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Title: Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 34, November 19, 1870
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 34, November 19, 1870" ***

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Vol. II. No. 34.


PUNCHINELLO


SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1870.


PUBLISHED BY THE


PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,

83 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.

       *       *       *       *       *

PRANG'S LATEST PUBLICATIONS: "Joy of Autumn," "Prairie Flowers," "Lake
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L. PRANG & CO., Boston.


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Entered according to Art of Congress, in the year 1870, by the
Punchinello Publishing Company, in the Office of the Librarian of
Congress at Washington.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: WALKING DOWN CHATHAM STREET.

_Clothier._ "Step in and look at our goods, Captain. Summer stuffs at a
discount--nice lot o' white ducks at half price."

_Sportsman._ "I beat you there. I've got a nice lot o' black ducks here
that ain't to be had at any price."]

       *       *       *       *       *

BRILLIANCY OF THE "SUN."

The Moon, as is generally known, shines with a borrowed light, while the
Sun is popularly supposed to manufacture its own gas and to arrange its
pyrotechnics on the premises. Our N.Y. _Sun_, however, does not always
manufacture its own beams. By far the most brilliant of the "sunbeams,"
for instance, published in that journal of November 1st, is the quaint
and charming little poem there headed "Sally Salter," and written
originally for Punchinello, in the issue of which publication for Oct.
1st it made its first appearance, under the title of "The Lovers." We
congratulate the _Sun_ on having thus successfully lit its pipe with
Punchinello's fire, though we think it might have been gracious enough
to have acknowledged the favor.

       *       *       *       *       *

A PEOPLE OF TASTE.

The extraordinary liberality of the generous people of Connecticut has
frequently excited apprehension in the minds of their friends, that,
sooner or later, as the result of their spendthrift career, they must
come to beggary. But we are glad to hear that they are making an effort
in New Haven to reform. The grocery men there say that their customers
taste so much before they can make up their minds to buy anything, that
what with gratuitous slices of cheese and specimen mouthfuls of sugar
and sample spoonfuls of molasses, the shop-keeper's profits are most
dolefully diminished. A particularly BLUE LAW against this economical
custom will have the effect of sobering down these brilliant Cullers.

       *       *       *       *       *

"What Answer?"

Is it likely that HORACE GREELEY, or any other man, could steer this
country through its difficulties by means of the tillers of the soil?

       *       *       *       *       *

ANY MORE CAVES?

About the dreariest magazine or other reading we know of--and we get a
deal of it, too--is that which describes the visits of enthusiastic
persons to big caves underground, very dark, damp, dreary, ugly,
funereal--with winding ways and huge holes, water with eyeless fish, and
certain drippings called stalagmites and stalactites. The enthusiasts,
who always possess that priceless treasure self-satisfaction, and a
boundless capacity for wonder (which is always ready to exercise itself
with anything that is big, however ugly), and the "Palaces," and
"Halls," and "Cascades," and "Altars," and "Bridal Wreaths" they see
there are not only finer than real ones (if you would believe them!) but
so grand and wonderful as to be really indescribable. So we find them,
by their turgid and stupid reports, which are all alike, and all dreary
and silly. We have never heard of anybody who got excited over these
pictures (except the artists themselves); and positively there is no
flatter reading anywhere than these gushing notes about big caves.

       *       *       *       *       *

GEOMETRICAL.

Why is it that we hear so much of the proper "Sphere" of woman? Here is
that noble exile, the Princess Editha Montez, lecturing again, and her
subject, of course, is the Spherical one. So when Mesdames Stanton,
Dickinson, Anthony, Howe--all the lovely lecturers--discourse, they
forget the platform which is plane, and discuss the "sphere" which is
mysterious. Can it possibly be that it is because these amiable
gentlewomen are always going round? Or is it because they cannot help
reasoning in a circle? Or is there some occult relation between spheres
and hoops? Or has the wedding-ring something to do with it? It should be
understood, that these are questions addressed solely to male
mathematicians; for Mr. P. is unlike John Graham, and doesn't care to
cross-examine ladies.

       *       *       *       *       *

SECRETION EXTRAORDINARY.

It is done by Mollusks. We can tell you even the precise kind--it is the
Gasteropod kind. Not only this, we know the very devil himself that does
it. (And you will say that "devil" is not a particle too rough a term,
when we come to tell what it is he "secretes.") It is the _Dolium
galea_, good friends, and we could tell you six other kinds that are
suspected of this meanness. One of 'em is the _Pleurobranchidium_
--which, of course, you have often heard of.

Well, what do these wretched Mollusks go and secrete? We can tell
you--we, who know everything. It is sulphuric acid! What! do they steal
it? Oh, no; they "evolve" it--probably from the "depths of their own
consciousness."

And what do they do it for? Well, they bore with it. Give 'em a chance,
and they'll go through _you_. The acid eats its way, and then they eat
_their_ way. That way is not ours, exactly; but we have known human
beings about as venomous as this creature, and with precisely the same
tendency to pierce one. They do it with their tongues, it is true, but
the perforation is complete.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE WRONG PLACE.

We are unusually astonished to find the Female Reformers holding their
meeting in this city in Apollo Hall. It is well known that Apollo was a
god of the male persuasion; and to have everything "mix up well," these
philosophical dames should have a Minerva Hall or a Diana Hall of their
own. Besides, was not Apollo the God of Harmony? Precious little of that
same was there at this meeting; for there was the Medical Mary Walker
trying to make a speech, while the Chairwoman put her down, causing Mary
de Medici to cry out with shrill indignation: "Tyrant!" Bless us! we
thought all the tyrants were we Bearded Ones.

       *       *       *       *       *

A LETTER FROM CHICAGO.

Purposely or otherwise, we are all on our way to California now--men,
women, and children--graybeards and babies. We did Europe two or three
years ago, so that idea is obsolete, excepting as a bridal tour; then,
too, the more peaceably inclined, who have not seen the European
elephant, would prefer to wait until that country is again in a state of
quiescence. But Chicago is constantly sending out her adventure-loving
citizens upon the Pacific road, each one of whom looks, sees, admires,
and suddenly develops an epistolary talent hitherto undreamed of by his
most enthusiastic friends. There's our MELISSA, for instance--she never
used to have a pen in her hand more than once in the course of six
months, and _now_--why, we really seem to have another SÉVIGNÉ budding
right in our midst. She went to California, saw all the sights, and
wondered, and admired, and _wrote_. The floods of eloquence that had so
long been slumbering now burst forth beyond all hindrance or control.
She stopped at Salt Lake, and called upon BRIGHAM YOUNG, and was so
disgusted with the mighty prophet that she would not look at him. Yet,
considering that circumstance, she described his personal appearance
with wonderful vividness and accuracy. She indulged in the usual amount
of stern remonstrance and indignation, that seem to be almost
indispensable to the occasion. ALONZO asked why she called upon the
dreadful man, and somewhat maliciously inquired if it was not for the
express purpose of being shocked and horrified, thus affording a fine
chance to moralize, and display the elevation of her own principles,
and, in fact, help to fill out a good article; but MELISSA most
vigorously denied the soft impeachment. Then she saw the sad wives,
whose days of sunshine are gone by, and the merry ones,--who don the cap
and bells deliberately; and for their benefit she expended just the
proper degree of astonishment and sympathy--so fully substantiating the
sound and praiseworthy condition of her own mind and heart.

This excellent young woman also caught glimpses of the red man, and here
was another glorious opportunity to display her literary genius--and she
did not let the occasion slip--O no! it produced a plaintive little
rhapsody of pity and regret, such as "Mr. Lo!" is apt to inspire in the
hearts of the young and romantic, although if MELISSA were to find
herself alone in a forest, with the faintest suspicion of "Mr. Lo!"
meandering anywhere near, she would most likely apply her hand
involuntarily to her trembling chignon, and regret as keenly as all
_hard-hearted_ persons, that civilization has not carried out the
process of extermination even more thoroughly than it has done. Indeed,
she would probably wish the red gentleman at the bottom of the Red Sea,
or in some other equally damp and discouraging situation. The
noble-hearted braves are so much prettier to read about than to
encounter, and the thrill occasioned by the sight of a bloody hatchet
suspended over the intricate elaboration which we so fondly term a head,
though more exciting perhaps, would scarcely be as delightful as that
awakened by some perfectly safe and stirring ballad of the red man's
wrongs.

MELISSA'S ideas of refinement met with a great shock. She concluded that
the Indians' acquaintance with soap and water must be extremely limited,
and thought that the distribution amongst them of several boxes of
COLGATE'S best would be a most delicate courtesy, and true missionary
enterprise. In looking at these noble representatives of savage life,
she was greatly puzzled to discover where the dirt ended and the Indian
began: but philanthropy should overlook such trifles. Philanthropy
shouldn't be squeamish.

MELISSA, ecstasized over Lake Tahoe, and Yo Semité, and the Big Trees,
and was delighted, enchanted, and enraptured in the most thorough and
conscientious manner. She revelled amongst California grapes and pears,
and quaffed the California wines with appropriate delight and hilarity.
She also studied JOHN CHINAMAN in all his phases, and came to the
conclusion that he would do. She thought it would be a seraphic
experience to see the pride and importance of Misses BRIDGET and
GRETCHEN taken down a little. JOHN would certainly not possess the
voluble eloquence--of the first, nor the stolid impudence of the second,
nor would he have, like the pretty Swede, a train of admirers a mile in
length. Of course he would not have these advantages to recommend him.
But then one can get along without florid oratory in the kitchen, and
although a lady may feel highly pleased and flattered to see an unending
procession of admirers file in and out of her drawing-rooms, still she
has a most decided objection to seeing the same imposing spectacle in
her kitchen. Women, will be inconsistent.

MELISSA particularly admired JOHN'S manner of ironing. She thought it
peculiar but genteel, and gentility is always desirable. There must be
something about the climate of California that is especially inspiring
to authors--a kind of magnetism in the atmosphere that draws out all the
literary talent which may be lying dormant in their souls--so that any
one desirous of becoming a writer, has only to take a trip to that
fascinating region, and at some unexpected moment he will awake with
rapture and delight to the blessed consciousness of having blossomed
into a flower of genius, and, as such, will feel privileged at once to
deluge his family, his friends, and the world in general, with the
brilliant results of his most delightful discovery.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PROFIT OF PURITAN PRISONS.

Spain has commissioned a Mr. AZCARATE, a Cuban, to visit and report upon
our penal institutions, and the gentleman is now in the country. We
trust he will not fail to visit the Connecticut State Prison. There he
would unquestionably obtain numerous hints for improving the Spanish
system of prison torture, or even that in vogue in his native land, for
political prisoners. There he might learn how Yankee thrift, applied in
this direction, makes the starving of convicts even a more profitable
business than manufacturing wooden nutmegs. Perhaps not the least
valuable information he would gain, would be the best method of goading
obnoxious prisoners into revolt, and thus obtaining a chance for
disposing of them, legally, by a capital conviction.

       *       *       *       *       *

AN OPEN CONGRESSIONAL COUNTENANCE.

It is oddly enough objected to the re-election of a certain Member of
Congress from Massachusetts, that "he can't open his mouth." It might be
answered that Gen. BUTLER is quite able to open his mouth wide enough
for the whole delegation. The mouth may be opened for two purposes,
viz., speech-making and swallowing; and it never appeared to us that
there was any lack either of Bolting or Bellering in the House of
Representatives. However notably Honorable Gentlemen may play the game
either of Gab or Grab, it isn't so clear that their constituents are
much benefited by these accomplishments. If all they want is an
open-mouthed Member, why don't the Massachusetts men import a
first-class crocodile, and send him to the National Menagerie in
Washington?

       *       *       *       *       *

SPREAD OF AMERICAN PRINCIPLES.

It is with a heart full of patriotic pride and gratitude that Mr.
PUNCHINELLO observes the adoption, in his dear native Italy, of the
manners and customs of the Land of his Adoption. At an election recently
held in Rome, about something or some other thing, one enterprising
Roman has been discovered who voted "yes" twenty-five times in as many
electoral urns--thereby, it is to be presumed, earning a good deal of
money. We have a more lively hope for charming Italy when we find even a
single citizen exhibiting a skill which would do honor to the most
accomplished professional voter in New York. There is something
encouraging in finding the Sons of ST. PETER becoming, every one of
them, Re-Peters.

       *       *       *       *       *

To Commentators.

The "Sun of York," mentioned in Richard III., has no reference to the
"Sun of New York" neither was the quotation, "Who is here so base, that
would be a bondman?" especially meant for application to "THE" ALLEN.

       *       *       *       *       *

Beatific.

They talk a great deal about the twenty-eight inch beet they have grown
in California, but a policeman of this city has a beat three miles long.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "SICH A GITTIN' UP STARES."

_1st festive Cuss._ "WHAT MAKES FOLKS STARE AT US SO?"

_2d Festive Cuss._ "ON ACCOUNT OF OUR ELEGANT COSTOOM, I GUESS. THEY
TAKE YOU FOR WALL STREET, AND ME FOR FIFTH AVENUE."]

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR EYE-WITNESS AT THE ELECTIONS.

We suppose that no individual has rendered more invaluable service as a
historian than the distinguished Eye-witness of the newspapers. The
friends of PUNCHINELLO will therefore be rejoiced to hear that this
accurate reporter was engaged to detail for our readers the progress of
the late elections.

Some time ago, the Eye-witness set about organizing the campaign by the
masterly and novel plan of inducing the leaders of the opposing
political parties to nominate different men for the same office. The
effect was electrical. Immediately on these nominations being made
public, the people rose like one man, and began canvassing like a great
many different and very quarrelsome men. Target companies sprang from
the recesses of the East Side, like ghosts from the rocks in _Der
Freischütz;_ drums and fifes resounded; cannons boomed; fireworks burst
into flame. The Eye-witness, having thus set the universe satisfactorily
by the ears, got into his second-story front, and contemplated the
campaign with serene complacency from the window.

He had not to wait very long for a Mass Meeting to be formed under his
very nose, and, consequently, within range of his witnessing and
recording Eye. This Mass Meeting was conducted by the "Intelligent"
Party, and was announced to be speedily followed by a Multitudinous
Assemblage of the "Enlightened" Party. These two factions, as it will
readily be observed, and as their names indicate, are of the most widely
varying character and scope; a fact to be further illustrated by the
proceedings which followed.

The intelligent began to assemble early in the evening, to the sound of
guns and drums and sky-rockets. These accompaniments were intended to
get their spirits up, but the Intelligent persistently applied
themselves to getting spirits down; and when the rival processes had
continued for a reasonable length of time, speakers began to appear upon
the stands. The first man who addressed them was the Commercial
Candidate.

"Fellow-citizens," said he, "why are you here? To elect me, of course.
(Immense cheering.) And why will you elect me? I am an honest man: I
want no office. (Laughter and cheers.) Ah, my friends, you elect me
because you are now paying $5.36 on every pound of Peruvian Bark and
Egyptian Mummy which you use in every-day life, and because you know
that when I am in, the other party will be out!" (Continued applause.)

Next rose an ex-Senator, who said he had come wholly unprepared to
speak, but, being unexpectedly called upon, had made some brief jottings
on a visiting-card, to which he would now refer. He then spoke for one
hour and three-quarters. At the close there was an intermission for
carrying off the dead.

JONES, the candidate for the office of Vituperator, then cleared his
throat savagely.

"My friends," he began, "BROWN, the opposing candidate, is a scamp, and
he knows it. If any man says he isn't, _he_ is. (Loud cheers.) Do you
ask me to prove it? Prove an axiom! (Applause.) Who but a damned rascal
would run against me at election? I tell you it is assault and battery!
(Sounds of approbation.) In conclusion, I will only add that Brown is an
infernal bummer and a sneak." (Cheers.)

The Intelligent then dispersed in a splendidly ferocious and
bloody-minded condition, fully primed for the election. Shortly
afterward the Enlightened appeared upon the scene in the following

ORDER OF PROCESSION.

Cordon of Police.
Drum.
Committee of Arrangements.
Fife.
Target Company.
Drum and Fife.
Small boys.
Apple-women.
Drum.

The Enlightened candidate for the Vituperator was the first on the
stand. He rushed forward and said:--

"The Vituperative candidate of the Intelligent let fall in a former
speech some subtle or carefully worded innuendoes as to my character. I
have only to say that his speech was a tissue of falsehood. I will
trespass upon your patience further, to add that JONES is an infernal
bummer and a sneak. If he is not, my fellow-citizens, why then I am.
(Indignant cries of 'That's so!') My friends, you cannot doubt this
reasoning. The facts are then conclusive. Either he is a bummer, or I
am. It is therefore your duty, on the 8th November, to elect me at once
and in fact to the office of Vituperator, and prospectively to those of
Mayor, Governor, and President of the United States." (Prolonged
cheering.)

Mr. DE MAGOG, a very giant of eloquence, a Gog as well as Magog of
oratory, next set the enlightened agog with a speech.

"Fellow-citizens! Men and Brothers! Victory or defeat! Liberty or death!
Glorious republic! Stars and Stripes! Down with the traitor! To the
polls! Red fire--blood and thunder"--(voice drowned in shouts of wild
enthusiasm.)

The Eye-witness, meantime, had become distracted with harassing doubts.
Subscribing fully to the politics of PUNCHINELLO, which is the only
paper he reads, he had hitherto announced himself as a member of the
Right Party. Being, however, open to conviction, he had unfortunately
permitted both parties to convict him. In this awful crisis Reason
appeared about to totter from her throne. The Eye-witness thrust his
head wildly from the window, and shrieked to the crowd below: "Where's
the Right Man? I belong to the Right Party. I want to hear the Right
Man!!"

At once the mob became a sea of upturned faces. The Enlightened,
together with a large number of the Intelligent, who had lingered on the
scene, with one common consent lifted up their voices and groaned. The
groan was but a premonitory thunder to a shower of sticks, stones,
whiskey-bottles, and superannuated eggs. The Eye-witness closed the
window with an undignified bang, and retired into the depths of his
chamber, where he remained until after the election. Owing to a dimness
of vision, resulting from the eggs-cruciating condition of his ocular
organs, the occupation of the Eye-witness was from that moment gone. And
to this fact must be attributed his inability to state, with any
certainty, whether the Right Party has succeeded in putting the Right
Man in the Right Place; but he rather thinks it has.

       *       *       *       *       *

Spots on the Sun.

The _Sun_ is eclipsed by the _World,_ and is far behind the _Times._ It
cannot be considered a _Standard_ sheet, and will never personify the
_Star_ newspaper. Receiving its _News_ with the _Mail,_ as a _Herald_ it
is valueless. It cannot claim to be a _Journal of Commerce,_ and as a
_Tribune_ for the people it is a failure, and it does not shine as a
_Democrat,_ for it relies on the _Post_ for most of its intelligence.

Moral.--Keep the _Sun_ out of your eyes.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A CHEERFUL PROSPECT.

_First Old Loafer_. "THE PAPERS SAYS THERE'S A CHANCE OF THE BOURBON DIE
NASTY REIGNING IN FRANCE AGAIN."

_Second ditto_. "BULLY! IF THERE'S ANYTHING I LIVE FOR ITS A HIGH OLD
RAIN OF BOURBON. LET IT POUR!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

SARSFIELD YOUNG ON FORT SUMTER.

The country was indignant that Fort Sumter was not reinforced. Major
Anderson's supplies were nearly exhausted, and he wanted twenty thousand
men, with equipments and rations. If the Government couldn't afford the
rations--very well: it ought at least to given him the men.

I am speaking of the late rebellion, which GREELEY, HEADLEY, and others
have written up. Although a publishing company at Hartford, Conn., own
most of the facts of the war, which they peddle out only by
subscription, they can give the public but little of the secret history
of the Fort Sumter affair. That remains to be written, while WELLER and
I remain to write it. The Ex-Secretary has gracefully left it to me to
describe the midnight session of the Cabinet at which I chanced to be
present.

I was boarding at the White House at the time, and as President LINCOLN
assured me it would be rather interesting, I was persuaded to attend.
"The fact is, the crisis reminds me," said he, of a little story of a
horse-trot in Arkansas--"

"Sir," interrupted I, "it reminds me of a dozen stories, one of AEsop's
fables, and two hundred lives of CHAUCER."

He was afraid to continue.

As the clock struck twelve, he called the meeting to order and remarked:
"Gentlemen, ANDERSON is in Sumter. The question now is,--what will he do
with it?"

South Carolina was out. BUCHANAN had done nothing. Everywhere was
distrust. (That very day they had refused, on Pennsylvania avenue, to
trust me for a spring overcoat.) STANTON was getting his dark lantern
ready for nightly interviews with SUMNER and WENDELL PHILLIPS in a
vacant lot upon the outskirts of the Capitol. Universal gloom prevailed.

SEWARD opened the discussion. He said it was contemplated to throw four
thousand men into Fort Sumter. We couldn't do it. If we did, it would
only be one of the first throes of a civil conflict, a war long and
bloody, which he would venture to predict might be protracted even to
the extent of ninety days. Were we prepared for that? He would like to
hear from that pure patriot, the Secretary of War, on this point.

Amid murmurs of applause, Gen. CAMERON rose to say that he was wholly
unprepared to make a speech; but he owned a lot of condemned muskets,
which he stood ready to dispose of to the Government at four times their
original cost. He should advise that the Fort be covered with several
thicknesses of Pennsylvania railroad iron. It would protect our gallant
troops, and he was now, as he had always been, in favor of protection.
Besides, he knew parties who could get up a ring in the way of army
blankets.

Mr. CHASE spoke rather thick and fast, but I understood him to pronounce
in favor of that platform which would get the most votes. "If the people
think it ought to be done, why, do it. The country needs taxation, and
is anxious to have me President. I think I can borrow money enough in
Wall street to pay the passage of a moderate number of men to
Charleston, but they mustn't on any account be CHASE men. I don't want
any of my friends killed off before the next Presidential election."

"What the Administration lacks," chimed in BLAIR, "is backbone. Powder
and ball, and blood are my sentiments. Fill all the army and navy
offices with the BLAIR family, and secession is dead."

SEWARD again: "Strengthen Pickens, and let Sumter go. Our soldiers will
find it healthier and more commodious at Pickens. I'll have the
_Powhatan_ sent there forthwith."

Hereupon Mr. GIDEON WELLES woke up and remarked, in a strain of apology,
that be hadn't read his commission yet, but it was his impression that
he was the head of what was called the Navy Department. Coming from an
inland town, he didn't exactly know whether the Secretary of State or
himself had the ordering about of our national vessels; but he rather
thought he would relieve his friend SEWARD of that burden. He had talked
with several old sea-dogs. They all agreed that the success of the plan
depended on its feasibility. Capt. Fox, a private citizen of
Massachusetts, had been down there with a horse and buggy, and reports
that a squad of marines could do the job up in good style.

Mr. BATES was called upon, and stated that strengthening Sumter, without
giving the Southerners four weeks' notice of our intention, would not,
in his opinion, be unconstitutional.

At this juncture Mr. FLOYD (who, having acquired the habit of attending
BUCHANAN'S cabinet meetings, had not quite got over it) put his head in
for a moment to suggest, that if the Black Republican Government would
evacuate all the forts on Southern territory, remunerate his friends for
their expenses, and execute a quit-claim deed of Washington and the
national property to JEFF. DAVIS and other Southern leaders, the
proposition might possibly be accepted, and trouble avoided.

Mr. SEWARD rose to add only a word, and that word was "Pickens."

The Secretary of the Interior observed, that as Charleston harbor wasn't
in his department, he would say nothing.

Mr. BATES urged that the people of his section were loyal to the flag;
in fact, they not only wanted the flag but the Capitol itself, and the
national buildings (except the monument), removed to St. Louis; if they
couldn't get that, they might be satisfied if Fort Sumter were towed
around there, up the Mississippi. It would certainly be a good deal
safer there.

Mr. GIDEON WELLES wanted it distinctly understood that Gen. SCOTT, Gen.
HOLT, Capt. FOX and the _Powhatan_ could save the country if Mr. SEWARD
would let them; otherwise he would make a minute of these deliberations,
and if his friend Mr. YOUNG (whom he was pleased to see present) didn't
expose it, he himself would put it in the shape of a lively sketch, and
send it to the magazines.

"Well--now," said Mr. LINCOLN, after patiently waiting, "this reminds me
of the man in Pomeroy, Ohio, who kept what he called an 'eating saloon.'
One morning, a tall hoosier came in and called for ham and eggs. 'Can't
giv 'em to ye, stranger,' said the proprietor, 'but what'll ye hav'
t'drink?--don't keep nothin' but a bar.' 'Yer don't? Then what'n thunder
yer got that sign out thar for?' for the fellow was a little mad. 'Why
yer see I call her a eating saloon, 'cos I reckon she eats up all the
profits."

This beautiful and appropriate anecdote, which seemed to throw a flood
of light upon the critical State question under consideration, pleased
every one except FLOYD, who swore it was ungenerous and unchivalric.
Hastily withdrawing, he threatened to telegraph it verbatim to the
insurgents; it would fire the Southern heart.

SEWARD said he was going home, as he had already sent the _Powhatan_ to
PICKENS.

Mr. LINCOLN yawned, and turning to me, inquired: "Well, SARSFIELD, you
see what a man's got to do to run this machine,--now what's your
advice?"

"Your Excellency," I replied, "there's a man in the tanning business at
Galena, in your State. Telegraph him at once. His name is GRANT, and if
you give him the tools to work with, he'll straighten everything out for
you as neat as a pin."

The meeting dissolved without taking heed of my suggestion, and the
world knows the result. However, there's one thing I am proud of. I
claim to have discovered GRANT four years before WASHBURN did. That's
the secret why I can have any office I want under the present
administration.

SARSFIELD YOUNG.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.

The popularity of opera among fashionable people in this city varies
inversely as the intelligibility of the language in which it is sung.

To illustrate! The Italian opera is fashionable, though not one in ten
of the people composing an average audience understand a word that is
said or sung. The French opera is less fashionable, but perhaps
one-third of the audience can understand the less ingenious of the
indelicate jokes. The English opera is not fashionable, but every one
can understand every word that Miss RICHINGS or Miss HERSEE pronounces.
These facts undoubtedly stand in the relation of cause and effect.
Wherefore the axiom with which this column begins.

To be sure, the words of an opera are a matter of very little
consequence, the music speaking as plainly as the clearest of Saxon
sentences. But the fashionable public knows less of music than it knows
of languages, and would be quite capable of mistaking "_Gran Dio_" for a
comic song, and "_Libiamo_" for a lover's lamentation, were not the
translated libretto of _Traviata_ at hand to supply them and the critics
of the minor papers, with the cue for the display of appropriate
emotion. Singers, especially, understand the full force of the above
stated axiom. Hence, those who are deficient in voice avoid the English
stage. Miss KELLOGG, for example, never attempted English opera, because
she knew that people who had heard ROSE HERSEE or CAROLINE RICHINGS
would laugh at her claim to be "the greatest living Prima Donna," should
she compete with those birds of English song. Wherefore, she wisely
confined herself to the Italian stage, sure of pleasing a public that
knows nothing of music, but is confident that a lady who enjoys the
friendship of Madison avenue must be a great singer. PAREPA, on the
contrary, turned from the Italian to the English stage,--but then PAREPA
had a voice.

How many years is it since CAROLINE RICHINGS first sung in English
opera? It is an ungallant question, but the answer would be still more
ungallant were it not that Miss RICHINGS is an artist; and with artists
the crown of youth never loses the brightness of its laurel leaves. At
any rate, she has sung long enough to compel the recognition of her
claims to our gratitude and admiration. She is not faultless in her
method, but she differs from other great American prime donne in the
important particular of possessing voice enough to fill an auditorium
larger than the average minstrel hall.

At present she is filling NIBLO'S GARDEN with her voice and its
admirers. We go to hear her. PALMER and ZIMMERMANN, clad in velvet and
fine linen, flit gorgeously about the lobby, and are mistaken, by rural
visitors, for JIM FISK and HORACE GREELEY--concerning whom the tradition
prevails in rural districts that they are clothed in a style materially
different from that affected by King Solomon at the period of his
greatest glory. We find our seats, and mentally remarking that NIBLO'S
is the one theatre in this city from which it would be possible to
escape with whole bones and coat in case of fire, we await with
contented minds the lifting of the curtain.

In time the opera begins, and a select company of young men who are
standing in the rear of the audience improve every possible opportunity
for breaking into rapturous applause. Their zeal occasionally outruns
their discretion, and they finally ruin the attempt of Miss RICHINGS to
execute a florid cadenza at the end of one of her arias. An intelligent
usher is therefore detailed to curse them into a comprehension of their
duties, after which they applaud with a discretion which produces almost
exactly the effect of spontaneous enthusiasm.

Remarks a young lady near us, who is dressed with much wealth of
contrasting colors:--"This isn't half so nice as the Italian opera. Miss
RICHINGS can't dress half so nicely as Miss KELLOGG, and then you don't
see any fashionable people here. The DAVIDS, the ABRAHAMS, the AARONS,
the NOAHS, that handsome Mr. JACOBS, and that delightful Mr. MOSES,--all
these elegant young men with beautiful eyes and curly hair that dress in
velvet coats and diamond studs--there isn't one of them here. Our best
society never goes to any opera but the real Italian opera."

LIGHT-HAIRED YOUNG MAN.--"But, my dear, it seems to me that your best
society must consist chiefly of Jews--judging from the names you
mention."

YOUNG LADY.--"Well, what if it does? They are rich, are they not? What
more could you want?"

LIGHT-HAIRED YOUNG MAN.--"What, indeed! But the music is just as good as
it would be if the fashionable Israelites were here,--isn't it?"

SHE.--"The music as good! Why, Charles, everybody knows that the Italian
opera music is perfectly lovely. This is only English, you know."

HE.--"It is precisely the same. Here the _Somnmabula_ is sung with
English instead of Italian words. That doesn't alter a single note."

SHE.--"You are too ridiculous! The idea of attempting to make me believe
that this is just like the Italian Opera! Don't you suppose I knows
anything about music?"

OLD GENTLEMAN.--"I heard CAROLINE RICHINGS sing in 1808,--I think it was.
I tell you she sings better now tan she did then, but the stupid public
never appreciated her. I recollect saying to KEAN--not CHARLES, you
know, but _the_ KEAN--that I knew a young lady that would be a splendid
singer some of these days--meaning CAROLINE, of course. 'Well, sir,'
says KEAN, 'what of it; you can't drink her, can you?' Gad! he was the
best man for repartee I ever knew. To give you an instance; one night
KEAN and I, and old SMITH,--you don't remember old SMITH, I presume; he
played old men at the Boston Theatre sixty years ago; I never met a
jollier fellow,--I remember his saying one night when JUNICS BOOTH was
playing--let me see, what was the play; it wasn't the _Apostate_, I
hardly think, for--"

Here the orchestra mercifully strikes up, and the big drum drums the
garrulous monologue of the veteran theatrical observer. We have another
act of the opera, sung far better than any opera has been sung at the
Academy for years. Pretty ROSE HERSEE--when have we had a voice as pure,
or a manner as charming as hers?--sings in this act, and her tones so
closely resemble those of NILSSON in their exquisite purity, that we
wonder how she has escaped the abuse of that "independent critical
journal," the _Season_, until we notice a middle-aged gentleman sleeping
quietly with a copy of the _Season_ on his lap, and remember that at
NIBLO'S GARDEN the proprietor of the independent critical journal is
permitted to distribute his mental soothing syrup, while at STEINWAY
HALL a rival sheet is the only admitted programme.

And I say--still thinking of NILSSON--to an experienced
theatre-goer,--"Why does WATSON abuse NILSSON?"

And he answers, with the contemptuous, but obviously honest
inquiry--"Who's WATSON?"

Really appalled by the suggestion that there exists a man with soul and
things so completely dead as not to have heard of the great WATSON, I
change my question and ask him: "Why does the _Season_ abuse NILSSON?"

HE.--"The _Season_, my young friend, is a programme paper that is
circulated gratuitously and depends for support upon its advertizing
patronage. A few managers permit it to be circulated in their theatres;
the remaining managers will not admit it. Among the latter are Mr.
WALLACK, and MAX STRAKOSCH. Consequently, the _Season_ abuses WALLACK'S
Theatre and NILSSON'S concerts--asserting that Mr. WALLACK has a
wretched company, and that Miss NILSSON has no voice. The _Season_ is
also a comic paper, and its best joke is its assertion that it is an
'independent critical journal.'"

YOUNG LADY IN COLORS.--"This opera is dreadfully stupid."

LIGHT-HAIRED YOUNG MAN.--"But, MARY ANNE, it is one of Mozart's--the
_Marriage of Figaro_. It is one of his most famous works."

SHE.--"Then I don't like Mozart. There was an Italian who wrote an opera
that was all about Figaro,--the _Nossy di Figaro_ was the name of it.
Oh, it is perfectly splendid; ever so much prettier than this."

HE.--"Why, my dear girl, the _Nozze di Figaro_ is the identical opera
you are now hearing."

SHE.--"There is young Mr. NATHAN ISAACS. Isn't he perfectly splendid?"

HE (sighing sadly).--"Whenever you wish to go home, I am ready."

SHE.--"You are real disagreeable to-night, and I'm sorry I came with
you."

RURAL PERSON.--"Well, if this is the opery, I don't mind sayin' I like
it. Susan said I couldn't understand a word of the gibberish these opery
folks squawked, but it's just as plain as psalm-singing. Miss RICHIN and
that HERSY gal are just the tallest kind of singers. If we had 'em in
our choir, the Baptist folks might shut up their meetin'-house to
wunst."

ZIMMERMANN.--"When are we going to revive the Crook--did you ask? What
do we want to revive it for? Isn't the house full enough to-night to
satisfy anybody?"

FRIEND OF THE THEATRE--"To be sure it is. Stick to this sort of thing,
and you'll find it will pay better in the end than any amount of legs.
NIBLO'S is now a respectable theatre. Don't change it into an Anatomical
Museum."

MATADOR.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AFTER THE BATTLE.

CARRYING OFF THE WOUNDED.]

       *       *       *       *       *

PUNCHINELLO CORRESPONDENCE

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

_A Lover of Music._ Our street musicians are growing worse and worse.
There is a piper who infests the street in which I live, and sets my
nerves on edge with his horrible droning. What am I to do with him?

_Answer._ put him in the waste-piper basket.

_Aunt Carraway._ The preparatory schools about which you inquire have
nothing to do with the reformation of wicked parrots. If the language
made use of by your parrot is so dreadful that the cats have left the
house in consequence of it, we are afraid that the bird is past reform.
Try him with rats, and you may yet be renowned as the "female
Whittington of the period."

_Rebecca Hazeldown._ It was very rude of the young man to stare at you
through an aquarium, as you say he did. The little fishes might have
been flirting their tails at the time, however, and it is just possible
that he might have taken you for one of the flirts.

_A Horseman._ After long observation, I am of opinion that the sudden
collapse which so frequently occurs among omnibus and street-car horses,
is to be attributed to the stupid but common practice of giving them
water when they are overheated. Can you assist me in putting a stop to
this?

_Answer._ We do not see why you should apply to PUNCHINELLO in the case.
Have we not a Croton BERGH among us?

_Valetudinarian._ To furnish you with a list of all the patent medicines
advertised is quite out of our power. Suppose you start out early every
morning with your note-book, walk for seven or eight miles along the
Bloomingdale Road, and make your list from the innumerable inscriptions
on the rocks in that vicinity. Do this for a month or two, and you will
not care much about the list when you have got it.

_N.E. by S.W._ We read that DEMOSTHENES used to put pebbles in his
mouth, and spout while thus charged, to cure himself of thickness of
utterance. Suffering from the same defect, I have tried the same remedy,
but without success. Can you advise me in the matter?

_Answer._ The most learned commentators agree that the statement about
DEMOSTHENES' putting pebbles in his mouth was only figurative, and
really meant that, when about to speak in public, he used to put a brick
in his hat. The same thing is done by many of our public speakers of the
period--such as JOHN B. GOUGH, H. GREELEY, ANNA DICKINSON, and others.
Try it moderately, and it may loosen your tongue.

_Epicurus._ Is Worcestershire sauce really the invention of an English
nobleman?

_Answer._ Yes: he was one of the COOKS or one of the BUTLERS, we have
forgotten which; but it is certain that he was degraded from the peerage
for offering some of his sauce to the reigning British monarch of his
time.

       *       *       *       *       *

Complimentary Chromatics

While all France is Blue with the prospects of the siege of Paris, we
have constant accounts of the growing ascendency of the Reds. We commend
this to the nest scientific convention, as an evidence of the analogies
which prevail in the physical and moral worlds.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Sally for Sketchers.

When an artist visits a picturesque locality, why is the proceeding like
an undecided prize-fight?

Because it results in a draw.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A RASH PROCEEDING.

WAITING FOR A LIGHT.]

       *       *       *       *       *

HIRAM GREEN AND FEMALE SUFFRAGE.

His Experience with the Advocates of the 10th Amendment.

On the last eleckshun day, I was servin as Inspecter of Eleckshun, when
a passil of wimmen, drest partly in men's habiliments, walkt up to the
ballit box.

They was headed by old SARY YOOMANS, who has been an old made for more'n
1/2 Sentury.

Steppin up close to the railin where votes is put in, Miss YOOMANS thus
to me did say:--

"Square GREEN, wee've come to cast the soffrige of a down-trodden race:
Will you receive our votes?"

"Not exzactly I wont, my hi toned Greshun benders," was my reply.

"Do you know who we air, sir?" cride a long, leen, lank,
rale-fence-lookin femail, whose nose looked as if sheed been sokin it in
a bladder of black snuff.

"Well! sweet wolfs in lambs clothin," said I, puttin on one of my
shrewed expreshuns, "you look as if you was a lot of, so-called,
strong-minded femails, who was up to snuff, but, in an endevor to
scratch somebody bare-boned, you'd lost your footin, and tumbled
slap-bang into a coal-hole."

"We air, sir," says another ethereal-lookin hearthstun depopulater,
"members of the Skeensboro Sore-eye-siss Society. We believe wimmens has
got rites, which man won't let her have. We believe the ballit is
calkilated to raise woman to her proper speer. We believe hoop-skirts
and side-saddles will soon be numbered among the lost arts. We believe
SOOZAN B. ANTHONY, E. CADY STANTON, WENDIL FILLIPS, or Mister BLACKWELL,
are just as capable of bein President of this ere old Union, as the best
man which ever wore panterloons; and we air bound hensforth and forever,
one and onseperable, to stand up for our rites, if we can only rope in
enuff Congressmen to hold our bonnits."

Durin the a-4-said bust of elokence, about 75 wimmen was holdin ballits
for me to take, while others were vilently swingin their gingham
parasols over my bald head.

All seemed as if they was jest bilin over to get their clutches about my
breethin apparatus. Says I:

"Go hum and be femails, and don't make sich tarnal loonatix of yourself
any longer, gittin mixed up with the body polertick; for sures you're
born, when woman votes sheel trail her skirts in the dust and you cant
stop her; when she walks up to the ballit box, and undertakes to mix
into suthin she don't know no more about, than TILTON and FULTON do
about the golden rool, then when that air time comes I will exclaim:

    "'Oh! woman; where is thy stinger.'
    "'Oh! Sore-eye-siss! where 'bouts is thy victory?'"

"What! miserable man, woodest-ist thou deny us the ballit?" screemed
another femail, as she tore a 2-bushel waterfall from her head, and,
wildly swingin it in the air, dirty stockins and old clothes fell into
promiscous heeps all about her.

"With all doo respect to the sects," says I, gettin madder and madder
all the while, "you can jest bet your Sunday close I woodest."

"Hard-harted old man, yool rue this day," they all cride in Koruss, and
the hull lot commenced snivellin, as if their harts was busted.

"Kind, noble, beautiful sir! we langwish to cast our suffrages," says a
big fat woman, about the size of a lode of hay, as she shoved her ballit
under my nose.

"Madam," says I, swellin up with accumulated rage, "langwish and rip and
tare things as much as you mindter--you cant stuff this ere ballit box
with illegal votes as long as Ime boss of it--that's what's the
matter--and I want you to understand I mean bizzinezs."

At this they all started for the door, remarkin that I was an "old
fool," "mouskiter," etketary &c.

"When the 16th commendment passes," said sweet ELIZER HEMPIHL, who is
too pooty to be caught in sich company, "we will call for your skalp,
old man."

"Which topnot," was my reply, "wouldent furnish hair enough for a false
eyebrow."

I see they was goin, so I said:--

"My week-minded and misgided femails, hold your hosses a minnit, until
an old statesman, who has served his country for 4 yeer as Gustise of
the Peece, says a few remarks to you."

"When woman was taken out of man's ribs, it wasent calkilated she should
lower herself by mixin into such dirty bizziness, as you are up to
to-day. Woman in her natural element, is jest one of the _soothinest_
institutions in this ere land, which flows with milk-punch and
houey-sope, and what poor miserable critters man would be without her.

"Who would nuss our offspring, if it wasent for wimmen?

"Who would cheer our fireside, if it wasent for wimmen?

"Who would cook our vittles, if it wasent for wimmen?

"And who would haul off our butes nites, when we come home tired and
demoralized, after havin a sett-to with lager-beer and sweitzer?

"Agin, I remark, if it wasent for woman in her onadulterated state,
before she had been made a tarnal fool of by these ere despoilers of
man's happiness, MASKALINE WIMMEN, man would be a poor shiftless koot.

"Therefore, I say, go hum and resoom your abnormal condition. Get back
into your own harniss, and don't undertake to assoom the bifurkated
garments. It haint your forte, no more'n it is some of our public
offishals to keep from steelin."

I rattled away at 'em in this stile, ontil I beheld the last pair of
femail bifurkaters skoot for home, when I subsided into a chair, and
with my bandanner hankerchief wiped the perspiration from my noble brow.

After Ide partially recovered my ekanimity, I agin resoomed my offishal
duties, but I couldent help thinkin that if wimmen made such a
confounded hullabalo about votin, as they is now doin, tryin to vote;
them air leaders, who air goin about the country like Internal Revenoo
offisers, seekin that they may gobble up somebody, will have a pile to
anser for, when woman becomes a component part of the body polertick.

    Owe! woman, woman, how sweet you be,
      When you're dressed up to kill,
    I hope the time ile never see,
      When man's place you all fill.

    Take the advice of one which knows,
      & try to shun the evil,
    To see a woman in man's close
      Looks wusser nor the d---l.

Which is the opinion of your humbley sarvent,

HIRAM GREEN, ESQ.,

_Lait Gustise of the Peece._

       *       *       *       *       *

FRESH FROM THE FLOWERY KINGDOM.

The world is justly indignant at the accounts of the Chinese massacres
of the missionaries who have perilled their lives in going so far to
teach them Christianity. Recently, for example, a young lady teacher
from Boston was so terribly stoned by some of the unregenerate little
pig-tailed fiends in Canton, that she died the next day. It is dreadful
to think how savage the instincts of the heathen are.

P.S.--Since the above was set up in type, MR. PUNCHINELLO has learned
that the Canton in which this occurrence took place is not in China, but
is a thriving village in Norfolk county, Massachusetts, about eighteen
miles from Boston, and that the assailants were consequently not
pig-tailed heathen, but genuine Christian children, who, in a few years,
will belong to the cultivated voters of Massachusetts. This action,
consequently, was not dictated by unregenerate barbarism, but was
intended simply as a protest (rough, we confess, but effectual, we
trust) against these new-fangled ideas of women's rights. What business
have women to be trying to teach? Let them stay at home, and if they
want to know anything, ask their husbands, there; and if they are
unmarried, let them wait until they get husbands. We must not let our
natural gallantry interfere with our reverence and respect for the
rights of ignorance, which will eventually vote.

       *       *       *       *       *

A THRICE BLESSED CITY.

There is a city in Illinois called St. Genevieve. By some hocus-pocus
known to accomplished politicians, this city has had no Mayor since the
4th of June, 1867. In the absence of definite information upon the
subject, we take it for granted that St. Genevieve must be a most
delightful place to live in, and specially so, because, as we are
further informed, they have no Aldermen there either. More delightful
still, as there is nobody authorized to assess taxes, the fortunate
inhabitants do not pay any. Of course, if this state of primitive bliss
could last, Mr. PUNCHINELLO would make immediate arrangements to remove
to St. Genevieve; but the courts have ordered the citizens to elect a
Mayor immediately, so that this little heaven upon earth will soon have
ceased to exist.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: LETTING HIM DOWN EASY.

_Aspiring Author._ "Ah! You have read my essay? I hope the verdict is
Favorable."

_Editor._ "O yes, all Right,--Acquitted on the ground of insanity."]

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR PORTFOLIO.

The French Republic dying of Gas.--Good Sense for Gambetta. TOURS,
SIXTH WEEK OF THE REPUBLIC, 1870.

Dear PUNCHINELLO:

There is gloom everywhere; applications to serve in the ranks have
diminished, and the price of pocket-handkerchiefs has increased. JULES
FAVRE writes, under cover of confidence, to the _prefect_ here, that
since the interview of which I gave you an account he has had a severe
attack of gumboils, and despairs of softening the heart of BISMARCK. I
stole the letter for the purpose of copying it, but it was stolen from
me in turn by a nefarious emissary of the London _Times,_ who has not
however, dared to use it. The greatest activity is manifested in the
making of balloons. The administration labors under the delusion that
gas and oiled silk may yet prove the Palladium of French liberty. I have
remonstrated unavailingiy against this singular infatuation. I held up
to the Rump Council now sitting in this city the example of VICTOR HUGO
as a fearful warning. He came from Guernsey under a pressure of gas; he
entered Paris with the volatile essence oozing from every hair on his
head; he loaded the artillery of his rhetoric with gas; he blazed, away
at the Germans with gas, and yet, unable to get rid of such afflatus
fast enough, he exploded in the very midst of his pyrotechnics, and now
lies high and dry on "this bank and shoal of time" like a venerable
rhinoceros extinguished by its own snorting. I am sorry to say it, but
the great peril of France at this moment is gas. Touching GAMBETTA. Ah!
yes, touching GAMBETTA. You may have heard that he has issued a
proclamation or two. There are depths in the soul of a Frenchman, where
the inspiration of mighty words breeds like "flies in the shambles."
Such a soul has GAMBETTA. He is all language. If you were to cut him up
in little bits and put each atom under a microscope, you would find in
every molecule the text of some proclamation. The genii of syntax and
prosody are his guardian angels, and the love of "gabble" is the be-all
and the end-all of his political existence. He loves not GARIBALDI. He
would have done violence to his grandmother rather than consent to the
invitation of the Italian liberator. For short, he calls him "GARRY."
Standing in front of the Hotel de Ville, talking to a group of eager
listeners, with his arms wildly gesticulating and his nose
contemptuously curling towards the empyrean, he asks:

"Who is this GARRY? What is he? Why is he--?"

"Stop," I calmly interpollate, "profane not the high calling of the
Italian hero with frivolous conundrums."

"Jerk that monster out of my sight!" roared GAMBETTA to a _sergent de
ville_, and pointing his long, skinny fore-finger full at me.

I turned mournfully upon the crowd, and asked in a plaintive tone:--

"You hear what he says. Do lunatic asylums exist in vain? Men of Tours,
is there a 'jerkist' among you?"

They must have observed that my feelings were moved, for they came
between me and the officer, as if to protect the latter. 'Twas a kind
movement, but useless; as I couldn't have hurt him.

"Monsieur GAMBETTA," I then went on to say, "don't you think that this
horrible epidemic of gas, that is now filling with its deleterious
effluvia the brains and the throat of the French Government, ought to be
stopped? Don't you think, Monsieur GAMBETTA, that you, yourself, could
cut off your supply-pipe for a while and still have enough to light up
with on public occasions?"

I rested my right fore-finger upon one side of my nose and struck an
attitude of interrogation while putting these questions. The Minister's
face turned to an ashen hue, and then the blood came coursing back like
lava to the Crater's surface, without breaking through.

"Fiends seize the man, is a minister of France to be insulted in his own
capital?"

"Friend, calm yourself," I said: "Don't let the crabs run through your
brain like that. Cool off. Take those hot coppers out of your pantaloons
and fan yourself a little. That's what's the matter with France, to-day.
You Frenchmen fizzle, and crack, and shoot up into the air, and
otherwise get away with yourselves so fast, that no wonder the Germans
can't always find you when they go for you. Take my advice. Stop running
red-hot pokers down your backs. Drink more Vichy water and less brandy.
Keep your sky-rockets till next year. Lock your 'language' up in the
dictionary. Send VICTOR HUGO back to England. Tie a church steeple round
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN'S neck, and sink him off Toulon. Burn all your
proclamations. Throw rhetoric to the dogs. Put a head on the government
that ain't full of torpedoes. Present a solid front to the enemy. Simmer
down generally, and talk reason to BISMARCK, and, on the honor of
PUNCHINELLO, I can solemnly assure you that things won't be so
'speckled' as they now are."

Saying which, I gathered the drapery of my duster gracefully about me,
and left.

DICK TINTO.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE SHE THAT IS TO BE.

By a Prominent Member of Sorosis.

1.

    --She stood! The hurrying clouds wild drove--
    --The purpling aspect of the air...!
    While her wild contour symbolized
    The Unity of Hope's Despair!

2.

    And shall not We, when Life's short span,
    Enveloping the Yet-To-Be--
    Smiling candescent?--Nay?--Ah! well!
    BE THAT OUR FUTURE DESTINY!!

       *       *       *       *       *

POEMS OF THE CRADLE.

CANTO XI.

    Little Bo-Peep has lost his sheep,
    And don't know where to find them.
    Let them alone and they'll come home,
    And bring their tails behind them.

The Poet having now advanced so far in his work as to make a very
respectable collection of poems, and beginning to run short of matter,
casts his eyes around him in search of aid, hoping to find inspiration
in some fortuitous moment from the many little incidents that are always
occurring, and which only observing minds would notice. For the time he
sees nothing that would suggest even to the most sparkling intellect the
shadow of a rhyme, and he begins to be in despair. He walks up and down
his dingy room, thrusts his long fingers amid the raven locks that adorn
his poetical cranium, and gently at first, then furiously, irritates the
cuticle of his imaginative head-piece, hoping thereby to waken up his
ideas and find a foundation upon which to erect another stone in the
edifice of his never-fading glory.

This process does not seem to be as successful as usual: the ideas
refuse to come at his bidding, and he glares around in consternation,
Can it be possible that he has exhausted himself; that his ideas are
entirely run out; that the fountain is dry, and the Muse has ceased to
smile upon him; that he must descend from his high elevation as the poet
of the family, the hope and pride of his friends and the admiration of
himself, and sink to the level of his earthy brothers and become one of
them, no better and no worse? No--perish the thought! never again will
he mingle with those rude and vulgar natures, having no thoughts or
feelings above their creature comforts: content to live like animals,
uninspired by the divine _afflatus_, untouched by the poetic fire. Full
of determined energy never to yield the high position he has acquired,
he rushes forth into the open air and takes his winding way through the
green meadows and leafy wilds. Here, sitting on the stump of an old
tree, he spies little Bob Peepers, weeping as if his heart would break:
the briny tears coursing down his ruddy cheeks form little rivulets of
salt water with high embankments of genuine soil on either side, and a
distracted map of a war-ridden country is depicted upon his
grief-stricken countenance. Full of compassion for the suffering, the
tender heart of the Poet melts at the sight, and in mellifluous tones he
asks, "What is the matter, BUB?"

Sobbingly digging his fists into his eyes, and carefully wiping his
classic nose on the sleeve of his jacket, the heart-broken mourner
murmurs:--

    "I've lost my sheep,
    And don't know where to find them,"

and bursts forth into a prolonged howl. That heart-rending cry of agony
is too much for the gentle Poet, who, sinking upon the ground beside the
weeper, ventures to whisper a hope that Time, or some of the neighbors,
may bring back the lost sheep and restore happiness and tranquillity to
the agitated bosom. The suggestion is met with incredulous scorn and
another burst of uncontrollable sorrow, amid the pauses of which Bob
recounts to his sympathetic friend how, "being wearied with watching the
gambolling sheep, he laid himself down in the meadow to sleep, and never
awoke till a blue-bottle fly, who buzzing about so tickled his eye that
sleep fled away. Then he rose to his feet, and looked around for the
gambolling sheep, but found, they were gone he couldn't tell where: so
he threw himself down in the deepest despair, bemoaning his strange
unaccountable loss, and the horrible beating he'd get from the Boss,
when at night he went home with his sad tale of woe. He was sure he
would never have courage to go."

The sad tale so pathetically and ingenuously told melted the already
simmering heart of the hearer, who counselled tranquillity and
philosophy in the words

    "Let them alone and they'll come home,"

and jocularly added, as he saw a ray of hope lighting up the eye of the
boy, like the first rays of the sun seen through a fog,

    "And bring their tails behind them."

The brilliant idea of their tails coming behind them instead of before
them tickled the risibilities of the sympathizing friends, and for a few
moments the woods echoed to their responsive mirth.

The laugh did them good. The poet perceived instantly he had a theme
upon which to build his verse, and hastily bidding BOB "good-by," he
flew exultingly to his paternal abode, rushed up the garret stairs,
seized his goose-quill, and amid the tumultuous beatings of his
over-charged heart and throbbing brain jotted down on the instant, in
all the enthusiasm of poetic fervor, the incident that had fallen under
his inspired observation. Not to be too personal, and still to preserve
the truthfulness of the history, he dropped a few letters from BOB
PEEPER'S name, while, with a wonderful accuracy unknown to modern
writers, he keeps to the subject of his verse, its misery, the remedy
and result, and facetiously gives to the world the same cause for
laughter and inspiration that he received so gratefully.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE POLITEST NATION IN THE WORLD.

We had always considered JOHNNY CRAPAUD as the pink of politeness. But
we are now satisfied that JOHNNY BULL goes ever so far ahead of him. We
have never known that Frenchman yet, who would oblige his enemies by
killing himself. But the recent loss of the _Captain_ shows that the
noble Englishmen are prepared to do this by wholesale. One could wish
our enemies no worse luck than to have a few such _Captains_ given them.
And how lavish the expenditure! It takes no end of money to get up one
of those big iron-plated coffins. It is certainly a dramatic,
_auto-da-fé_ and a most obliging act, considered with reference to one's
possible enemies. No Frenchman ever thought of such a thing. In fact,
they go no further than positively declining to do anything bad with
their navy.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE.

"THERE WAS A SURPRISE PARTY AT No. 9,999 TWENTY-THIRD STREET LAST
EVENING. UPON RETURNING FROM THE OPERA, THE PROPRIETORS FOUND THEIR
MANSION FULL, OF GUESTS."]

       *       *       *       *       *

A DRY SETTLEMENT.

There is a little young village in Denver which rejoices in the name of
Greeley. To this place came a benevolent bar-keeper, bringing a cheerful
stock of whiskey. Down upon his grocery came the enraged Greeleyites,
and to prevent their own stomachs from being burned, they burned the
building. We can imagine these very particular pioneers passing a great
variety of the most astonishing laws, with various penalties. For
chewing tobacco--one month's imprisonment; for subscribing to The _N.Y.
Evening Post_--death; while for the hideous misdemeanor of eating white
bread, the offender would be left to the pangs of his own indigestion.

       *       *       *       *       *

Fact. Fancy, and Fun-ding.

THE FUNDING BILL, as a step towards making the Erie Canal free, should
commend itself to any one, since if it becomes a fact, it will, we
fancy, prevent this noble industrial enterprise from becoming, like its
first cousin, simply an eyrie for the vultures of finance.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE LATEST STYLE.

AS MEN'S CLOTHES ARE CUT HOUR-GLASS FASHION NOW, PUNCHINELLO SUGGESTS
THE ABOVE PATTERN AS AN APPROPRIATE ONE FOR THEM.]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ALARM-BELLE AT RYE.

    At Rye, Westchester County, a small town
    Built near the Sound, but of a scant renown,
    That always to its biggest size did run
    At summer-time, beneath a blazing sun,
    But rested as a _town_, as if to say,
    "I'll pay no further taxes, come what may;"--
    The ancient cobbler, JOHN, unknown to fame
    (So many cobblers since have borne the name),
    Owned the great belle of all that country place,
    His daughter, with her tongue and lovely face,
    Who took to soothing every kind of pain,
    Tramped through the streets, dragging a muddy train.
    With kerchief blowed her horn both, loud and long.
    And talked incessantly of every wrong,
    Kept her tongue wagging, until right was done.
    Thus did the daughter of old cobbler John.

    What mighty good this BERGH of that Burgh did.
    While her tongue lasted, she had never hid:
    Suffice it that, as all things must decay,
    The fleshy tongue at length was worn away;
    She mouthed it for a while, and people dreamed
    Of golden days before this belle had screamed.
    Loaded and beat their horses at their ease.
    Drove thorn with, wounded backs and broken knees,
    Turned turtles over, and e'en tortured clams.
    Murdered trichinæ, when they boiled their hams.
    Till one, a doctor, who was passing by,
    Struck by the horrors going on in Rye,
    Cut from a calf, that yet was very young.
    And kindly gave unto the belle, a tongue.

    By chance it happened that in Rye town dwelt.
    A German grocer (and his wife, a Celt),
    Who loved his lager and his pretzels too
    (His wife was partial to the morning dew).
    But, when we fell into these troublous times,
    He cared for nothing but to save his dimes.

    He had a donkey, that would sometimes go.
    Just as the donkey chanc'd to feel, you know,
    Which he would ride, whenever his brigade
    Was ordered to the streets for a parade;
    But as the times got hard, he'd loudly swear
    The oats that donkey ate he could not spare.
    At length he said: "I'll turn him out, py Gott!"
    Looked at his wife and to her said, "Vy not?
    Let him go eat upon the public ways,
    I want him only for the training days."
    So the poor donkey had to feed on thistles.
    Until his hair became like unto bristles.

    One afternoon, when everybody slept
    Except the belle, out from her house she crept,
    And met the donkey, walking on the way;
    He smelt the calf and thought to have some play.
    Kicked up his heels, a grating bray did utter.
    And laid the belle a-rolling in the gutter.
    She raised a mighty shout, she raised a squeal.
    And loudly her persistent tongue did peal,
    And this did seem the burden of her song:
    "Some chap hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong!

    "Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd"
    Of vagabonds and urchins, shouting loud,
    Gathered around the poor, bedraggled squealer,
    Until at length there came a stout Rye peeler;
    Who forthwith told the belle her cries to cease.
    And took her to a Justice of the Peace.

    The Justice heard the story of the belle,
    And looking wise and grave, he said: "'Tis well;
    Bring me the old Dutchman." The grocer brought,
    Shaking with fear, then stood before the Court.

    And then' the Justice to recite began
    The charter of the Cruelty to An-
    Imals Society, and then he said:
    "Pride rideth on a donkey, as I've read,
    Until it gets a fall, and then it loses
    Its dignity and blubbers o'er its bruises.
    These are newspaper proverbs, but I fear
    You don't love proverbs, as you do your beer.
    Just take that donkey and give him an oat,
    And don't show up until you've brushed his coat."

    The grocer left disgusted, took the brute;
    And all the people then at him did hoot.
    The cobbler heard and almost split his knee
    [He took it for the lapstone in his glee],
    "Church bells," quoth he, "but ring us to the mass.
    My belle hath gone and saved a starving ass;
    And this shall make, when put in jingling rhyme,
    The Belle of Rye all famous for all time."

       *       *       *       *       *

A CHEERFUL SUBJECT.

According to an Ohio paper, a double child has been born to a couple
named FINLEY, in Morrow county. It is, so to speak, a double-ender,
being provided with a supplementary head at the point where the feet are
usually situated. The child is a female-and a very curious amendment to
the Sixteenth Amendment, since, should it arrive at woman's estate, it
will, of course, be entitled to a double vote. How will it be should one
end go Republican and the other Democratic? To send a duplex woman into
the world seems to be a very unnecessary freak of Nature, seeing that
there is enough of duplicity in womankind already.

       *       *       *       *       *

Homoeopathic Politics.

THE CITIZENS' ASSOCIATION, finding that their sands of life are nearly
run out, are now advertising privately for some fresh candidates, who
for a salary will undertake to cure the ring-worms of the body politic
by their pimple prescription of substitution, or putting yourself in
their place, which is a political modification of the law in
homoeopathic medicine, _similie similibus errantur_, or in morals, "set
a rogue to catch a rogue."

  +--------------------------------------------------------------+
  |                                                              |
  |                      CLEARING OUT SALE.                      |
  |                                                              |
  |                      A.T. STEWART & CO.                      |
  |                                                              |
  |                         ARE OFFERING                         |
  |                                                              |
  |                    UNPRECEDENTED BARGAINS                    |
  |                                                              |
  |                              IN                              |
  |                                                              |
  |                       CLOAKS, SACQUES,                       |
  |                        ARABS, TALMAS,                        |
  |                     SHAWLS AND MANTLES,                      |
  |                                                              |
  |                    Real Astrakhan Cloaks                     |
  |        at $20, $22, and $25; last year's prices, $40         |
  |                           and $45.                           |
  |                                                              |
  |                      CLOTHS, CLOAKINGS,                      |
  |                         VELVETEENS,                          |
  |                     CLOAK SILK VELVETS,                      |
  |                    MILLINERY VELVETS, &c.                    |
  |                                                              |
  |                   NEW GOODS JUST RECEIVED,                   |
  |                                                              |
  |             AT PRICES MUCH BELOW THE COST OF THE             |
  |                SAME QUALITIES SOLD LAST YEAR.                |
  |                                                              |
  |                    BROADWAY, Fourth Ave.,                    |
  |                    9th and 10th Streets.                     |
  |                                                              |
  +--------------------------------------------------------------+
  |                                                              |
  |                      A.T. STEWART & CO.                      |
  |                                                              |
  |                            OFFER                             |
  |                                                              |
  |           Wide Plaid Poplins at 25c. and 30c. per            |
  |             Yard, recently sold at 85c. and 45c.             |
  |                                                              |
  |            All Wool Serges at 40c. per Yard; last            |
  |                      year's price, $1.                       |
  |                                                              |
  |             High Colored Basket Cloths, 75c. per             |
  |           Yard; last year's jobbing price, $1.25.            |
  |                                                              |
  |           Double Width, all Wool Plaids, 64 inches           |
  |             wide, at $1.60 per Yard; last year's             |
  |                    jobbing price, $2.25.                     |
  |                                                              |
  |                     ALSO A LARGE LOT OF                      |
  |                                                              |
  |            Heavy High Colored Plaids at 20c. per             |
  |                            Yard.                             |
  |                                                              |
  |           The above, with a great variety of other           |
  |                       choice styles at                       |
  |                                                              |
  |                     Equally Low Prices,                      |
  |                                                              |
  |             ARE EXHIBITED IN THE CENTRE SECTION              |
  |                    ON THE 4TH AVE. SIDE.                     |
  |                                                              |
  |           STRANGERS, THE RESIDENTS OF THE EASTERN            |
  |              PART OF OUR CITY, AND THOSE OF OUR              |
  |             NEIGHBORING CITIES, ARE RESPECTFULLY             |
  |                     INVITED TO EXAMINE.                      |
  |                                                              |
  |                                                              |
  |                    BROADWAY, Fourth Ave.,                    |
  |                                                              |
  |                    9th and 10th Streets.                     |
  |                                                              |
  +--------------------------------------------------------------+
  |                                                              |
  |                          PUNCHINELLO.                        |
  |                                                              |
  | The first number of this Illustrated Humorous and Satirical  |
  | Weekly Paper was issued under date of April 2, 1870. The     |
  | Press and the Public in every State and Territory of the     |
  | Union endorse it as the best paper of the kind ever          |
  | published in America.                                        |
  |                                                              |
  | CONTENTS ENTIRELY ORIGINAL.                                  |
  |                                                              |
  | Subscription for one year, (with $2.00 premium,)      $4.00  |
  | "           "  six months, (without premium,)          2.00  |
  | "           "  three months, "         "               1.00  |
  | Single copies mailed free, for                          .10  |
  |                                                              |
  | We offer the following elegant premiums of L. PRANG & CO'S   |
  | CHROMOS for subscriptions as follows:                        |
  |                                                              |
  | A copy of paper for one year, and                            |
  |                                                              |
  | "The Awakening," (a Litter of Puppies.) Half chromo.         |
  | Size 8-3/8 by 11-1/8 ($2.00 picture,)--for            $4.00  |
  |                                                              |
  | A copy of paper for one year and either of the               |
  | following $3.00 chromos:                                     |
  |                                                              |
  | Wild Roses. 12-1/8 x 9.                                      |
  | Dead Game. 11-1/8 x 8-5/8.                                   |
  | Easter Morning. 6-3/4 x 10-1/4--for                   $5.00  |
  |                                                              |
  | A copy of paper for one year and either of the               |
  | following $5.00 chromos:                                     |
  |                                                              |
  | Group of Chickens;                                           |
  | Group of Ducklings;                                          |
  | Group of Quails. Each 10 x 12-1/8.                           |
  | The Poultry Yard. 10-1/8 x 14.                               |
  | The Barefoot Boy; Wild Fruit. Each 9-3/4 x 13.               |
  | Pointer and Quail; Spaniel and Woodcock. 10 x 12--for  $6.50 |
  |                                                              |
  | A copy of paper for one year and either of the               |
  | following $6.00 chromos:                                     |
  |                                                              |
  | The Baby in Trouble; The Unconscious Sleeper; The Two        |
  | Friends. (Dog and Child.) Each 13 x 16-3/4.                  |
  | Spring; Summer: Autumn; 12-7/8 x 16-1/8.                     |
  | The Kid's Play Ground. 11 x 17-1/2--for                $7.00 |
  |                                                              |
  | A copy of paper for one year and either of the               |
  | following $7.50 chromos                                      |
  |                                                              |
  | Strawberries and Baskets.                                    |
  | Cherries and Baskets.                                        |
  | Currants. Each 13 x 18.                                      |
  | Horses in a Storm. 22-1/4 x 15-1/4.                          |
  | Six Central Park Views. (A set.) 9-1/8 x 4-1/2--for    $8.00 |
  |                                                              |
  | A copy of paper for one year and Six American Landscapes.    |
  | (A set.) 4-3/8 x 9, price $9.00--for                   $9.00 |
  |                                                              |
  | A copy of paper for one year and either of the               |
  | following $10 chromos:                                       |
  |                                                              |
  | Sunset in California. (Bierstadt) 18-1/8 x 12                |
  | Easter Morning. 14 x 21.                                     |
  | Corregio's Magdalen. 12-1/2 x 16-3/8.                        |
  | Summer Fruit, and Autumn Fruit. (Half chromos,)              |
  | 15-1/2 x 10-1/2, (companions, price $10.00 for the two),     |
  | for $10.00                                                   |
  |                                                              |
  | Remittances should be made in P.O. Orders, Drafts, or Bank   |
  | Checks on New York, or Registered letters. The paper will be |
  | sent from the first number, (April 2d, 1870,) when not       |
  | otherwise ordered.                                           |
  |                                                              |
  | Postage of paper is payable at the office where received,    |
  | twenty cents per year, or five cents per quarter, in         |
  | advance; the CHROMOS will be mailed free on receipt of       |
  | money.                                                       |
  |                                                              |
  | CANVASSERS WANTED, to whom liberal commissions will be       |
  | given. For special terms address the Company.                |
  |                                                              |
  | The first ten numbers will be sent to any one desirous of    |
  | seeing the paper before subscribing, for SIXTY CENTS. A      |
  | specimen copy sent to any one desirous of canvassing or      |
  | getting up a club, on receipt of postage stamp.              |
  |                                                              |
  | Address,                                                     |
  |                                                              |
  | PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING CO.,                                  |
  |                                                              |
  | P.O. Box 2783.                                               |
  |                                                              |
  | No. 83 Nassau Street, New York.                              |
  |                                                              |
  +--------------------------------------------------------------+

[Illustration: WHAT WE ARE COMING TO.

_Cook (negotiating for situation)._ "WELL, IT'LL BE NICISSARY FOR ME TO
HAVE A FOTERGRAFF OF YER WIFE, AND A RICOMMINDATION FROM YER LAST
COOK."]


  +--------------------------------------------------------------+
  |                                                              |
  |          "THE PRINTING HOUSE OF THE UNITED STATES"           |
  |                                                              |
  |                             AND                              |
  |                                                              |
  |          "THE UNITED STATES ENVELOPE MANUFACTORY."           |
  |                                                              |
  |                    GEORGE F. NESBITT & CO                    |
  |                                                              |
  |    163, 165, 167, 169 Pearl St., & 73,75,77,79 Pine St.,     |
  |                                                              |
  |                          New York.                           |
  |                                                              |
  |                     Execute all kinds of                     |
  |                                                              |
  |                          PRINTING,                           |
  |                                                              |
  |                     Furnish all kinds of                     |
  |                                                              |
  |                         STATIONERY,                          |
  |                                                              |
  |                      Make all kinds of                       |
  |                                                              |
  |                         BLANK BOOKS,                         |
  |                                                              |
  |                 Execute the finest styles of                 |
  |                                                              |
  |                         LITHOGRAPHY                          |
  |                                                              |
  |   Make the Best and Cheapest ENVELOPES Ever offered to the   |
  |                           Public.                            |
  |                                                              |
  |   They have made all the prepaid Envelopes for the United    |
  |   States Post-Office Department for the past 16 years, and   |
  | have INVARIABLY BEEN THE LOWEST BIDDERS. Their Machinery is  |
  | the most complete, rapid and economical known in the trade.  |
  |                                                              |
  +--------------------------------------------------------------+
  |                                                              |
  |  Travelers West and South-West Should bear in mind that the  |
  |                                                              |
  |   ERIE RAILWAY IS BY FAR THE CHEAPEST, QUICKEST, AND MOST    |
  |                      COMFORTABLE ROUTE,                      |
  |                                                              |
  |  Making Direct and Sure Connection at CINCINNATI, with all   |
  |                            Lines                             |
  |                                                              |
  |                       By Rail or River                       |
  |                                                              |
  | For NEW ORLEANS, LOUISVILLE, MEMPHIS, ST. LOUIS, VICKSBURG,  |
  |    NASHVILLE, MOBILE And All Points South and South-west.    |
  |                                                              |
  |    It's DRAWINGS-ROOM and SLEEPING COACHES on all Express    |
  |  Trains, running through to Cincinnati without chance, are   |
  |   the most elegant and spacious used upon any Road in this   |
  |  country, being fitted up in the most elaborate manner, and  |
  |  having every modern improvement introduced for the comfort  |
  |   of its patrons; running upon the BROAD GUAGE; revealing    |
  |  scenery along the Line unequalled upon this Continent, and  |
  |   rendering a trip over the ERIE, one of the delights and    |
  |         pleasures of this life not to be forgotten.          |
  |                                                              |
  |   By applying at the Offices of the Erie Railway Co., Nos.   |
  |  241, 529 and 957 Broadway, 205 Chambers St.; 38 Greenwich   |
  |   St.; cor. 125th St. and Third Avenue, Harlem; 338 Fulton   |
  |  St., Brooklyn: Depots foot of Chambers Street, and foot of  |
  |  23d St., New York; and the Agents at the principal hotels,  |
  | travelers can obtain just the Ticket they desire, as well as |
  |                all the necessary information.                |
  |                                                              |
  +--------------------------------------------------------------+
  |                                                              |
  |                         PUNCHINELLO,                         |
  |                                                              |
  |                   VOL. I, ENDING SEPT. 24,                   |
  |                    BOUND IN EXTRA CLOTH,                     |
  |                        IS NOW READY.                         |
  |                         PRICE $2.50.                         |
  |    Sent free by any Publisher on receipt of price, or by     |
  |               PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,                |
  |                 83 Nassau Street, New York.                  |
  |                                                              |
  +--------------------------------------------------------------+
  |                                                              |
  |               THE NEW STORE OF LORD & TAYLOR,                |
  |                                                              |
  |        Cor. of Broadway & Twentieth Street, New York.        |
  |                                                              |
  |   This superb building will be devoted to retail purposes,   |
  | where every description of dry-goods, from the necessary and |
  | convenient to the most elegant and fashionable, will attract |
  | a multitudinous throng, and add even a new attraction to the |
  |  brilliancy of Broadway in the most delightful part of the   |
  |   thoroughfare. Besides an immense trade extending to all    |
  |  parts of the United States, LORD & TAYLOR deal largely in   |
  |  carpets and oil-cloths, in upholstery and house furnishing  |
  |   goods, and especially in trousseaux, cloaks, and ladies'   |
  |   furnishing goods of all kinds, in which, perhaps, their    |
  |   business is heavier than that of any other house in the    |
  |   city. The furnishing of hotels and steamboats is one of    |
  | their specialties. The headquarters of their wholesale trade |
  |  is at the old Broadway and Grand street store, while their  |
  |   stock of carpets and oil-cloths is mainly limited to the   |
  |      Grand and Chrystie street establishment. Since the      |
  |  organization of the firm, five partners have retired with   |
  |    fortunes, to make room for younger men, thus affording    |
  |   opportunities for others to profit by the experience and   |
  | success of the house. These changes have also had the effect |
  | to maintain the original vigor of the firm without detaching |
  |      from the maturity of judgment that has marked its       |
  |  operations. Some idea of the magnitude of the business of   |
  |  the house may be inferred from the fact that the pay-roll   |
  |        contains the names of more than 1,000 persons.        |
  |                                                              |
  +--------------------------------------------------------------+

GEO. W. WHEAT & CO, PRINTERS, No. 8 SPRUCE STREET.





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