Punchinello, Vol. 1, No. 9, May 28, 1870
Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Steve Schulze
and PG Distributed Proofreaders
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Vol. 1. No. 9.
SATURDAY, MAY 28, 1870.
PUBLISHED BY THE
PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,
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_Mr. Nottmuch_, (to Clerk in Library.) "I SEE BY YOUR CIRCULAR THAT
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HAVE CONTRIBUTED A STORY TO THE 'WAYERLY MAGAZINE,'" etc.
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_Lady Superintendent_. (blandly but firmly). "EXCUSE ME, SIR, BUT IT'S
AGAINST THE RULES FOR GENTLEMEN TO PLACE THEIR FEET ON CHAIRS."]
* * * * *
HIGH NOTES BY OUR MUSICAL CRITIC.
PUNCHINELLO'S critic, always the friend of fair-play, resents the
insinuation that Mr. CARL ROSA has been a careless director of Opera.
The truth is that Mr. ROSA has not produced the smallest work without a
great deal of Preparation.
FLOTOW'S _Shadow_ is to be brought out in London. It will not stand the
ghost of a chance unless well mounted. Music light and sketchy;
remarkable for a Chorus of Fishermen, well known as the "Shad oh! song."
_Lohengrin_ has had a run of eight nights at Brussels, with average
receipts of little less than four thousand francs. This sort of tune is
the only one in the music of the Future which managers can understand.
Nevertheless Herr WAGNER is not out of spirits. Intent upon laying the
foundations of future wealth and fame, he can lay Low and Grin. Brussels
gold will serve him as well as _Rheingold_.
The difference between BACH'S music find a music-box is yet an unsettled
conundrum. Such is likely to be the fate of the question raised with so
much temper over the Passion Music of that great man by the English
critics. Shame on all critics that condemn MOZART as a fogy and BACH as
a nuisance. Of course it is going back on BACH with a vengeance, but
what sympathy can exist between the old fuguemakers and the modern
* * * * *
LATEST NEWS ITEMS.
A SHEFFIELD paper has been prosecuted for asserting that the Prince of
Wales was a fast young man. The prosecution was withdrawn as soon as the
editor confessed that the Prince was loose.
The Treasury Department is much distressed by the great genius for
smuggling displayed by the Chinese immigrants. They secrete opium in all
sorts of wonderful places, and so worry the custom-house officers
dreadfully. Several children have been arrested for bringing their
"poppies" over with them, and feeling in favor of the offenders ran so
high that a number of women were fined for having a share in laud'n'm.
The bull fights in London have come to a mournful conclusion. The bulls
refused to take part, and the principal combatant instead of being all
Matted O'er with the blood of his taurine victims, has been sent to
prison for trying to Pick a Door lock.
The Last of the Piegans is travelling East, on his way to Philadelphia,
to see "SHERIDAN'S Ride." He was away from home when PHILIP was there,
and is very anxious to know the young man when he sees him again. Hence
his laudable anxiety to study the picture.
The Fenian Army.
If the Fenians send an army to aid the Red river insurgents, it may
probably be the only "BIEL" work they will attempt this year.
* * * * *
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by the
PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY, in the Clerk's Office of the District
Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York.
* * * * *
WHAT I KNOW ABOUT PROTECTION.
DEAR PUNCHINELLO: Having skilfully illuminated Free Trade, I now proceed
to elucidate Protection. You see when we reach Protection, the boot is
on the other leg; _you_ make the conundrums then, and the other man
tries to guess them. There are many kinds of protection; there's the
kind which a State's prison-keeper gives to one of his birds; the kind
which a black-and-tan terrier, or a freshly-imported Chinaman, extends
to a good fat rat; the kind which a pious young man offers to a fair and
tender damsel, when he places his arm around her dainty waist, and
gently absorbs the dew of innocence from her rosy lips, (that idea, is,
I think, plagiarized from TENNYSON,) and the kind which a delicate
mother-in-law, blessed with nerves, pours out upon her son-in-law. But I
leave the discussion of such things to weaker birds, and soar myself to
a higher kind, _i.e._, that Protection which is diametrically opposed to
Protection, in this sense, is--well, let me follow my own admirable
example, and illustrate: You own a coal mine in Pennsylvania, which
contains tolerably poor coal, with which you mix a proper amount of
stone, and then sell the mixture for a high price. ICHABOD BLUE-NOSE
owns a coal mine in Nova Scotia, which furnishes good coal; he puts no
slate in it, and yet sells it at a low figure. You reflect that with
such opposition you will never manage to dispose of all your stone, so
you apply to Congress, and have a high tariff put on coal. That's
Protection. Metaphysically defined, Protection is the natural right,
inherent in every American citizen, to obtain money in large quantities
for goods of small qualities.
Protection is not a natural production; it was invented about the time
taxes were, though it must be admitted that those very annoying articles
appeared very early in the history of the human race. I've no doubt that
ADAM levied taxes, though it's very doubtful if he could put as many
things in a tax levy as a New York politician can. Certainly there was a
very high tariff on apples in his day--so high that humanity has not yet
succeeded in paying off the duty on the one ADAM ate. ABRAHAM paid
taxes, and, as he was his own Senate and House, doubtless he passed a
tariff bill to suit himself, and had any quantity of Protection. I have
always regretted that NOAH didn't pass a bill protecting native
industry, because he could have enforced it, and had no wrangling about
There are one or two points about Protection which a wayfaring man, even
if people labor under the impression that he is a fool, can understand.
If you are JOHN SMITH and own a coal mine or an iron mill, you go to
Washington, see your Congressman, (by see I mean look at him, of
course,) donate large sums of money to certain poor, but honest men, who
adorn the lobby of the House, while they are waiting for generous
patrons like unto you, then go home and calmly await the result. Your
representative makes a speech, the exordium of which is Patriotism, the
peroration of which is Star-Spangled Banner, and the central plum of
which is your coal mine or iron mill. Your poor and honest friends wear
out several pairs of shoes, the tariff bill is passed, your mine or mill
is abundantly protected, and the country is saved. If, on the other
hand, you are JOHN BROWN, and raise cabbages and turnips on a farm, you
are allowed to pay high prices for SMITH'S coal or iron, but you expect
no Protection, and you've a sure thing of getting what you expect.
Of course you don't imagine that I shall explain the details of this
profound subject. There are only two men in this country who think they
can do that, and each one of those says that the other is an idiot. As a
rule, figures can't lie; but look out for the exceptions when you run
across the subject of Protection. The very same figures have an ugly way
of proving both sides of a question. You run down a fact, and think
you've got it, but, before you know it, it has slipped, like the "little
joker," over to the other side.
Personally, I am a Protectionist. Formerly I indulged in that monstrous
absurdity, Free Trade, but then I was an importer; now, being a
manufacturer, the scales have fallen from my eyes, and I am of the
straitest sect a Protectionist. You can't give me too much of it. Of
course I can't see why pig-iron should be protected, and pigs not. I
think every native production should be cared for, and that there should
be an excessively high tariff on foreign food. In that case poor REVERDY
JOHNSON would have been compelled to have passed a Lenten season at
Halifax, until he had eradicated from his system the rich English
dinners, before he could have entered this favored land. And
MOTLEY--bless me, he has eaten so much that I don't believe he could get
it out of his body if he fasted for the remainder of his natural life.
I am informed, however, that Protection does us one injury. All the
_World_ says that there is a Parsee in our land, who is loaded with
rupees, but who is unable to spend them here because of our protective
system, and what all the _World_ says, you know, must be true. However,
there are 40,000,000 of us, and, if Congress will make all Americans buy
my patent door-knobs, the Parsee can go to--Hindostan.
I don't think any thing more can be said about Protection. Any body who
doesn't understand it now had better go to Washington, and listen to the
debate on scrap-iron. That will sharpen his wits. Pig-iron, of course,
is interesting, but then that's a light and airy subject. Hear the
debate on scrap-iron, by all means.
* * * * *
A LITERARY VAMPIRE.
No greater mistake was ever made than the supposition that PUNCHINELLO
is to be assailed with impunity by rival publications. It is well known
that he never courted controversies or quarrels, and his best friends
understand perfectly his love for a peaceable career. But when that
flippant sheet, known as _Rees's American Encyclopedia_, comes out with
a violent attack upon PUNCHINELLO'S past life and present course, the
assault is such as would provoke a retort from any honest man. The vile
insinuation that PUNCHINELLO is printed and published for the sole
purpose of making money out of its subscribers and the reading public in
general, is too mendacious for refutation; and when the reckless editor
of the periodical in question gravely announces that he can never read
PUNCHINELLO without laughing at its contents, it will be readily seen
that he goes so far as to make use of the truth to serve his wicked
purposes. But the descent which this shameless conductor of a journal,
confessedly the organ of our ignorant masses, has made into the private
life of PUNCHINELLO, is without precedent. He states that for the first
fourteen years of his life, PUNCHINELLO was, to all intents and
purposes, a person of little or no fortune, and that he depended
entirely upon his parents for support; that, until he had reached his
fifth birthday, he had absolutely no knowledge of English literature,
and was entirely ignorant of even the rudiments of the classics; that he
never paid one cent of income tax at that period of his life; and that
his belief in the fundamental principles of political economy was, at
that time, doubted by all who knew him best! Are such statements as
these to be submitted to by a man of honor? Never! PUNCHINELLO dares the
recreant editor of the dirty sheet to do his worst! Of that base man he
could tell much which would render him unfit for the association of any
person living, but he forbears. This much, however, he will say. It is
well known that the said calumniator did, at many periods of his life,
make use of the services of a _calceolarius_. Think of that, freemen of
America! He has often been known to submit to indignities, such as
nose-pulling from the hands of a common _tonsor_, and has been
frequently in such a condition that he could not appear in public
without the assistance of a _sartor_! Is it fitting that a high-toned
journalist should engage in petty recriminations with such a one?
"Revenge," says JAMES MURDOCK, "is the sweetest morsel cooked in its own
gravy, with _sauce moyennaise_." "Yes," said Dean SWIFT, "and let us
have some, and a little gin, say five fingers, and a trifle of milk."
Thus it is that we regard the editor of the _Encyclopedia_.
CARLYLE remarks, "Many a vessel, (for if not a Vessel, then surely we,
or our progenitors, in counting ships, and the assumptive floatative
mechanisms of anterior and past ages; or as the Assyrians
[under-estimating the force of the correlative elements] declared a
bridging, or a going over [not of seas merely, but of those chaotic gaps
of the mind] are all wrong enough indeed,) has never got there."
We also think of that editor in this way, and trust that enough has been
said to make it plain that PUNCHINELLO is not to be attacked with
impunity by every little journal of the day.
* * * * *
Encouraging for Travellers.
The managers of a leading railroad announce that they take passengers
"to all principal points of the West without change." Such unusual
liberality, at a time when Change is so scarce with many people,
ought to insure for that railroad a great success.
* * * * *
Alike, but Different.
Poetry sometimes has a Ring in it. So has a pig's nose.
* * * * *
THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.
Military dramas might, as a rule, be called with equal propriety
millinery dramas. In other words, their success is generally due to
their costumes. In this respect they afford a marked contrast to ballet
spectacles. The latter give us inanity without clothes; the former,
inanity in particularly gorgeous clothes. Which, again, leads to the
further remark that the difference between the two styles of inanity is,
after all, a clothes thing. This is a joke.
The _Lancers_, now running at WALLACK'S, (a proceeding which implies no
want of bravery on the part of that distinguished corps,) is, however,
unlike most military dramas, inasmuch as it is a bright and brilliant
play. Moreover, it is acted by the best members of the Company in their
very best manner. Miss LOUISA MOORE, whose golden hair and silvery voice
become an actress of genuine mettle as well as gentle grace, is ESTELLE,
the heroine; Miss EMILY MESTAYER is the Commanding Sister of Col. EPEE
who is personated by Mr. FISHER; Mr. WYNDHAM is the Graceless Private,
who, having spent his last penny, enlists in the Lancers and spends vast
sums in beneficiary beer in company with his comrades; Mr. WILLIAMSON is
the Kindly Sergeant; Mr. RINGGOLD is the Genial Artist, whose velvet
coat suggests that he has recently managed a Starr _opera bouffe_
enterprise; and Mr. STODDART is happy in the congenial character of a
Clumsy Trumpeter. If any speculative manager pretends that he has a
better hypothetical cast in his eye than the present cast of the
_Lancers_, let him be given to the surgical tormentors to be operated
upon for malignant _strabismus_.
The curtain rises upon the Genial Artist searching for his friend, the
Graceless Private, in the empty jugs and glasses at the _Golden Sun
Inn_. To him enters the Clumsy Trumpeter.
_Genial Artist_. "Where can he be? It--it must, and yet--"
_Clumsy Trumpeter (without Stoddart's usual oath.)_ "He's got 'em.
Hallo! friend. Do you want any thing?"
_Genial Artist_. "Yes--no--that is--or rather it isn't--" (_Exit, while
Trumpeter makes faces at the gallery_.)
_Enter_ ESTELLE _and her maid, disguised as peasants, and pursued by a
troop of lancers_.
_All the Lancers_. "Let _me_ kiss 'em."
_Both the Girls_. "Scr-r-r-r-e-e-e-ch."
(_Enter Graceless Private_.)
_Graceless Private_. "I will protect you. Get out, all you fellows."
(_They get out_.)
A flirtation between the Private and ESTELLE is at once begun, from
which it appears that she came to catch a glimpse of the Colonel, who
wants to marry her. She and the Private sit on the table, and fall
instantaneously in love. As soon as they are well in, the Lancers
return, and ESTELLE flies. Graceless Private, having no money, pays for
the co-inebriation of the entire corps, and while engaged in this
praiseworthy occupation is found by the Genial Artist, who makes him
promise to attend a ball at a neighboring _chateau_. Enter Kindly
Sergeant, who arrests the Graceless Private, and puts him in the
guard-house. Curtain falls amid faces from STODDART (without his usual
oath) and applause from the audience.
_Veteran Play-goer_. "Well, I've seen STODDART in every thing he has
played this year, and this is the first time he has failed to swear on
every ineligible occasion."
_Young Lady who frequents Wallack's_. "Who is that Clumsy Trumpeter? I
don't know him."
_Accompanying Young Man_. "Why, don't you know STODDART?"
_Young Lady_. "Nonsense; that isn't STODDART. Why, he hasn't sworn
_Fast Young Man_. "STODDART isn't himself to-night. He hasn't the spirit
to swear. Did you hear the good thing he said Monday night about Miss
MOORE? It was devilish good. Says he--" (_Repeats an indelicate joke_.)
_Irate Old Gentleman who overhears the story_. "If he said that, sir, he
ought to have been hissed off the stage, sir; and turned out of the
company, sir! It was an insult to an estimable lady, and an outrage on
the audience, sir!"
_The second act takes place in the salon of ESTELLE. The Colonel and his
Commanding Sister lay siege to_ ESTELLE'S _heart. Graceless Private, in
evening dress, countermines the Colonel's forces and routs them, wading
deeper than before in the exhilarating surf of love, hand in hand with_
ESTELLE. (_This metaphor has been leased for a term of years to a
distinguished hydropathic poet.) Clumsy Trumpeter drops books and things
all over the room, and recognises the Graceless Private. Finally the
Colonel and the latter quarrel, and go out in the back yard to fight,
where the Private is wounded in the arm. The Colonel returns and
announces the result to_ ESTELLE, _who swoons, or at all events, makes
an admirable feint of so doing. Curtain._
_Fast Young Man_. "STODDART didn't try his good joke to-night. He'll say
something yet, though, before the play is over."
_Every body Else_. "Did you ever see better acting than WYNDHAM'S and
Miss MOORE'S? And how capitally FISHER and Miss MESTAYER are playing?
STODDART positively hasn't sworn yet. What can be the matter with him?"
_Inquiring Maiden, to her travelled lover_. "Are the uniforms just like
those of the real French Lancers?"
_Travelled Lover_. "Very nearly. There is one button too many on the
front of the Colonel's coat. I know the regiment well. It's the crack
artillery regiment in the French service."
_Act III. shows us the Graceless Private brought before the Colonel for
examination. He feigns drunkenness, but the Colonel suspects him of
having been his adversary at the ball_. ESTELLE _visits the Colonel in
order to save her Private lover. He is proved to have broken his arrest,
and is sentenced to death_. ESTELLE _offers to marry the Colonel if he
will pardon the Private. The latter's discharge arrives in the nick of
time, and as he is thus beyond the reach of the Colonel's vengeance, he
graciously pardons him, and joins his hand to that of_ ESTELLE. _He
remarks--or ought to--"Bless you, my children." Every body suddenly
finds out that every body else is noble and generous. And so the curtain
falls upon a happy garrison, including a Trumpeter who has not sworn a
_One Half of the Audience_. "How do you like it? I like it so much."
_The Other Half_. "I like it immensely."
_Chorus from Every body_. "Why didn't STODDART swear?"
_Answering Echo from the Tipperary Hills_. "Because WALLACK has told him
that the public won't stand it any longer."
And the public is right. Mr. STODDART is an exceptionally able actor,
but of late he has grown intolerably coarse and vulgar while on the
stage. His profanity has disgraced himself and the theatre, and his
gratuitous insult to an estimable lady, who had the misfortune to appear
in the same scene with him on Monday night, should have secured his
instant dismissal from the company, and his perpetual banishment to
_Tammany_ or _Tony Pastor's_. Let him turn over a new leaf at once. He
does not swear in the present play, and the fact is creditable to him.
He is a gentleman in private life; let him be a gentleman on the stage.
By so doing he will soon be recognized as one of the best comedians of
the day. And PUNCHINELLO will be the first to praise him when he lays
aside the unnecessary vulgarity with which he has latterly bid for the
applause of the gallery.
* * * * *
THE RELIGION OF TEMPERANCE.
Says Poet to Parson--To save men from drinking,
Not many religions are good to my thinking;
To be sure a good Baptist a man of true grace is,
But a Hard Shell, my brother's the hardest of cases.
Your Shouter's too noisy for temperance talking,
Your Come-outer too harsh for right temperate walking.
A Quaker's not steady enough on his beam-ends,
And a Shaker is bad for _delirium tremens_.
But of all the hard drinkers religion has warmed,
To my mind the most hopeful's the _German Reformed_.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE PET DOGS OF NEW-YORK PRESENT THEIR COMPLIMENTS, WITH
THE ABOVE CUT, TO MR. BERGH, AND REQUEST THAT HE WILL CUR-TAIL THE
SPORTS OF THOUGHTLESS CHILDREN WHO INSIST UPON PLAYING AT "HORSE" WITH
* * * * *
One PULLMAN, who preaches the "milk of the word," (not without gin,
PUNCHINELLO supposes,) declares that the BIBLE is full of lies. Well,
according to his own view of it, PULLMAN must be full of Scripture.
* * * * *
The Real Fact.
Mr. COLFAX, says the Cincinnati Gazette, intends to call his new-born
son CASABLANCA, the Vice-President having once "stood on a burning
deck," etc. PUNCHINELLO discovers a shrewder reason. The plain English
for Casablanca is White-House.
* * * * *
Detroit drunkards, says an exchange, use a stocking with a stone in it
to avoid arrest--just as if a hat "with a brick in it" were not enough!
* * * * *
Written With a Steal Pen.
So great is the habit among editors of cribbing from each other, that if
one were to write an article about an egg another would immediately
* * * * *
The Battle of Hastings.
The fight between the _Commercial Advertiser_ and THEODORE TILTON.
* * * * *
Triumphs of the Chisel.
The Wall street "busts." Good judges pronounce them Per Phidias.
* * * * *
What an Asthmatic Artist can not Draw.
A long breath.
* * * * *
"The American Working-woman's Union" Most Sought After.
* * * * *
The Latest Edition of "Shoo! Fly."
"MOSQUITO" at Niblo's.
* * * * *
THE CONGRESSMAN TO HIS CRITICS.
Well, talk, if you like; I suppose it's your way;
Each citizen, surely, should say all his say;
_I_ did just so, when I'd nothing to do;
And if _I_ felt like doing so, why shouldn't _you_!
It's republican, pleasant, and safe, to find fault;
If a man can't do _that_, why he's not worth his salt.
And never, since critics (and fleas) learned their powers,
Was a country more blest with such vermin than ours.
You've learned much about your old friend, it is said;
The farther I'm from you, the plainer I'm read!
When "one of the people" comes here to make laws,
The "people" disown him. Now, what is the cause?
You say I'm not "dignified." Well, friends--are you?
My language, my manners, are rough, it is true;
My tones, and my jokes, (since you say it,) are coarse;
But very few streams rise above their own source.
If we're all "politicians," and they are such trash
As you have declared them, why were you so rash
As to give us your votes? What! will nobody "run"
But a "mere politician?" Why, then we're undone!
Come, come--this is nonsense! Be fair, my good sirs!
Let us look at this question. Suppose it occurs
That a long, prosy speech is about to be made;
If you say, "Stay and hear it," must you be obeyed?
But ours is a "serious business." True!
And so are some other things serious, too!
Such as courtships, and dinners, and headaches, and blues,
And sight-seeing friends, whom 'tis death to refuse!
Now, many of us (though it should not be said!)
Are really stupid, and haven't much head.
We don't take that view of our duty that _you_ do;
We're often so bothered we don't know what _to_ do!
Our votes look decided--as though we did know;
But that's because BUTLER or SCHENCK voted so.
Such points may come up, in the course of the day,
As would puzzle the Seraphim some, I should say!
Besides, gentle friends! did you ever think so?
Perhaps we are paying you all that we owe.
If you want better service, why send better men,
And be better yourselves. It will all be right, then.
[Footnote 1: Political death, of course.]
* * * * *
Come on, Ladies!
An Anti-mustache movement has begun in Boston. PUNCHINELLO to explain
that it begins altogether with the ladies, and is, of course, Right
Against the mustaches.
* * * * *
For Lunatics Only.
The latest whim of the Lunatics in one of the Indiana Asylums is the
notion that they can design and build opera-houses. Well, we have lots
of crazy architecture, and more than one gentleman has acknowledged
himself insane for investing in opera-houses. But PUNCHINELLO thinks
that the tastes of the insane would be better encouraged if directed to
the building of Courts of Justice. Every Court-house thus constructed,
would be a monument to the Plea of Insanity.
* * * * *
GLIMPSES OF FORTUNE.
You may not think so, my dear PUNCHINELLO, but it is true. I have had
them. I am not one of your bloated aristocrats--just at the present
moment--but I know as well as any one what WHITTIER meant when he said
"it might have been." As an instance of this, I will just state that it
has not been a very long time since, in looking over the columns of one
of our principal dailies, I saw something among the personals which
seemed to touch my interests in, a very decided way. I often look over
the "Personals," for I know well the connection between fortune and the
Press. I have not forgotten the success of A.T. STEWART and many other
millionaires, and their dependence on the newspapers--but never until
that day had I seen any thing in that mystic column which could possibly
be construed to apply to inc. As for the rest of the paper, I knew that
there was nothing to interest me there. You see I was after Fortune. The
advertisement to which I refer road as follows:
"If the gentleman in a dark hat and gray pantaloons, who, in a Broadway
stage, one day last week, passed up the fare for a lady with blue eyes
and high-heeled boots, will call at 831 Dash street, second floor, he
will hear of something to his advantage. A.R.R."
Now, it so happened, that during the whole of the preceding week I had
worn a black hat and gray pantaloons; indeed, I had them on yet, and, to
tell the truth, I had no others. Therefore, this part of the case was
all clear enough. There was no reason why the gentleman inquired for
should not be me. I had certainly ridden in a stage in the last week,
and I remember very well that I passed up the fare for lady with blue
eyes. I performed a similar service for several ladies; but one of them,
I am sure, had blue eyes. As to the high-heeled boots I suppose she wore
them, but how was I to know that? At all events it would be a piece of
the most culpable indifference to my welfare to neglect this chance.
Fortune! and through a lady, too! To think of it! The promised advantage
might be great or small, but whatever it was, it would be most welcome.
And the honor, too! A piece of positive advantage for an act of manly
I immediately put on that black hat, and with those identical gray
trowsers upon my legs, I strode down to 321 Dash street, and mounted
instantly to the second floor. As there was but one entrance door from
the stair-way on this floor, I felt certain that I had found the right
The business of Mr. A.R.R. was evidently a very profitable one, for his
room was quite full of people. I inquired of a boy for the author of the
notice I held in my hand, (I had carefully cut it from the paper,) and
was informed that this was the right place, and that the gentleman would
see me in a few moments. I took a seat and regarded the persons who were
standing and sitting about the room. They were all men, and in a few
minutes I discovered, to my great surprise, that they all wore black
hats and gray pantaloons!
I must admit, that when I made this discovery, I experienced a very
peculiar sensation, as if some one had suddenly dropped a little
ice-water down my back. Was it possible that all these men were here in
answer to that advertisement, which I considered addressed to me alone?
There were all sorts of them; old gentlemen with heads grayer than their
pants; young fellows who looked like clerks; and middle-aged men, who
seemed like very respectable heads of families. Was it possible that
each one of those individuals had, in the last week, passed up the fare
of a blue-eyed lady with high-heeled boots? And did each one of them
expect to enjoy that advantage for which I came here? One thing was
certain; they did not announce to each other their business, but looked
at their watches and tapped their boots, and knitted their brows as if
each one of them had come on very particular business, which had nothing
to do with the affairs of the general crowd. But all those gray
trowsers! There was no concealing them.
A door, leading into an adjoining room, now opened quickly, and Mr.
A.R.R. made his appearance. No one doubted that he was the man, for he
bowed politely, and seemed to expect the company. He was a tall, thin,
and well-dressed man, and held in his hand a small package. Instantly
upon his appearance every man in the room stuck his thumb and forefinger
into his vest pocket, and pulling out a little piece of printed paper,
said, "Sir, I called--" A.R.R. waved his hand.
"Gentlemen," said he, "I know why you called, and you will allow me to
"But look here," said a tall man with a blue cravat. "I think that I am
the person you want to see, and as I am in a hurry, I would like to see
you for a few minutes in private."
Dozens of angry eyes were now directed upon this presumptuous
individual, and dozens of angry voices were about to break forth when
the benign A.R.R. again waved his hand.
"Gentlemen," said he, "I wish to see you all. No one more than another.
I have reason to believe that every one of you is the person to whom
that advertisement referred. I see you are all gentlemen, and you would
not have made your appearance here had you not fulfilled the conditions
mentioned in the paper."
Here was a smothered hum, which seemed to precede a general outbreak,
but A.R.R., blandly smiling, continued:
"Gentlemen, do not become impatient. What I have to say is to the
advantage of every one of you. You all move in good society--I can see
that--and you therefore are well aware of some of the penalties of
social pleasures and high living. Consequently, gentlemen," and now he
spoke very fast, as if fearful of interruption, "you must have, all of
you, experienced some of the evils of indigestion, and it is to relieve
these that I have prepared my Binocular Barberry Bitters--"
A roar of rage here broke forth from every man of us, and a rush was
made towards the smiling impostor, but he quickly slipped through the
door behind him, and locked it in our faces. And then, before we could
rush from the room where we had been so shamefully duped, the head of
A.R.R. appeared at a little window in the partition-wall, and he called
"Gentlemen, this mixture is, as my initials declare, a Radical Relief,
and retails at one dollar per bottle, I hope you will take some of my
circulars home with you," and he threw among the crowd the package of
circulars which he had held in his hand.
This, O friend PUNCHINELLO, was only one of my Glimpses of Fortune. I
may yet see the jade more nearly. IMPECUNE.
* * * * *
Under the conditions of the Fifteenth Amendment, should things continue
to be put down in Black and White?
* * * * *
"COMPARISONS ARE ODIOUS."
_Fond Mother._ "YES, HE'S A PRETTY GOOD BOY, BUT HE DON'T
TAKE TO HIS LETTERS."
_Squire._ "WELL, HE OUGHTER, FOR HIS MOUTH IS LIKE THE
SLIT OF A POST-OFFICE BOX."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A TABLEAU OF THE DAY.
GENERAL DANA, WHO HAS BROUGHT THE FIRE OF THE "SUN" TO BEAR UPON EVERY
BODY, NOW BEGINS TO REALIZE THE FORCE OF THE PROVERB--"FOLKS WHO LIVE IN
GLASS HOUSES SHOULD NOT THROW STONES."]
* * * * *
THE INDIAN QUESTION.
[AS VIEWED IN THE WEST.]
This is _our_ business, understand!
You Eastern folks, with tempers bland
All get your views at second-hand.
We are the ones that take the brunt
Of every lively Indian-hunt,
So don't be angry if we're blunt.
If any body's scalped it's _us!_
So we've a well-earned right to cuss,
And you've _no_ right to make a fuss.
Talk as you please about their "rights;"
That don't include their coming nights,
And cutting out our lungs and lights.
You get your wife and children shot!
(Here it might happen, like us not,)
You'll make your mind up on the spot.
"Humanity" 's played out for _you!_
You've got some active work to do;
No doubt you'll see it well put through.
Until you've settled that small bill,
(As honorable debtors will,)
We fancy you will not keep still.
You will admit the tender plea
Of "broken faith;" but when you see
Your Red Skin, you won't let him be!
Just so with us. We don't go back
Of _our_ affair! We were not slack
In justice to this Devil's pack!
They settle with the wrong concern;
And as they never, _never'll_ learn,
We shoot 'em, and don't care a _dern!_
* * * * *
[Illustration: EDITORIAL WASHING-DAY IN NEW-YORK.]
Observe PUNCHINELLO'S Cartoon, in which you shall behold the editorial
laundresses of New-York city having a washy time of it all around. There
is a, shriek of objurgation in the air, and a flutter of soiled linen on
the breeze. Granny MARBLE, to the extreme left of the picture, clenches
her fists over the pungent suds, and looks fight at Granny JONES, of the
_Times_. The beaming phiz of Granny GREELEY looms up between the two,
like the sun in a fog. But the real _Sun_ in a fog is to be seen to the
extreme right. There you behold Granny DANA, shaking her "brawny bunch
of fives" in the face of Granny YOUNG, whose manner of wringing out the
linen, you will observe, is up to the highest _Standard_ of that branch
of art. Further away, Granny TILTON flutters her linen with spiteful
flourish, nettled by the vituperation of Granny HASTINGS, who hangs up
her _Commercial_ clothes on the line. The _tableau_ is an instructive
one; and it is to be hoped that all the U-Lye soaps used by the
washerwomen is used up by this time, and that they will replace it with
some having a sweeter perfume.
* * * * *
MRS. JERNINGHAM'S JOURNAL. New-York: Charles Scribner & Company.
A very cleverly-written narrative, in smooth verse, detailing the
experience of a bride who took to flirting early in her matrimonial
career, but was saved from coming to grief by the decisive action of a
stern husband. The book contains a capital lesson for the Girl of the
Period, whose follies are satirized in it with a sharp pen.
* * * * *
The attention of the Public is requested to PUNCHINELLO No. 10, which
will be issued upon Thursday, May 26th. It will be a very brilliant
number, illustrated with flights of fancy by ten comic artists.
In PUNCHINELLO No. 11 will be commenced a new burlesque serial, "The
Mystery of Mister E. Drood," written expressly for this paper by the
celebrated humorist, ORPHEUS C. KERR.
* * * * *
[Illustration: MAKING A HASH OF IT. _Customer_. "I THOUGHT YOU HAD
A GOOD PLACE WITH MR. ASHE; WHY ARE YOU GOING TO LEAVE?"
_Cockney Waiter_. "FACT IS, SIR, HASHE IS IN THE 'ABIT OF MAKING USE OF
HODIOUS LANGUAGE TO HIS WAITERS, SIR, AND NO MAN OF HEDUCATION COULD
STAND _THAT_, SIR, YOU KNOW, SIR."]
* * * * *
MR. PUNCHINELLO, do you know when a woman is perfection itself? "No." I
do. It is when she is from sixteen to nineteen. Of course you take her
judgment. At sixteen she is the coming flower that has come--the first
Rose of Summer, and about the best that may be looked for. Her ideas may
not be solid, but they are expansive. Her mind may not make a very great
show, but her hair (real and otherwise) is sure to. She is very deep in
love--with herself. The supremest divinity is seen when she looks in the
mirror. Call her ARABELLA if you like. ARABELLA is mistress of that
portion of the dictionary which includes the common-place compliments of
society. In her mouth they have a common place, indeed. Some people call
such utterances "stuff," "nonsense," "puerilities," but nobody is so
prejudiced and unreliable as the above-named some people. They
complacently think they know a thing or two, but that is all it amounts
to. ARABELLA hasn't any doubt about her being perfection. Unfortunately
there is a question about some matters in this world in politics,
religion, morality and other kindred things, but on the doctrine of
perfection, as applied to her individual self, ARABELLA is clear and
settled. Did any body, she says _sotto voce_, to herself, ever put
vision on such an ensemble countenance? Were eyes ever more sparkling?
Were ever dimples dimpler? Had ever peach such artistic hue, and teeth
such pearly pearliness, and lips such positive sweetness, and brow such
loveliness? We suppose not. ARABELLA is eighteen, is of elastic notions,
sees life as a romance, believes the ground on which she walks ought to
be grateful for the honor, and wonders if every body who goes out don't
go straightway to talking rapturously about her. ARABELLA is a type--the
type of a class of perfectionists. ARABELLA is neither a worm nor a
butterfly, but the bridge between. For all this ARABELLA believes
herself to be the best of butterflies, with the capacity to fly in the
highest manner. At twenty-five her wings will be clipped, her colors
will modify, her notions renovate, and her eyes open. She will perceive
that the doctrine of perfection is mythical, and angels upon earth only
so in name.
Going to church is a good thing. All good people go, and from good
motives, of course. Mrs. BROWN, says a wicked gossip, goes to show a
bonnet; Mrs. JONES her shawl; Mrs. SMITH her silk; Mrs. JENKINS her
gloves and fan. No sane person believes that these ladies go for any
such purpose. The case isn't presumable. They are nice, high-toned
people, sit in $800 pews, adore Rev. Dr. CANTWELL, and give very freely
(of their husband's money) to the heathen in the uttermost corners of
the earth. They prefer, good souls, to give to the heathen under the
equator to those under their noses. It is _not_ true that ladies go to
church for the display of dress. It _is_ true Mrs. JONES does not wish
to be outdone by Mrs. JENKINS, and isn't if STEWART can help it, but she
is a good pious woman of simple tastes, though Mr. J. thinks she tastes
rather often. Going to church is a good thing for example's sake. It is
so nice and strengthening to reflect that, as the minister preaches
piety, and you practice poetry, (with a pencil in the prayer-book,) you
set an example to the rising generation. One can never do too much for
the rising generation, though it often rises too frequently and too
high. Besides, it encourages the minister. Only think of talking to
emptiness instead of fulness--to people instead of plush. How can the
dear Rev. SPLURGE SPLUTTER have the heart or tongue to drop his pearls
of eloquence to the swine of empty pews? And how dreadful for the gifted
soprano, Miss SCREECH, to tune her melodious voice to earless aisles!
And then it is so easy to "set" examples by sitting in soft pews, doing
to church should be a matter of conscience. Every body not a dolt admits
conscience to be a good thing, though a thing every body cannot boast of
possessing. I like people of conscience--that is, I should like them if
I knew any. It is such a nice thing to talk about--and how much nicer
to have. Mrs. TODD often wishes "to conscience" she could reach mine. I
am sorry to say that at times Mrs. T. is an irreverent woman. She
doesn't perceive that some where under that hairless, proud dome of mine
there must be a conscience--I may proudly say, an imposing conscience. I
said to Mrs. T. one day, "I _have_ an imposing conscience," and she
really thought so--adding the cruel expression that she didn't know of
any thing about me but _was_ imposing, and that she first became aware
of the sad fact when she married me.
* * * * *
THE REIGN OF COUPS.
The situation of France is always striking. This is because its people
are always being struck with a succession of Napoleonic ideas. They
labor, for example, under a constant _coup d'etat_. Their Press is the
victim of a regular _coup de main_; their Strikes are daily evidences of
_coups de mains_; their Legislature suffers continually from _coup de
theatre_; and their Emperor is perpetually threatened with a _coup de
grace_. The energies of Frenchmen are not imprisoned; no, they are only
* * * * *
ELEVATED STATESMANSHIP--INSOBRIETY THE BEST POLICY.
Sir JOHN MACDONALD, the Premier of Canada, though an eccentric leader,
is a happy illustration of the most elevated statecraft. "He has been
drunk," says the Toronto _Globe_, "for several days, and incapacitated
for public affairs." Considering what Canadian affairs are (including
Sir JOHN,) this does not follow. Evidently it is not his policy to keep
sober. But Sir JOHN is often drunk, says the _Globe_; he was tight
before Prince ARTHUR, and he rushes to the bottle whenever the Fenians
give alarm. Now this strikes us as very good policy. It helps us to see
how convenient it was for Sir JOHN to magnify a few O'BRIENS and
O'SHAUGHNESSYS into an army with green banners, and how opportunely the
Dominion became intoxicated with its fears.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A POWERFUL PROTECTOR.
_Mother_. "WHY, ROSIE, HOW LATE YOU ARE TO-DAY!"
_Rosie_. "YES, MA, BUT I COULDN'T HELP IT. THERE WAS A POOR LITTLE GIRL
AT SCHOOL WHO HAD NO ONE TO TAKE CARE OF HER, AND SO I HAD TO SEE HER
* * * * *
The supposition that this snake prefers a file to any other species of
nourishment is a vulgar error, and belongs to the same mendacious
category as the stories that ostriches are fond of ten-penny nails and
soldiers of hard tack. It is true that old files are sometimes bitten by
vipers in localities where these serpents abound, but in the lizard and
hop-toad they usually find metal more attractive. The viper, when in a
state of repose, is of an olive-brown color; but, if trodden upon, turns
rusty. He is about twenty-four inches in length, as you may see by
applying a two-foot rule to him, but it is a good rule to keep two feet
away from him. As a bosom friend he is not to be trusted--a fact in
natural history that was discovered many years ago by a green
countryman, who got into a bad box by placing a viper on his chest. It
is a peculiarity of this serpent, that when held suspended by his
posterior extremity he can not raise his head to a level with his tail.
In consequence of this provision in the economy of nature, he finds it
as impossible to make both ends meet as if he were a human prodigal. In
this respect he presents a marked contrast to the hoop-snake, which has
no more back-bone than a timid politician, and can put its tail in its
mouth, and roll in any direction with the utmost facility. The viper was
at one time supposed to have an envenomed tongue, and although this
error has been exploded, it is as well to avoid his jaw if possible, as,
when irritated, he is very snappish.
This snake, according to some naturalists, is oviparous, and according
to others viviparous; but all authorities agree that it is viperous in
the extreme. Serpents are generated in various ways; the horse-runner,
for instance, being derived from the fibres of horses' manes and tails,
which probably receive the breath of life in a mare's nest. That such is
the origin of the horse-runner the reader can verify for himself, by
putting a few horse hairs in a basin of water and watching them till
they begin to squirm. Possibly the shorter fibres from the _caput_ of an
African might in like manner produce vipers. The experiment is worth
trying. There are several varieties of the species in this country; the
most malignant and treacherous being the Political Vipers--snakes in
the grass--bred from the spawn of the Original Cockatrices, and a curse
to the land we live in.
* * * * *
WOMAN IN THE CENSUS.
A fresh blow has been struck at Woman's Rights! Gallant ladies, eager to
cope with figures, have been compelled to yield to numbers--inferior
numbers at that! Man, the minority, remains the popular tyrant of
population. Women, the majority, don't count, can't count for any
thing--even for women--at least in the sense of being Census-takers; for
General WALKER has decided that Assistant Marshals LAVINIA PURLEAR and
SARAH BURGOYNE (hear it, shades of NEY and BLUCHER!) are ineligible to
such a warlike title. General WALKER is not firm in his mind that
Marshals PURLEAR and BURGOYNE [would it be as well to say Marshal WALKER
and Generals PURLEAR and BURGOYNE?] are feminine. "These appear to be
the names of women," he says. Why might they not be the names of men? Is
there no right or reason in these days of domestic revolution for men to
name themselves LAVINIA and SARAH if they like it, and their wives like
it? And suppose LAVINIA and SARAH that ought to be, or might have been,
choose to call themselves MAHALALEEL and METHUSALEM--who's to prevent?
Why should not the Rev. Mr.---- style himself Miss NANCY if he pleases?
Why should not the Hon. Mr.---- rechristen himself BETTY if he has a
mind to? H'm! A pretty pass we are coming to if these women folks who
ask men's rights and take men's names won't lend us theirs! And alas,
alas, ye lasses! What if some-day ye do indeed abstract our census, and
marshal us into helpless minority. What if we have to disguise
ourselves, and shave our beards, and change our names even to get on the
police! Or will ye--ye bullying Syrens!--grow whiskers and wear
pantaloons, and put us in station-houses, and clear us out of the Census
* * * * *
A LETTER FROM A FRIEND.
Friend PUNCHINELLO: Thee has doubtless sorrowed, in spite of thy motley,
with those bereft at Richmond. Circumstances made that disaster a
calamity which we have all felt in common. But thee knows that
"Blessings come often in disguise." Let us find what small comfort we
can in this thought.
Circumstances, however, alter cases. How different the feeling--how thin
the disguise would have been--had our Capitol fallen, at Harrisburg!
Before another Session we trust the proper spirit will move some
underpinning there, for the greater good of the Commonwealth. It was
formerly said that "Law is law;" but not even a Philadelphia lawyer now
knows what law is or what law is not--for "any thing" is law here
abouts. Of one result we may boast, if that be not sinful, we are ahead
of thy wicked city.. Thee had thy delinquent Tax Collector, _but thee
has him not_. We sorrowed, for we had him not, but now we rejoice in one
whose name is--not BAILEY--but HILL. We did not want him, but got him
involuntarily, as thee might get the small-pox.
Doubtless he will make it more up-Hill work than ever with our taxes,
but, if he would only shoulder them and be off, what a blessing? For,
verily, it cannot be said, as of old, that a man "heapeth up riches, and
knoweth not who shall gather them."
But, perhaps, thee pays taxes also? If so, thee can affirm to the
gatherer, as well as thy friend,
_Philadelphia, 5th month, 9th day, 1870._
* * * * *
Somebody talks of the Iron Men of Congress. Does he mean the Cast-iron
members or the Pig-iron members? For instance there are the rusty
Heavy-weights, and then there are the fellows who are greedy about
Tariff. Members of the scrap-iron and ten-penny nail order are, of
course, not alluded to. All these are iron men, but, as every body
knows, are not men of Iron. In view of its rusty legislation and
legislators, we recommend Congress to hang out a sign--"Highest prices
paid here for old iron."
* * * * *
The Toronto _Globe_ is at present treating the Premier of the Dominion
to a course of lectures, advising him not to get drunk so often as he
does. Now this is too much to expect, since the gentleman referred to
has, by virtue of his official position, the run of the Bar.
* * * * *
MR. MORRILL expressed his views upon what he is pleased, for MORRILL is
mirthful in his heavy way, to designate the reduction of taxes. He said
that we had been for some time in a state of peace, and our expenses
were not so large as they had been. Therefore he thought we might leave
direct taxation alone. To be sure he was not prepared to suggest any
specific reductions in direct taxation. But, doubtless, they would be
made some day or other. In the meantime let us pile on the tariff. This
was his notion of reducing taxation. Let the importers and the consumers
who don't like it--
Learn how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.
Then the Senate betook itself to considering an appropriation for
educating the colored infant. Mr. WILSON strongly approved it, not only
on account of the colored infant, for whose education he did not in a
general way feel any particular solicitude, inasmuch as the less
educated he was, the likelier he would be to give his voice and vote to
him, (Mr. WILSON,) and his like; but also because the appropriation
would provide for a number of the supernumerary female school-teachers
of Massachusetts, who had become a great trial to him, and particularly
to his colleague, Mr. SUMNER.
Mr. SUMNER said "that's school," and explained that he believed he was
venerated by the women of Massachusetts, but that their reverence for
him was too great to allow them to approach him with importunities.
Nevertheless, he was in favor of the bill, as tending to break down the
accursed spirit of caste, and to disseminate throughout the South the
three or more R's which he had so often had the honor of reverberating
throughout the Senate.
Mr. YATES approved of the bill. It was his general principle to vote for
any thing that looked to the disbursement of money. He was particularly
in favor of this measure, because he wanted an uniform education for
every body. He didn't want any body else to know more than himself, and
he didn't want to know more than any body else. (Voices--You don't.)
Take spelling. There was only one correct method of spelling--the one
that he pursued. And yet he had never found any other person who agreed
with him in it. Evidently, this was not right. He demanded that the
children of the country should be taught to spell on proper principles,
so that his works might be intelligible to posterity, as they were not
to his contemporaries.
Of course Mr. SUMNER seized the occasion to quote crowds of authorities
on education, which debilitated the Senate to a dissolution.
Mr. LYNCH wanted to revive American commerce in behalf of the
ship-builders of Maine. If he were a judge, as a celebrated namesake of
his once was, he would do it by hanging a majority of members of the
House he had the honor of addressing. In default of that he wanted them
to legislate sensibly upon it.
Of course nobody paid any attention to the suggestion. The House did
itself credit by refusing one land-grab, out of a thousand or so
Mr. BUTLER actually produced again his bill to annex San Domingo, and
refused to be comforted, because every body laughed.
Then came up the Tariff. COVODE said he supposed it would be admitted
that he had as little regard for the right and wrong of the thing as any
body. But this thing had really gone so far that any man with any regard
for his re-election must protest. Nobody but SCHENCK and KELLEY cared
about the tariff. Every body cared about the taxes.
SCHENCK could not regard COVODE with any other sentiment than disgust.
He wanted a duty upon foreign oysters. The oyster of Long Island and the
oyster of New-Jersey ought not to be trodden down by the pauper oysters
* * * * *
Personal advertisements having reference to the matrimonial exigencies
of divers widows, old maids, and bachelors, are not without their
influence upon the sympathies of the age. Particular attention has been
recently directed toward an announcement made in a Cleveland paper to
the effect that "Two widow ladies, strangers in Cleveland, wish to form
the acquaintance of a limited number of gentlemen with a view to happy
results. Please address in confidence,--."
One involuntarily regrets that a prospect thus bounded by an horizon of
"happy results" should have been confined to a "limited number of
There is nothing so calculated to impair the usefulness of what purports
to be a purely benevolent enterprise, as its selfishness. If a widow, or
any number of widows, really possess the means of realizing "happy
results" with a "limited number of gentlemen," they should either remove
the limitation themselves, or make known the secret to those who would
be less sparing of the joys which it is capable of communicating. A
quack who peddles a valuable remedy upon which he may have stumbled, and
yet refuses to disclose its ingredients for the benefit of the whole
medical fraternity, violates the _esprit du corps_ of the profession,
and is by general consent deemed a fit person to be kicked out of it.
Therefore, if any widows or single ladies in Cleveland have knowledge of
any "happy results" which they advertise to share with a limited number
of gentlemen, we shall deem them unworthy of their sex, unless they
explain the process by which these results are attained, for the benefit
of those who are fast verging toward the autumnal stage of maidenhood.
* * * * *
It may well be doubted whether the thought ever occurred to ADAM that
one day or other a hen would be charged with the care and custody of a
brood of goslings. The pastimes of Eden were perhaps not favorable to
vaticinations in the line of Natural History, but in the progress of the
world since those most primitive times, men have come to contemplate the
spectacle of that familiar barn-yard fowl made wretched by the aquatic
propensities of her supposed offspring, without a particle of
astonishment. The wicked and unfeeling even go so far as to seek
amusement in her misery. Her "ducklings" and other symptoms of maternal
agony at beholding the feathered darlings tempting the dangers of a
neighboring duck-pond, do not move their stony breasts. On the contrary,
they decidedly relish that sort of thing, and greet with positive
hilarity the efforts of some sympathizing rooster to cheer her. Fie,
upon such natures! If they must have an outlet for their ribaldry, let
them take PUNCHINELLO'S advice and select such instances as that
recently furnished in Sacramento, where a hen took charge of a nest of
kittens, and resolutely maintained it against the parent cat. Here the
case was different. The hen had become a trespasser. She had no business
with kittens. There was no hypothesis by which she could claim them as
her own. Kittens are not hereditary in the family of fowls, and she knew
it. It was an usurpation without any pretext of justification. What
would become of us if such a precedent could be extended to the genus
_Mammalia?_ Hundreds of rapacious old maids would be seizing all sorts
and all sizes of babies from agonized mothers, and asserting for
themselves the hallowed duties of maternity. Our infant days would have
been days of ceaseless motion. We should have been shuttle-cocked from
maiden to mother and from mother to maiden after a fashion calculated to
defeat the wise purposes of ipecac and paregoric, and to frighten our
natural curls into a state of painful perpendicularity. The mere
presentment of such a possibility, carries its refutation, and puts the
aggressions of this Sacramento hen in the category of outrages which all
society is banded to suppress. If you must laugh, O generation of
scoffers, make your jokes and gibes the instrument of protecting the
altars of all such feline households as may be thus assailed.
* * * * *
Flag and Rag.
What is the difference between a railroad danger signal and a lost
The one is a red flag, the other is a fled rag.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SOCIAL SCIENCE.
_Lecturer._ "THERE IS A CUMULATIVE APPROXIMATIVENESS, SO TO SPEAK, A
PERIOD WHEN THE RECALCITRANT CORPUSCLES BEGIN TO "-------
_Stenographer._ "CON-FOUND THE FELLOW! I KNEW HE'D BREAK MY PENCIL WITH
HIS INFERNAL JAW-SMASHERS!"]
* * * * *
[BY ATLANTIC CABLE.]
Being uneasy about our agent's course at the Vatican, I have come over
to Rome to see about it. He is an Irishman, with a little of Father TOM
in him, and has got into a "controversy" with his Holiness about
infallibility. Our African bishop (otherwise PHELIM BURKE) insists that
PUNCHINELLO is infallible! The Pope says this is ridiculous! Father
PHELIM replies that "there are two that can play that same game." I
found them in the midst of this when ANTONELLI ushered me into the Papal
presence. PIUS was up on his feet, talking Latin like a crack student of
the Propaganda. PHELIM had his sleeves rolled up. ANTONELLI, with a
"_Pax vobiscum_" got the two contending powers quieted down; and, after
a proper salutation from me, we began our talk. His Holiness is not much
on English. Says he, "I speak vat-I-can English." Had he said _non
possumus_ to it, it would have been better. However, PHELIM translated
him; so we got on.
"Your Holiness enjoys, I hope, a good constitution?"
"The _constitutio de fide_ is, indeed, very good. Catholics must every
where subscribe to it."
"Dr. DOLLINGER, I trust, don't disturb your appetite?" "_Anathema
maranatha!_" which means (said PHELIM,) "Oh no, I never mention him."
Whereupon PHELIM, who had breakfasted on gin-and-milk, began to hum that
tune. I at once trod upon his toe, and he stopped.
"On the whole, what does your Holiness think of the prospect?"
"From this window, it is very fine. But I'm getting a little
"Don't you see that crowd of people coming up?"
"No I don't--it's only a herd of cattle from the Campagna."
"Take my glass. There, now; don't you see, I am right?"
"Yes," and the old man crossed himself, "It is so; I was mistaken."
"Thrue for you!" gobbled out PHELIM; "we've got to make a note of that!
PUNCHINELLO never made the likes of a mistake!"
"But, _what's in your glass?_ I see strange men there. GARIBALDI, and
MAZZINI, and HYACINTHE, STROSSMEYER, DOLLINGER, DUPANLOUP, and CUMMING,
all together! I see a troop of schoolmasters; a larger one of
newspaper-venders; and a whole army of _colporteurs_, each with a bag of
Bibles on his back! And, what do I see? They enter ST. PETER'S; they
leave the door wide open. Did I hear it? They are singing LUTHER'S
The old man fell now into his seat, and I took the glass from him. "Only
one of his attacks," said ANTONELLI. "He is not quite so strong as he
was." "Thrue again," said PHELIM. With that sense of propriety for which
your representative has over been distinguished, I took PHELIM by the
arm and retired.
Poor Pius! He means well, and if we only had him for a while out West,
where I came from, we might make something sensible out of him yet. But,
when a man will live so far away from the Rocky Mountains as away over
here, what can be expected? We can't civilize the whole world at once.
Father PHELIM, by the way, is to be proposed as the new King of Spain.
His father's uncle's second cousin by the mother's side partook of a
good deal of BOURBON. That's reason enough, you know especially as they
only want a King LOG.
Those infernal machines, so called, with--which the Emperor was supposed
to be about to be blown up, turn out to have been pewter plates. Out of
one of them the bottom had been cut, and the edges rolled up; and this
gave rise to a terrible suspicion. Two thousand people have been
arrested in consequence.
That _Press Ass_ has been at his blunders again. He telegraphed to me
that a conspiracy was afloat to enact a kind of petticoat government. He
meant to tell me some gossip about Madame PATTI-CAUX. Then he wanted me
to believe that the "smaller catechism" talked about at Rome was the
catechizing of SMALLEY of the Tribune, concerning GUSTAVE FLOURENS. That
man never will learn. PRIME.
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