, gathering the dew from the
sweet-scented flower, or painting in liquid vowels the pleasant calmness
of the cow-pasture, or mayhap echoing with hie pencil's point the
well-noted strains of the Shanghai rooster, when the far-off distant
bell announced to him that he must finish his poetic pabulum, and hurry
home to something more in accordance with the science of modern cookery.

He arrived and found his household in tumult. "Who's been here since
I've been gone?" sang he, in pathetic tones. And he heard in mournful
accents the answer, "TAFFY."

Could anything more melancholy have befallen our poet? He could remember
in childhood's merry days the old candy-woman, with her plentiful store
of brown sweetness long drawn out; and how himself and companions spent
many a pleasant hour teasing their little teeth with the delicate
morsels. Now his childhood's dreams vanished. He remembered that

"TAFFY was a Welshman."

And then, after a careful scrutiny of the larder, assisted by the
gratuitous services of his ever faithful feline friend, THOMAS, he
found the extent of his loss.

"TAFFY was a thief,"

he now gave vent to passion, while anguish rent his soul. TAFFY had been
here, and made good his coming, although the good was entirely on
TAFFY'S side, for he walked off again with a piece of beef, and was,
even at this very moment, smacking his chops over its tender fibres.

All his respect for TAFFY now vanished like the misty cloud before the
rays of the morning sun. He buckled on the armor of his strength,
departed for TAFFY'S house, determined to wreak his vengeance thereon,
and scatter TAFFY, limb for limb, throughout his own corn-field. "Woe,
woe to TAFFY," he muttered between his clenched teeth. "I will make
mincemeat of him; I will enclose him in sausage skins, and will send him
to that good man, KI YI SAMPSON."

Judge of our poet's chagrin, however, when, on arriving at TAFFY'S
house, he was informed, with mocking smiles.

"TAFFY wasn't at home."

Here was a fall to his well-formed plans of vengeance.--All dashed to
the ground by one foul scathing blow.

But whither went TAFFY? The poet himself could tell you if you waited,
but we will tell you now. TAFFY liked beef; liked it as no other human
liked it, for he could eat it raw. And when, foraging around the
village, he found a nice piece at the poet's house, his carnivorous
proclivities induced him to steal it, and, with it under his arm,
hurried off to the nearest barn, and there rapidly devoured it. This
only seemed to give him an appetite. He went foraging again, but this
time only picked up a mutton-bone. "The nearer the bone, the sweeter the
meat," cried TAFFY, and with a flourish he hastened to his hiding place,
while the poor poet, disconsolate in his first loss, returned home only
to find a second; and the culprit was still free.

Ah! my kind reader, here was a deep cut to our poet. "Who would care for
mother now?" he sang, for all the meat was gone. Home was no longer the
dearest spot on earth to him, since it was rudely desecrated by the
hands of TAFFY--of DAVID, the Welshman.

Poor poet! Cruel TAFFY!

Let me draw the curtain of popular sympathy over the unhappy household.
The poet has told his story in words which will never die; and he has
proclaimed the infamy of TAFFY to the uttermost corners of the earth.

* * * * *

Sweeping Reform.

The world moves. There is a chiropodist now travelling in the East who
removes excrescences of the feet simply by sweeping them away with a
corn broom. When last heard of he was at Alexandria, and there is no
corn in Egypt, now.

* * * * *


What between nitroglycerine, kerosene, and ordinary gas, New York city
has, for years.past, been admirably provided with explosives. Now we
have to add gasoline to the interesting catalogue of inflammables. What
gasoline is, we have not the slightest notion, but, as it knocked
several houses in Maiden Lane into ashes a few days since, it must be
something. Crinoline, dangerous as it is, would have been safer for
Maiden Lane than gasoline, and more appropriate. In the present dearth
of public amusements, these jolly explosives--gasoline, dualine,
nitroglycerine, and the rest of 'em,--come in very well to create a
sensation. They keep the firemen in wind, and, as the firemen keep them
in water, the obligation is reciprocal. Let Gasoline, as well as
Crinoline, have the suffrage, by all means.

* * * * *


The war news is becoming dizzier every day. It is now announced that the
Prussian headquarters are at St. Dizier.

* * * * *


"A young man who lost an arm, some two weeks since, insists upon it that
he still feels pain in the arm and fingers."--(Daily Paper.)

This is strange, certainly, but not more so than the statement of our
young man, TOM, who affirms that, having had his arm around ANNA'S waist
some three weeks ago, he still feels the most bewitching sensations in
that arm. Who can explain these things?

* * * * *

_Prussicos odi, puer, apparatus_,--as old NAP said to young NAP, when
the Teutonic bullets flew about them at Saarbruck.

* * * * *


* * * * *



* * * * *


"Col. FISK, Jr., marched his men up to the Continental Bar-room this
evening and gave them a _carte blanche_ order for drinks."--_Special to
morning paper_.

Half asleep, half asleep,
Half asleep, onward
Into the bar-room bright
Strode the Six Hundred:
'Forward the Ninth Brigade!
Charge this to me," he said.
Into the bar-room, then
Rushed the Six Hundred.

Topers to right of them.
Topers to left of them,
Old sots in front of them,
Parleyed and wondered;
Yet into line they fell,
Boldly they drank, and well
Into the jaws of each,
Into the mouth of all,
Drinks went, Six Hundred.

Flashed the big diamond there,
Flashed as its owner square
Treated his soldiers there,
Charging a bar-room, while
All the "beats" wondered.
Choked with tobacco smoke,
Straight for the door they broke,
Pushing and rushing,
Reeled from the Bourbon stroke,
Shattered and sundered;
Thus they went back--they did--
On the Six Hundred.

Whiskey to right of them,
Cocktails to left of them,
Popping corks after them,
Volleyed and thundered,
Yet, 'twere but truth to tell,--
Many a hero fell.
Tho' some did stand it well,
Those that were left of them,
Left of Six Hundred.

Oh! what a bill was paid,
Oh! what a noise they made,
All Long Branch wondered;
Oh! what a noise they made,
They of the Ninth Brigade,
Jolly Six Hundred!

* * * * *

A Sun-burst.

The _Sun_ regretfully announces that PUNCHINELLO is about to "give up
the ghost." PUNCHINELLO begs to assure the Sun that he doesn't keep a
ghost; though, at the same time, the mistake was a natural one enough to
emanate from Mr. C. A. (D. B.) DANA, who keeps a REAL ghost in his

* * * * *

A. Natural Mistake.

An advertisement from the establishment of Messrs. A. T. STEWART & Co.,
announces, among other things, that they have opened a "MADDER PRINT."

At first sight we supposed that the firm in question had begun
publishing a paper in opposition to the Sun, and that it was to be, if
possible, a madder print than that luminary, for the purpose of cutting
it out. Further reflection convinced us, however, that the "print" in
question was connected with the subject of dry goods, only.

* * * * *

Very Small Beer.

Newspaper items state that the editor of the Winterset (Iowa,) _Sun_,
is, probably, the smallest editor in the the world." Surely the editor
of the New York Sun must be the one meant.

* * * * *

"Well I'm Blowed!"

As the _omelette soufflee_ said to the cook.

* * * * *


_Horace Greeley, (to Roscoe Conkling.)_ "DON'T BE RASH, NOW REMEMBER


* * * * *


Napoleon I and Napoleon III--Lager-Beer a Formidable Enemy to Overcome.


_Orgust--, 18-Seventy._

FRIEND LEWIS: As I haint got no anser to my last letter which I rote to
your royal magesty a few weeks ago, it has occurred to me, that maybe
you don't feel well about these days, or, just as like as not our
"Cousin German," FRITZ, mite have been mean enuff as to gobble up your
male bag, and steel my letter to put into his outograf album. I now take
my pen in hand to inform you, that Ime as sound as a Saddle Rock oyster,
and hope these few lines may find you enjoyin' the same blessin.
Numerous changes have taken place since your _grand invasion_ of German

It has certinly been very kind in your Dutch friends to save you a long
jerney to fite them.

Insted of puttin' you to the trouble of goin' away from home for a
little excitement, you can set rite in the heart of your own country,
and enjoy the fun.

A man by the name of NERO, was once said to do some tall fiddlin' when
Rome was burnin'.

While the patriotic fires of your people is clusterin' around you (?) my
advice is, to cote the words of Unkle EDWARD:

"Hang up your fiddle and your bow,
Lay down your shovel and the hoe.
Where the woodbine twineth
There's a place for Unkle LEW,
With UGEENY and little LEWIS for to go."

The foregoin' is rather more sarcastikle than troothful.

It laserates my venerable heart-strings, most noble Pea-cracker, to see
how you've been lickt.

You have probly found out by this time, that the mantle of your grate
unkle has passed into the hands of some other family.

The grate BONYPART was called the Gray Eyed man of Destiny, altho' I
don't know what country that is in, as the village of Destiny haint on
any of the war maps.

I should judge, however, onless there is a change in the program, that
when this "cruel war is over," you will wear the belt as the champion
Black-eyed man of Urope.

Your so-called ascendant Star, is probly the identikle loominary which;
Perfesser DAN BRYANT refers so beautifully to, in his pome of "Shoo-fly."

It shone rather scrumpshus, in the dark, but the rays of the Sun has
nockt its twinkle hire'n GILDEROY'S kite.

Yes, Squire BONYPART, your star is the only planet whose eclips has been
visible to the naked eye, all over the world, and can be seen without
usin' smoked glass.

I think, in the beginnin' of the war, when you left UGEENY for Nancy,
that, like your Unkle, you made a bad go.

When the old man stuck to JOESFEEN he was a success.

Empires--Kingdoms--Pottentates and Hottentots, took the first train and
skedaddled, when the General sot his affeckshuns on their territory.

The BOURBONS fled and come over here and settled in Kentucky, and
commenced makin' whiskey, payin' a tax of $2.00 per gallon, and sellin'
the seductive flooid for $1.50 per gallon, gettin' rich at that, which
may surprise you, altho' it doesen't our Eternal Revenoo Offisers, who,
as Mr. ANTONY remarked of H. BEECHER STOW when she stabbed Lord Byron,
"are all _honorable_ men."

Finally BONYPART went back on JOSEFEEN, which made Mrs. B. scatter a few
buckets of tear drops.

Said your Unkle:

"What's the use of blubberin' about it? Cheer up and be a man. I belong,
body, sole and butes, to France, who says my name must be perpetuated.
You, JOSEFEEN, must pick up your duds and look for another
bordin'-house, for you can't run the Tooleries any longer."

He then sent to Chicago and got a ten dollar devorce, and married MARIAR
LOUISER, arter which he become a played-out institootion, employin' his
time walkin' _in solo_ with his hands behind him, gazin' intently on the
toes of his butes, and wonderin' if they was the same ones which had
histed so many roolers off of their thrones.

In view of the past, you should have stuck to UGEENY, who, I understand,
is good lookin' and sports a pretty nobby harness.

The charms of Nancy may make your Imperial mouth water, but let an old
statesman, who has served his country for 4 years as Gustise of the
Peece, say to you, "Don't be a fool if you know anything."

Another reason of your unsuccess is that Lager is a hard chap to fite
agin. I tried it once.

A Dutch millingtery company visited Skeensboro a few years since, for a
target shoot, bringin' a car lode of lager-beer and a box of sardeens
for refreshments.

I, bein' at that time Gustise, was on hand to help perserve the peece.

Lager, they told me, wasen't intoxicatin. I histed in a few mugs. I
woulden't just say that I got soggy, but I felt like a hul regiment of
Dutch soljers on general trainin' day.

It suddenly occurred to me that Mrs. GREEN had been puttin' on rather
too many airs lately, and I would go in and quietly remind her that I
was boss of the ranch.

Pickin' up a hoss-whip, I "shouldered arms," and entered the kitchen as
bold as the brave FISK of the bully 9th.

"MARIAR," said I, addressin' Mrs. GREEN, and tippin' over her pan of
dish-water so she coulden't wet my close, "yer 'aven't (hic!) tode the
mark as 'er troo (hic!) wife orter. I can't (hic!) 'ave any more of yer
(hic!) darn foolin'. Will yer (hic!) 'bey yer 'usband like a (hic!) man,
in the futer?"

I raised the hoss-whip to give her a good blow. She caught it on a fly
with both hands, as I lade down on the floor to convince my wife I was
in earnest in what I said.

Well, LEWIS, I remember feelin' as if I was put into a large bag with a
lot of saw logs, and was bein' viteally shoot up. I could also
distinguish my wife, flyin' about as if she had taken a contract for
thrashin' a lot of otes, and haden't but a few minnits to do it in, and
somehow I got it into my head that I was the otes.

I went to sleep in a cloud of hosswhips--hair and panterloon buttons
rapt up in a dilapidated soot of close.

When I awoke, I looked as if that Dutch millingtery Company had been
usin' me for a target, substitootin' my nose for the bull's eye.

I imejutly come to the conclusion, that to successfully buck agin
Lager-beer, was full as onhealthy as tryin' to get a seat in H. WARD
BEECHER'S church on Sunday mornin's, afore all the Pew-holders had got

When you want an asilum to flee to, come to Skeensboro.

Altho' you have got the ship of State stuck in the mud, I think I can
get you a canal bote to run, where you can earn your $115.00 a month,
provided your wife will do the cookin' for the crew.

This is better than bein' throde onto the cold, cold charities of the
world, especially where a man has got the gout, for anything cold in apt
to bring on the pain and make him pe-uuk.

Hopin' that in the futer, as you grow older, you may lern wisdom by
cultivatin' my acquaintance--and with kind regards to UGEEN and bub
BONYPART, in your native tung I will say:

_Barn-sure, noblesse Pea-cracker._

Ewer'n, one and onseperable,


_Lait Gustise of the Peece._

* * * * *

Bunsby's War Paint.

Napoleon's chances are not great
If German facts are true;
But if he finds not Paris Green
Hell make the Prussian Blue.

* * * * *

Remark by a Bandsman.

Once upon a time the French Horn was a famous instrument, but now,
considering the retreating strategy of the French leaders, it appears to
be superseded by the Off I Glide.

* * * * *

The Music of the Future.

Considering the enormous difficulties which stand in the way of the
performance of Herr WAGNER'S music, it is the music of the Few Sure

* * * * *

A Relic of the Past.

The following item is taken from a daily paper:

"The septuagenarian Dejazet sang the 'Marseillaise' at the Passy theatre

There seems to be a mistake, here. Surely the word Passy is meant for

* * * * *

[Illustration: PRECOCIOUS.


* * * * *


"Well, you know, Dear Mr. PUNCHINELLOW, this is how CHARLEY DANY and me
cum to hev our fallin' out. We was boys together, was CHARLEY and me,
and went to the same school. CHARLEY were a likely lad there; never
given to spilin' the faces of t'other boys nor splashin' mud on their
clothes. Oh! but hasn't he gone back on them good old times. I wouldn't
hev' believed it, CHARLEY, no I wouldn't.

But, as I was sayin', he were a likely lad; studyin' hard, and often
tellin' me how he would one day come out at the head of the heap,
gradooatin' before the Squire's son, JACK BALDERBACK. Just about this
time I was tuk with the measles, and father died, and SALLIE got
married, and the old woman said to me:

"EPHRAIM, I think your school days is ended." And so they was. I never
went back again, and never saw CHARLEY these thirty-five years gone now,
'till t'other day. I went West in search of a livin', and he tuk onto
business here East. Wons't in a long time I heerd on him; how things
went well with him, and how he got up, up, up, till the ladder wasn't
big enough and he couldn't climb no higher. Folks said he was into the
war; but I didn't believe 'em. CHARLEY was a peace man, I knowed that.
Arterwards, howsumever, it cum out that it was the War Office he was
into, and not the war; and says I to myself, "EPHRAIM," says I, "didn't
I tell you so; and tell them so, and war'nt I right? I calkilate they
won't go back no more on what I says about CHARLEY DANY."

Well, dear Mr. PUNCHINELLOW, I was one day readin' of your paper, and I
comes onto sumthin' about sumbody, which it was as I spell it, "CHARLES
A. DANA," how he was a cuttin' up shines, and how you was a pokin' fun
and hard things at him.

I larfed right out.

"That's smart," says I, "Yes, that's smart; but it ain't onto _my_
CHARLEY. He ain't stuck up nor nothing of that sort. He is as innocent
as gooseberries, is the CHARLEY DANY I know;" and arterwards I thought
no more about it, till I cum on to New York for to look into the cattle
business, and see how things was shapin for trade this winter.

I put up to the St. Nikkleas. Well, I allers larf when I think of it.
Here was an Irishman tuk my bag, slung it behind him, and says he to
me--"Foller me, if you please, sir." I follered accordin'.

I've clumb some pretty tall hills in my day, Mr. PUNCHINELLOW, but that
'ere gettin' up them stairs jest switches the rag off of all on 'em. I
broke down. Then he tuk me to a heister, and landed us next to the roof.
I was too pegged out to wash or fix, so I flung off my cowhides, jumped
onto the bed and slept clean through till next day. In the mornin' I
rigged up, went down stairs, and asked the clerk if he would be kind
enough to pint out to me where I might see CHARLEY DANY. He sort o'
smiled like, and said I would find him at the _Sun_ office. I paid two
dollars for a kab to take me down, which it did till we stopped afore a
big yaller house, with a big board stuck up agin it havin' these words:

| |
| "EXTRA SUN!!! |
| |
| |

"Wonder if CHARLEY writ all that 'ere," says I, inwardly, inquirin' of a
boy where Mr. DANY'S particular holdin' out place might be, and givin'
him three cents to show me the way. Drawin' a quick breath, I knocked at
the door. "Come in," says a peskish voice. I cum in, and there, sure
enough, with nose close down to the desk, a writin' away for dear life,
sat CHARLEY. I knowed him to onc't, for all he was a little oldish, and
a little grayish, and had a bare spot like a turtle's back on the top of
his head. My heart cum' a bustin' up into my throat, and an inward voice
seemed to say:

"Do it now EPHRAIM, do it now, while the feeling is onto you." Jest then
he looked up, and I bust forth: "Oh, CHARLEY! CHARLEY! its a long time
sin' we met, CHARLEY. Don't you know me? Don't you remember little EPH
ECKELS? Oh! CHARLEY, CHARLEY, give us a grip of your knob, old
hunk"--and I slewed over towards him for to shake hands when he suddenly
drawed back, kinder gloomy like, putting down his pen and chewing his
gums sort of swagewise. as he said:

"My name, sir, is the Hon. CHARLES AUGUSTUS DANA, Ex-Assistant Secretary
of War, Ex-Proprietor of the ablest paper in the West, and at present
Chief Editor of the New York _Sun_, price two cents. There is no
individual here, sir, answering to the appellation of "Old Hunk," and,
as I perceive, sir, that there is a most infernal smell of cow yards
about your raiment, and the effluvia arising thence is becoming
insupportable, I would thank you to get out of this apartment double
quick, and I suggest for the sake of others who may be unfortunately
brought into contact with you, that my friend the Hon. WILLIAM MANHATTAN
TWEED has recently established public baths where such creatures as you
may undergo purification before venturing into the presence of

It was CHARLEY who spoke it; Mr. PUNCHINELLOW, there is no doubt about
that; but the CHARLEY that I knew has been dead sin' that day. Yours in


* * * * *

Horrors of War.

Much has been said about the Prussian "demonstrations" at Strasbourg. If
half what we hear of Prussian vandalism as displayed at the siege of
Strasbourg is true, "Demonstration" is a very appropriate term for the

* * * * *


We have no authentic record of the date of this fair syren's birth. It
is popularly supposed, however, that she was contemporaneous with
POCAHONTAS. POKY (as she was playfully called by her playmates at
boarding-school) is now dead. LOGY (another playful appellation of the
gushing miss alluded to) is still Olive.

We do not, however, credit the legend above cited. Also, we do not
credit the equally absurd and unreasonable story that our girlish gusher
is a daughter of a negro preacher named LOGUEN. We look upon this as a
colorless aspersion of our subject's fair fame, and we therefore feel
called upon to politely but furiously hurl it back in the teeth of its
degraded and offensive inventor. Things are come indeed to a pretty pass
when a lady of Miss LOGAN'S position may have her good name blackened
(not to say sooted) by associating it with that of a preacher. Besides,
LOGUEN was himself born in 1800, and is therefore only seventy years
old. These things are not to be borne.

Miss LOGAN is seventeen years of age. This, at least, is reliable. We
have our information from the lips of an aunt of the Honorable HORATIUS
GREELEY, who met Miss LOGAN in Chicago in 1812, and wrung the confession
from the gifted lady herself. Mr. GREELEY'S aunt, we need not say, is
incapable of telling a lie.

At the early age of six weeks our illustrious victim made her first
appearance as a public speaker. This was at Faneuil Hall, Boston. She
was supported on that memorable occasion by a young and fascinating lady
by the name of ANTHONY (SUSAN.) SUSIE prophesied then, it will be
remembered, that the fair oratress would yet live to be President of the
United States and Canadas. Miss LOGAN, with her customary modesty,
declined to view the mysterious future in that puerile light, gracefully
suggesting, amid a brilliant outburst of puns, metaphors and amusing
anecdotes, that SUSIE distorted the facts. Miss ANTHONY, under a
mistaken impression that this referred to her peculiar mode of keeping
accounts, offered, with a wild shriek of despair and disgust, to exhibit
her books to an unprejudiced committee of her own sex, with WENDELL
PHILLIPS as chairwoman. (There is manifest inaccuracy in this account,
though, inasmuch as Mr. PHILLIPS was not yet born, at that time; but we
of course give the story as it is related to us by eye-witnesses.) Mr.
JOHN RUSSELL YOUNG, who was in the audience, rose and said that Miss
ANTHONY'S explanation was entirely sufficient, and that she might now
take her seat. The lecturer then proceeded to discuss her subject,
"Girls." She said--

However, this is not a newspaper report, is it?

Soon after this, Louis PHILLIPPE invited Miss LOGAN to visit Paris. He
represented that he should consider it an honor at any time to welcome
the beautiful demoiselle to the palace of the Tuileries. He remarked in
a postscript that his dinner hour was twelve o'clock, noon, sharp, and
that his hired man had instructions to pass Miss LOGAN at any time.
Accordingly, our syren departed hungrily for the capital of the French.
Her career in Paris is well known to every mere ordinary schoolboy:
therefore, wherefore dwell? Madame DE STAEL'S dressmaker called on her.
A committee of strong-minded milliners solicited the honor of her
acquaintance. GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN proposed an alliance with her for the
purpose of hurling imperial jackassery from its tottering throne. Other
honors were conferred on her.

Returning to her native motherland in 1812, she once more resumed her
career as a public speakeristess. How wonderful that career has been,
does not the world know? If not, why not? She has lectured in
14,364,812,719 towns between San Francisco on the one hand and
California on the other. Upwards of fourteen million Young Men's
Christian Associations have crowded to hear her thrilling eloquence, and
lecture committees all over the land have grown fat and saucy on the
enormous profits yielded by her engagements. Country editors, who,
before speculating in tickets of admission, were without shoes to their
feet, have been suddenly converted into haughty despots and bloated
aristocrats by their prodigious gains. And Miss LOGAN herself is said to
be worth $250.

* * * * *


Genna, Corvus.--The Common Crow.

This Ravenous bird abounds in all temperate regions, and is a fowl of
sober aspect, although a Rogue in Grain. Crows, like time-serving
politicians, are often on the Fence, and their proficiency in the art of
Caw-cussing entitles them to rank with the Radical Spoilsmen denounced
by the sardonic DAWES. In time of war they haunt the battle-field with
the pertinacity of newspaper specials, and have a much more certain
method of making themselves acquainted with the Organization of military
Bodies than the gentlemen of the press who Pick the Brains of fugitives
from the field for their information. In time of peace the Crow leads a
comparatively quiet life, and it is no novel thing to see him walking in
the fields devouring with great apparent interest the Yellow-Covered
Cereals. Agriculturists have strong prejudices against the species, and
allege, not without reason, that large Crow Crops indicate diminished
harvests. The most persistent enemy of the Crow, however, is the martin,
which attacks it on the wing with unfaltering Pluck, and compels it to
show the White Feather.

This variety of the genus _corvus_ was well known to the ancients. Those
solemn Bores, the Latin augurs, were in the habit of foretelling the
triumph or downfall of the Roman Eagles by the flight of Crows, and St.
PETER was once convicted of three breaches of veracity by a Crow. The
bird has also been the theme of song--the carnivorous exploits of three
of the species having been repeatedly chanted by popular Minstrels.

A Greek author has described the Crow as a cheese-eater--but that's a
fable. Though fond of a Rare Bit of meat, it does not care a Mite for
Cheese. Nothing in the shape of flesh comes amiss to this rapacious
creature; yet, much as it enjoys the flavor of the human subject, it
relishes the _cheval mort_. During the late war, our government, with
exemplary liberality, purchased thousands of horses to feed the Southern
Crows. The consequence was that our Cavalry Charges were tremendous.

The appearance of the Crow is grave and clerical, but it is nevertheless
an Offal bird when engaged on a Tear. It generally goes in flocks, and
the prints of its feet may be seen not only on the face of the Country,
but in many instances on the faces of the inhabitants. Naturalists do
not class it with the edible fowls. There may be men who _can_ eat crow,
but nobody hankers after it. The story of the man who "swallowed three
black crows" lacks confirmation. Looking at the whole tribe from a
Ration-al point of view, however, we have no hesitation in pronouncing
them excellent food--for powder. In this category may be included the
copper-colored Crows on our Western frontier.

* * * * *


That Brooklyn is a City of Churches has long been known to people of
average intelligence. The following item, however, taken from a daily
paper, is very suggestive of the old saying, "The nearer the church,"

"JOHN BEATY bit off WM. HARPER'S face in April last, at a church fight
in Brooklyn, and then went to sea. Last night he came back, and was
arrested by officer Fox, who will take him before Justice WALSH to-day.
HARPER is disfigured for life."

The matter-of-fact way in which the expression, "a church fight" is used
by the writer of the above item, seems to indicate that tabernacular
conflicts are rather the rule than the exception in "deeply religious"
Brooklyn. We were not prepared to expect, though, that theological
controversy ever ran further in Brooklyn than to the extent of "putting
a head on" one's antagonist, though now it appears that biting his face
off is more the thing. The statement that "HARPER is disfigured for
life," goes for nothing with us, as that depends altogether on what sort
of looking man he was previous to the removal of his features by means
of a dental apparatus.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE "STERN PARENT.



* * * * *


It is with feeling of intense satisfaction and self complacency, that
Mr. PUNCHINELLO submits to his readers the following despatches relative
to the Great Railroad War, which have been collected at a fabulous cost,
by a large corps of reporters and correspondents specially detailed for
the purpose.


ERIE PALACE.--It is rumored that the "unpleasantness" which has for some
time past existed between the rival powers of the Erie and the Central,
will shortly culminate in open hostilities. Col. FISK, assisted by
twelve secretaries, is said to be actively engaged in drawing up a
formal Declaration. Great enthusiasm prevails here. The Erie Galop and
FISK Guard March (price 50 cents, including full length portrait of
Capt. SPENCER,) are played nightly in the Opera House, and are
vociferously re-demanded. Every member of the Ninth has been notified to
hold himself in readiness to turn out at fifteen minutes' notice.


"Erie accepts the war which VANDERBILT proffers her." The "Blonde
Usher," accompanied by an extensive retinue of brother ushers, will bear
the gauge of battle to the Tyrant of the Central. He will cast It boldly
at VANDERBILT'S feet. It is announced that he will proceed to his
destination by way of the Eighth Avenue Car Line. The reply of the
Hudson River potentate is looked forward to with great interest.


VANDERBILT received the Declaration of War with seeming calm. On the
departure of the Erie Emissary, however, his fortitude forsook him; he
threw himself on the neck of a baggage porter and wept aloud. At a late
hour this evening a trusted agent left here for the _Tribune_ office. He
is said to have held a long conference with Mr. GREELEY, the particulars
of which have not transpired. It is supposed by many to portend an
alliance, offensive and defensive, between the King of Central and the
Philosopher of Printing-House Square.


Activity is the order of the day here. Col. FISK'S $20,000 team went to
the front this morning. They are to be broken into the turmoil of war by
being led gently to and fro, before a Supreme Court injunction. A
Central spy, who was captured during the day, was immediately tried by
court-martial, and sentenced to be suspended from the flag-staff on top
of the building. He was executed at noon, a copy of the _Tribune_ being
tied to his feet, to add force to his fall and curtail his sufferings.
From legal documents found in his possession, the wretched being is
supposed to have been a minion of the law. The Narragansett and Long
Branch boats are being rapidly got ready for active service. Their
armament will consist of Parrott guns of large calibre. FISK says that
VANDERBILT will hear those Parrotts talk.


VANDERBILT is preparing for a grand flank movement upon the Erie forces.
He will transport passengers at one cent per head, insure their lives
for the trip, feed them on the way, and present them, on parting, with a
copy of H.G.'s paper. He has been reinforced by the _Tribune_, which
will continue to harass the enemy by attacks in the rear.


VICTORY!--By a well executed movement the Narragansett fleet under
command of Admiral Fisk, have succeeded in cutting off the _Tribune's_
connection with Long Branch. A panic prevails in the _Tribune_ office.
HORACE GREELEY threatens, in retaliation, to lecture on farming along
the route of the Erie Railway, to the ruin of the agricultural interest
of the district. A meeting of prominent farmers has been convened to
protest against this outrage, and a strong body of Erie troops have been
sent to prevent H.G.'s advance. It is proposed, in case of attack, to
illuminate the Erie Palace by means of Colonel FISK'S big diamond,
which, it is estimated, would prove more powerful than a dozen calcium
lights. If this should not be dazzling enough, it is suggested that a
glimpse of the Colonel's $5,000 uniform might have the desired effect.
Amongst the novel instruments of warfare which the contest has given
birth to, is a new ball projected by the Prince of Erie. It will be
given at Long Branch, and will, no doubt, be very effective.


As the Plymouth Rock was nearing the pier here this morning, an elderly
man, whose profane language had attracted the attention of the officers
of the vessel, was arrested by order of COL FISK. It proved to be the
sage of Chappaqua. He was attired in a clean shirt collar, by means of
which he no doubt hoped to avoid recognition. In his travelling bag was
found a tooth-brush and several copies of the _Tribune_. Upon being
tried and convicted of carrying contraband of war, he was sentenced to
give forthwith his reasons why J. C. BANCROFT DAVIS should not be
dismissed from his present office of Assistant Secretary of State.


The news of Mr. GREELEY'S capture has affected the Commodore to such an
extent as to stretch him on a bed of sickness. JAY GOULD is reported
marching on Saratoga with a strong force.


Central has capitulated! Erie is victorious! To-day a treaty is drawn up
by which everybody is made happy except Mr. GREELEY, who, it is
stipulated, must feign total ignorance of farming whenever he journeys
by the Erie Railway.

* * * * *

The place to look for them.

_The Sun_, a few days ago, had an editorial article about a reported
theft of a box containing four large boa-constrictors. Might not a
search in the editorial boots disclose the whereabouts of the missing

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