Punchinello, Volume 1, No. 06, May 7, 1870

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Title: Punchinello, Volume 1, No. 06, May 7, 1870
Author: Various
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Punchinello, Volume 1, No. 06, May 7, 1870" ***

PUNCHINELLO

Vol. I. No. 6.

SATURDAY, MAY 7, 1870.

PUBLISHED BY THE

PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,

83 NASSAU STREET, NEW-YORK.

* * * * *

_CONANT'S PATENT BINDERS for "Punchinello," to preserve the paper for
binding, will be sent, post-paid, on receipt of One Dollar, by
"Punchinello Publishing Company," 83 Nassau Street, New-York City._

* * * * *

[Illustration: YE YONGE MANNE OF MANHATTAN.

Ye Yonge Manne is born, and his parents hasten with him to ye abode of
ye BROWN, praying that he may be christened among ye upper tenne.

And when ye Yonge Manne takes a daughter of ye upper tenne to wife, ye
BROWN sees that he is married in ye BROWN his church.

Ye BROWN demands if ye parents put in their coal in ye Summer time; and,
being told that they do, he has ye Yonge Manne christened in his church,
and when he grows up ye BROWN introduces him into Society.

And when ye Yonge Manne he dies, ye BROWN arranges with all ye gardeners
and black-goods men. And so, ye Yonge Manne, he is done entirely BROWN.]

* * * * *

THE BACHELOR'S MOVING-DAY.
AHA!
A mere half-hour's bother!
Suppose I were a father--
A luckless wight, called "Pa"!

I'd say,
"Now curse the restless rover
That first (despising clover!)
Invented Moving-day!"

O yes!
Especially, if moving
Was likely to be proving
(As usual) a mess!

Why, look!
You've got no end of articles.
Sure to be smashed to particles,
Or "snaked off" with a "hook"!

You've got
Chairs, bedsteads, tables, crockery--
(Recital seems a mockery!)
You've got--what have you not?

What's worse,
Your things won't fit new places,
Your wife won't like new faces--
Your very maid will curse!

Your hat
And other things _do_ fall so!
And children they _do_ bawl so!
Good heavens! think of that,

And think
Of possible colds and fevers--
Cartmen that prove deceivers--
Nothing to eat or drink!

Small bliss
For bachelors so lonely--.
Tired of one thing only:
But they escape all this!

And pray,
What man with sons and daughters
Don't sigh for bachelor quarters
About the First of May?

* * * * *

Printed, 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.

* * * * *

THE DELIGHTS OF DOUGHERTY.

At the Banquet of the Army of the Potomac in Philadelphia, Mr. DANIEL
DOUGHERTY made one of the most extraordinary speeches on record, if we
except certain forensic efforts of Mr. PUNCHINELLO delivered during the
earlier stages of his career from his box. Mr. DOUGHERTY is a Soarer,
and a Spreader, and a Screamer. Speaking metaphorically, be goes higher,
measures more from the tip of one wing to the other, and is more
suggestive of the warbling of a locomotive in his speech than any other
Eagle in Philadelphia, which is saying a great deal. DANIEL is a Giant
of Rhetoric, and would remind us of the Big Gentleman from Cardiff, only
that mysterious personage is too heavy to Soar; for which reason he
usually occupies the ground floor, which Mr. DOUGHERTY does not do by
any manner of means.

It was this extraordinary capacity of Mr. DOUGHERTY for Soaring which
caused him to be called upon by the Army of the Potomac for a speech.
The great D. begins by declaring that he would rather speak for his
country than for Pennsylvania, which, considering that he also declared
that he came "as a modest spectator," does not strike us as the depth of
humility. However, "my bosom," said Mr. D., "is not confined to any
locality;" and we believe that Mr. PECKSNIFF said something like this of
his own frontal linen. Yet, we should like to know what Mr. DOUGHERTY
does for a chest when his own has gone upon its extensive journeys;
something temporary is done, we suppose, with a pad. But the Bosom was
at the Banquet, and the proprietor was there to thump it, until it must
have sounded and reverberated; and if Mr. DOUGHERTY had also thumped his
head, there would have been equal evidence of hollowness within. "May my
tongue never prove a traitor!" cried the orator. Mr. PUNCHINELLO hastens
to reassure him. The tongue is well enough, and is likely to be. It's
something a little higher up that is likely to give out.

If the applause of the brave men before him was what Mr. DOUGHERTY
wanted, (besides his dinner,) then of applause he got the Stomach under
his Bosom full. The speech was received, according to the reporters,
with a roaring which has not been equalled since the Lions in the Den
roared at the other DANIEL, until they found that the good man was
neither to be roared or sneezed at with impunity. The cheering was
"tremendous." The cheering was "terrific." The cheering was "prolonged."
And there stood "the Bosom not confined to any locality," but just then
swelling, and expanding, and dilating--shall we for once be fine, and
say like an Ocean Billow? Voices which shouted at Gettysburg now hailed
Mr. DANIEL DOUGHERTY as a Conquering Hero--the conqueror of their cars!
Once in a while there was "great laughter" when Mr. D.D. hadn't said any
thing specially funny--that is, if Mr. PUNCHINELLO is a judge of fun;
and if he isn't, who in all the world is? There are two kinds of
laughter--the laughing at and the laughing with; and we have known
"tremendous" and even "vociferous" applause to be very suspicious.

It must be a source of calm satisfaction to General GRANT to know that
he is considered the "great and glorious GRANT" by Mr. DANIEL DOUGHERTY;
although DANIEL once considered Mr. BUCHANAN, poor man! to be equally
"great and glorious." So DANIEL also considers SHERMAN to be "immortal,"
and SHERIDAN "unconquerable," and MEADE "glorious." Adjectives are
cheap, you know; and D.D., Esq., has evidently a great stock of them in
his Wandering Bosom. Only, great soldiers, who know the precise value of
Mr. DOUGHERTY'S military opinions, might not care to have them laid on
too thickly.

Mr. PUNCHINELLO has written to Mr. DOUGHERTY'S Family Doctor to inquire
into the state of Mr. D's health after this tremendous effort, and he
sends us a bulletin that Mr. D. is "as well as could be expected." We do
not know what he means by this; it seems to us to lack scientific
precision. The point upon which we wished to be informed was, whether
Mr. D. did or did not break any thing--not the tumblers on the table,
for that we should expect; but any thing in the way of blood-vessels.
Not to put too fine a point upon it, How's the Bosom?

* * * * *

AMERICAN CUTLERY IN FRANCE.

The great pride, the _dulce decus_ of Americans, has long been in their
pocket hardware, and the skill with which they use it. But we must
henceforth look to our laurels. France is competing alarmingly with us
in the use of the revolver. They were always a revolutionary people,
were the French, and revolving seems, therefore, to suit their temper to
a T, (Gunpowder T, of course.) Since the slaying of NOIR by BONAPARTE,
the affectation of readiness with the pistol has become quite the thing
in Paris. New-York and Paris will soon be exactly alike in the bullet
business--especially Paris. PAUL DE CASSAGNAC, it seems, has been
invited by some anonymous person to meet him at a certain hour in front
of the _mairie_ of the Seventeenth _arrondissement_, for the purpose of
having his brains removed with a revolver. PAUL declined to go, however.
The _Mairie_ mentioned in the cartel was not the one for PAUL. Probably
he would have gone to VIRGINIA, had he been invited to do so; but never
a MAIRIE for the faithful PAUL. And might have come by way of New-York,
where he would soon have grown so used to having his brains removed with
a revolver that the process would have become a pleasure to him.

* * * * *

PHILADELVINGS.

PUNCHINELLO cannot help liking Philadelphia, and always feels a pang of
sympathy whenever any thing happens to that plain old city. One reason
for this is, (and he is not ashamed of the weakness,) that Philadelphia
likes PUNCHINELLO and takes, weekly, he would not be vain enough to say
how many hundred copies of his journal. And now Philamaclink, as her
natives love to call her, is afflicted with a terrible disease--a
fearful attack of chronic Legislature. Even when the active symptoms of
this dread malady have subsided, the effects linger, and the consequent
suffering is excruciating. One of the direst of the effects of the last
attack is a dreadful bill--not a bile--which has caused a utilization
sewage company to appear upon her body corporate. It is almost
impossible for sister cities to understand the torments of such an
affliction. Nobody can now clear away their own dirt--Councils, Board of
Health, or any body else. If rooms are swept, the sewage company must
take up the dust; if a pig-pen or a stable needs cleaning, the company
must do it; if the lady of a house throws the slops out of her breakfast
cups, the company must carry them away; if a man knocks the ashes from
his cigar, he must save them for the company; if, anywhere in the city,
a foul word is spoken, the company must have the benefit of it. Even the
birds in the squares must not cleanse their nests without a printed
permit from the company. If a bedstead is cleaned, the company must have
the bugs. Only one dirty thing is safe from this all-powerful
corporation, and that is the legisiative delegation from the city. If
the refuse matter were taken from that, there would be nothing left. It
has been proposed that the Legislature itself should be purified; but
this idea is Utopian, PUNCHINELLO fears. If Niagara were squirted
through its halls, the water would be dirtied, but the halls would not
be cleansed. Alas, poor city! Trampled under the heels of the
aristocratic HONG and PENNY BUNN, what is there to hope for it?

But all has not been told. There are about eight hundred thousand
inhabitants in the place. Some twenty thousand of these owe small sums
for unpaid taxes, averaging about nine and a quarter cents to a man. To
collect these sums, an army of seventy-two thousand able-bodied men, at
salaries of one thousand dollars per annum, has been commissioned by the
PENNY BUNN Legislature.

Alas, poor city! But all has not been told. A private firm has prevailed
upon the imbecile old farmers from the western and interior counties to
give them the right to build a private freight railroad through many of
the principal streets of the Quaker City. This road will run through
several school-house yards, and the time-tables are to be so arranged
that trains shall always be due at those points at recess time. Every
fiftieth private house along the lines is to have a road-station and
freight-depot in its front-parlor, and all male residents on said routes
are to serve in turn, without pay, as brakesmen and switch-tenders. The
owners of all vehicles injured by the trains are to be heavily fined,
and the families of individuals allowing themselves to be killed are to
be mulcted in heavy damages.

Alas, poor city! But all has not yet been told. A counterfeit tax-bill
has been passed by the Legislature. All the sums handed in to the State
Treasury by the tax collectors have been found to be "bogus" money. This
action has been indorsed by the Legislature, and the action of that body
is hereafter to be of the same character as the funds paid in by its
creatures.

Alas, poor city! But all has not yet been told. Colonel FORNEY intends
resuming his "Occasional" letters in the _Press!_

Enough! Humanity can bear no more.

* * * * *

Query by a Constitutional Student.

When the Governor or President V-toes a bill, is he supposed to put
his foot on it?

* * * * *

THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.

SPECTACLES are proverbially fit for old eyes. Probably that is the
reason why the spectacle of the _Twelve Temptations_ is so dear to the
aged eyes of the gray-haired old gentlemen who occupy the front seats at
the Grand Opera House. It is certainly a brilliant spectacle, though,
like the ideal scene to which Mrs. NICKLEBY's eccentric and vegetarian
lover once referred, it consists principally of "gas and gaiters." Not
that it is exclusively an Old Folks' entertainment; for, as the critics
say of portentously dull juvenile books, "it will be found as
interesting to the young as to the old." Though the dullest of dramas,
it is so brightened by brilliant legs that it dazzles every beholder.
Why, then, should the stern advocate of the legitimate drama refuse to
acknowledge that the _Twelve Temptations_ has its redeeming legs? How
runs the ancient proverb, "Singed milk is better than it looks;" or that
equally ancient philosophical maxim, "There is no use in crying over
spilt cats"? The stupid story of ULRIC'S folly is made more attractive
than one would suppose that it could be, and we need not weep over the
fact that it is a spectacle, and not a SHAKESPEAREAN tragedy.

The bold explorers who have reached the remote Opera House,
fought their way past the misanthropic door-keeper, and gained their
seats, are first reduced to a state of mental chaos by the performance
of a maddening overture, and are then fitted to appreciate the play,
which proceeds after the following pattern:

_Act 1. Curtain rises upon a score of Unintelligible Demons_, who sing
this impressive chorus:

"Oh! um um um um
For um um um um
And um um um um
To um um um um."

_Exeunt Demons. Enter_ RUDOLPH THE TEMPTER. _He remarks to the
surrounding scenery_--"ULLERIC'S soul must be mine, or else the dark
abodes of torment await me. I will tempt him. Great Master, appear."

_The Great Master--a major-general of fiends--appears, and, approving
of_ RUDOLPH'S _virtuous resolve, they descend to--well, they descend
below the Erie Building, to drink to his success. Scene changes to_
ULRIC'S _home. Enter_ ULRIC _and family, including Aged Mother, Virtuous
Heroine, Hated Rival, and Demoniac Servant._

ULRIC. "Motherr, this slife is intollerrabble; I will do any thing to
escape frrrom it."

_Enter_ RUDOLPH _and Unintelligible Demons (disguised.) They sing as
before._

"Oh! um um um um," etc.

ULRIC. "The song says terruly. I will go with you, though you were the
fiend himself."

_Consternation on the part of every one. Demoniac Servant remarks, "Ha!
ha!"_ ULRIC _and the Demons sink through the floor. Scene changes to the
Studio of Eblis._

RUDOLPH. "Take this collar. Behold these stripes painted upon it.
Whatever you wish you shall have at the price of five years of your
life. A stripe will vanish each time your wish is gratified. (_Aside._)
The stripes are only cloth, you know, and you can pull 'em off when your
back is turned to the audience. Is it a bargain?"

ULRIC. "It 'er is." (_Malignant crash from the orchestra._)

RUDOLPH. "ULLERIC, 'tis well. Now thou shall behold our sports."

_Enter ballet girls, dressed in red gaiters and torches. They dance the
Demon Cancan, waving their torches and scattering the flames. Old
Gentleman, in the front row hears such charming little asides as, "Drat
you,_ MARY SMITH, _you've burnt my hand." "I'll slap your face, Miss, if
you step on my foot again." "O_ NELLY! _my hair's a-coming down."_

Curtain finally falls upon a blaze of light and a bewildering wealth of
legs.

_Old Gentleman, in front row._ "Well, he! he! that's pretty good; he! he!
Devilish pretty girls some of 'em; he! he!"

_Virtuous Matron._ "My dear, isn't it shameful. I never saw any thing so
disgusting."

_Sceptical Husband._ "Then perhaps we'd better go at once."

_Virtuous Matron._ "N--no. I'll sit through one more act, and see if it
gets any worse."

_Fast Young Man._ "They're all padded, you know. You can't feel sure
about one of 'em. There were gals in the _Crook_ who used to pad their's
from here to here"--(_adds explanatory pantomime._)

_Travelled Man, who has been to Paris._ "These girls can't dance, I
assure you. Now, at the Châtelet they do these things differently."

_Admiring Friend to Travelled Man._ "What spectacles did you see at the
Châtelet?"

_Travelled Man,_ (who was in Paris only two days, and never saw even the
outside of the theatre.) "It was--let me see--Oh! _Moses in Egypt_ was
the name of the piece. It was gorgeous; full of Egyptian scenery, and
Egyptian dancing girls and things."

_Admiring Friend, (with aggravating persistence.)_ "Do you mean
Rossini's _Moses_?"

_Travelled Man, (quite desperate.)_ "Of course! He's the rival of
OFFENBACH, you know. But come, let's go and take something."

(_They go, the faith of the Admiring Friend in the Travelled Man's
veracity being, however, perceptibly shaken._)

Three more acts follow. ULRIC makes a dozen wishes, all of which are
gratified, and all of which have the inevitable effect of transporting
him into scenes pervaded by the female leg to an extent that easily
reconciles him to the successive loss of five years of his life. He
finally becomes King of Egypt, and, after having fought against the
Crusaders in defence of those well-known Mohammedan gods, ISIS and
OSIRIS, is carried down a trap by exulting demons. An Intolerable Comic
Man opens up hitherto unknown wastes of dreariness, and sings a comic
song that is positively more tedious than an article from the _Nation_.
The Demoniac Servant is continually shot up through spring traps, in
order to remark, "Ha! ha!" and to immediately disappear again. The Aged
Mother travels from Flanders to Egypt without changing her dress or
combing her back hair, for the vain purpose of begging "ULLERIC" to
repent. Consumptive Knights fight terrific broad-sword duels with a
thirst for combat that beer alone is subsequently able to allay. The
Virtuous HEROINE displays a very neat pair of ankles, but without
winning "ULLERIC" from the devil of his ways. Half a dozen ballets are
successively introduced, in which the skirts of the dancers are seen to
decrease as rapidly and steadily as the stripes on ULRIC'S magic collar.
Finally, a grand Transformation Scene, which has nothing whatever to do
with the play, exhibits the best legs of the company in the most
favorable attitudes, and the green baize curtain falls upon the great
spectacle of the day.

_Virtuous Matron._ "Well, I never! It's positively indecent. I'd like to
take a whip to those shameless hussies."

_Sceptical Husband._ "PAGE offered me a proscenium box the other day.
Suppose we take it to-morrow night?"

_Virtuous Matron._ "I'll go to please you, my dear. And really the
scenery is pretty."

_Wretched Man, who is shameless enough to admit that he likes it._ "I
like it. The ballet's good, the scenery is splendid, and the music might
be worse. Why don't these ladies, who come here and sit it through, have
the honesty to admit that they come because they like it? But no; they
go away, and at the next party, where they wear dresses lower in the
neck than any I've seen on the stage to night, they'll abuse the poor
girls who have danced here for their amusement. Their malignant modesty
does not deserve the respect of an intelligent _figurante_. If they are
sincere, why do they come here?"

Which question still puzzles the perturbed mind of

MATADOR.

* * * * *

Give 'em Rope.

We clip the following from the _Express_:

"There seem to be more legal loopholes for convicted murderers to escape
through than for any other class of criminals."

That is too true, by a great deal. There should be but one "legal
loophole" for a convicted murderer, and the authorities should not let
him escape through the loop of it--they should Knot.

* * * * *

[Illustration: A MOVING INCIDENT.

_Pat, (to Bridget.)_ "TAKE YOUR MASTHER'S TRUNK TO THE RAILROAD, IS IT?
OCH! BOTHER--DON'T YOU SEE I'M MOVIN' A FAMILY?"]

* * * * *

THE "TOBACCO PARLIAMENT" OF OHIO.

For genial law-making in America commend us to the Ohio House of
Representatives. While we haven't learned that the legislation of this
august body has been particularly hazy of late, we think it must have
been wholesome, for we are assured that much of it has been thoroughly
"fumigated" through the exertions of the majority of its members, who
perform their functions with pipes in their mouths, while drawn up in
semi-circle around a couple of fire-places built expressly for their
accommodation--"one on each side of the speaker's desk," Who _wouldn't_
legislate, (and early, too,) if he could do it with his feet on the
fender, his well-flavored Havana or best Virginia leaf in his mouth, and
the privilege of cracking jokes and telling naughty stories _ad
interim?_ Go it, ye Buckeye lawmakers! Shall we hear of any sympathy for
Cuba in that quarter?

* * * * *

A "Woman's Physic."

(MRS. C--N TO MRS. MCF--D.)

"My Darling, I have found a panacea for all woes, In Man:

_When one man will not suit or stay,
Then get another, right away."_

* * * * *

CABLE NEWS.

[EXCLUSIVELY FOR PUNCHINELLO.]

GREAT BRITAIN.

The Great PUNCHINELLO dinner has come off! JENKINS was there, and was to
have telegraphed an account. But he was not so well as usual the next
day, the Thames water having got into his head. JENKINS never _could_
take much water. So your correspondent is obliged to trust to his
memory--unaffected by the water, which he did not take.

Old London Tavern was the scene of this banquet, given by the _literati_
of England in honor of the long-wished-for coming of PUNCHINELLO. The
dining-hall was decorated for the occasion with appropriate portraits.
There were HOGARTH, CERVANTES, ADDISON, MOLIÈRE, SWIFT, STERNE,
GOLDSMITH, TOM HOOD, IRVING, THACKERAY, DICKENS, and ARTEMUS WARD. A
number of the waiters were costumed in character. From my seat, I
recognized SAM WELLER, (right behind me;) the Fat Boy of _Pickwick;_
SANCHO PANZA, and JEAMES YELLOWPLUSH.

Mr. PUNCH was represented at the head of the table so well that you
could know him at once from his weekly frontispiece. On one side of him
sat CHARLES DICKENS; on the other, your humble ambassador. It would be
rather invidious to name the other hundred guests; not to be there was
to be nowhere in literature. Near me there sat Lord LYTTON, TOM HUGHES,
PRÉVOST PARADOL, EDMOND ABOUT, CHARLES KINGSLEY, PAUL FÉVAL, and the
Rev. JOHN CUMMING.

Asking, in a whisper, of Mr. PUNCH how the latter very staid individual
came to be there, I understood that, of all the absurd men of this
century, he was selected as the most representatively preposterous. The
PRINCE OF WALES was not asked, lest his morals might be hurt by
something that was said. And it is so important, you know, for the
British nation--(for the rest, see the _Saturday Review_.) And then
Madame GEORGE SAND was to be there, who sometimes wears trowsers.

MATTHEW ARNOLD was spoken to about it; but he replied gruffly,

"PUNCHINELLO is Goliath of the Philistines!" and declined.

JOHN STUART MILL was too busy over his next book, which is to be "On the
Subjection of Horses." But every body else was there, so we did not miss
these grave and reverend seigniors.

How the twenty-five courses came on and went off, from the ox-tail soup
and salmon to the dessert, it would need the tongue or pen of SOYER or
PIERRE BLOT to narrate; as it needed the capacity of a FALSTAFF to do
justice to them. And then, when the cover was removed, came the time of
trial to your correspondent. "The Queen" and "the President" were drunk
with all the honors. Then Mr. PUNCH called out, through his magnificent
old nose, so that you might have heard him across the Channel, "Health
and long life to PUNCHINELLO!"

Now, your correspondent had remembered Mr. HAWTHORNE'S experience at a
Lord Mayor's dinner, and had begged Mr. PUNCH by all means to let him
off without a speech. But, more worldly-wise than HAWTHORNE, he didn't
believe that Mr. PUNCH would keep his promise; so he had prepared a
speech, beginning, "Not anticipating any occasion to open my lips in
this illustrious company, you must allow me to speak altogether on the
impulse of the moment." (Hear, hear.) So this had to be delivered; but
for the rest of it, and of the dinner, you must wait for my next
telegram. Mr. PUNCH is going to have the speech published in pamphlet
form, for distribution among his numerous constituents. So, now for the
rest of my _news_.

FRANCE.

The PRINCE OF MONACO has declared war against France. OLLIVIER proposes
to send the PRINCE IMPERIAL to extinguish him with a corps of infantry,
armed with popguns; no one to be admitted to the corps who is more than
four years old. MONACO aspires to be a sort of LOPEZ.

TURKEY.

Sultan ABDUL AZIZ has just had a visit from a friend of JOHN BRIGHT'S.
To the surprise of every body, even his most intimate friends, the
Sultan immediately made up his mind to turn Quaker! He came down stairs,
and went into mosque, the other day, with a broad-brimmed hat, straight
coat, and drab trowsers; and insisted on all the ladies of his _hareem_
putting on plain bonnets, and holding a "silent meeting" in the
Seraglio! How it bothered them to do that last thing you may well
suppose! More anon, from PRIME.

* * * * *

A Bit of Fish.

SECRETARY FISH is said to preserve a decidedly spruce appearance
at the State Dinners. Fish is nothing if not Fin-ical.

* * * * *

FISH SAUCE.

The sight of a thick, four-pound steak, just cut from a halibut that
must have weighed, (the idea of a fish wading!) some two hundred pounds,
reminds us that trout-fishing is just now in full operation. What a
strange, weird mystery there is about mental associations! Long, long
ago, we possessed a favorite trout-rod fitted with a Hollow Butt, and so
it is that whenever we see a Halibut, trouting comes to our mind.

Yesterday, frogs were croaking, and insects all in green livery, with
gilt buttons, contributed to Nature's Great Boston Jubilee of music with
their hum. How ridiculous it seems that insects should have a hum!--and
yet the Bee has its Hum in its hive.

It is at this season that enthusiastic anglers always get water on the
brain. Their dreams are of gurgling brooks. They have visions of
mill-ponds, with beautiful little cascades sluicing into them over dams.
They stand, in imagination, on bridges, in the eddies beneath which they
discern the wagging of silvery tails and rosy fins; and a very common
form of nightmare with them is to fancy that the reel of the fishing-rod
won't work, just as they are going to wind up a four-pound trout.

Now, also, is the time when friend gives much advice to friend on the
subject of the "gentle art." (A trout's opinion on this branch of art,
by the by, would be worth having. Perhaps he might not consider it so
gentle.)

One student of the angle will say to another, "Always fish up the
stream. Fish lie with their heads to the current and their tails in the
opposite direction: therefore, by casting up-stream, you run the less
chance of being seen by them."

Another says, "Be sure you make your casts down-stream; your bob-flies
like it better, as you can see by the way they dance on the ripples."

Quoth another, "Always soak your casting-lines with water before you
start for the river-side;" while a fourth instructs you never to
straighten your lines with water, but by passing them through a piece of
India rubber doubled between the finger and thumb.

_Our_ advice is, Never cast against the wind. In fact, you can't do it;
and if you try it, you run the risk of getting _strabismus_--that is,
the Cast in your eye. Artificial flies, like artificial flowers, never
should follow nature. Manufacturers of both articles perfectly
understand this; and hence the superiority of their productions to the
mere realities that flutter and bloom for their brief hour, and then
die. There is nothing in entomology so beautiful as a well-busked trout
or salmon fly. And then it is comparatively indestructible. Take a
natural May Fly and squeeze it in your hand. It is reduced to a pulp.
Try the same experiment with an artificial one, and its plumage remains
unruffled--which is more than you do, since the chance is that you will
have to employ a surgeon to extract the hook from the ball of your
thumb.

[Illustration: "SHOO! FLY."]

We are assured by a broker, who, in Spring-time, always becomes a
brooker, that by far the surest lure for a large trout is the Greenback
Fly. He is acquainted with a man who, whenever he goes a-fishing, always
has a four-pound trout to pack in ice and send up to a friend in the
city. By post, a letter is dispatched to the same quarter, containing a
warm description of the playing and landing of that noble fish. The
sender usually states that he captured it with the famous fly known to
anglers as the Green Drake. Facts are against him, though; and it is
well understood by his friends that the fish was first taken by some
poaching rascal with a scoop-net, and subsequently hooked by the angler
with a five-dollar Greenback Fly.

Nothing in life is more beautiful than a five-dollar Greenback
Fly--except, of course, a ten-dollar one, or one of indefinitely larger
denomination.

Provided with this most charming and effective of lures, the angler is
always sure to fill his creel. He incurs no fatigue in doing so,
either, for all the boys of the village become his humble servants to
command; and if there be a four-pound trout in the miller's pond, he is
sure to hook it with the Greenback Fly, while the boys generally "hook
it" also, lest the miller should catch them at their tricks.

_How to make the Greenback Fly_--Give it to your wife. Much has been
said concerning the efficacy of the Water Fly as a lure. For our own
part, we have not tried it. We know rather less about it than we do
about the Water Cure; but we cheerfully print the following directions
on the subject, taken from the fly-leaf of an old book.

_How to make the Water Fly_: Fall into it.

* * * * *

HALL AND HAYES.

The friends of Dr. HAYKS and those of Captain HALL are engaged in a
heated discussion as to which of the two ought to be sent by Congress in
search of the North Pole. As the public does not know who is right and
who is wrong, we present our readers with the arguments of each party;
so that they can decide which explorer is the man for the post--we
should say, pole.

WHAT THE HAYES PARTY SAYS.

1. The Pole being surrounded by water, must be reached by boats. HAYES
is a sailor and HALL is not. Therefore HAYES is the man to sail to the
Pole.

2. HAYES is a Bostonian; HALL is a Western man. Bostonians are famed for
their skill in prying into every thing; while Western men stupidly mind
their own business. Therefore HAYES is naturally fitted to become an
explorer.

3. HALL spent his time while in the Arctic Region in the society of
Esquimaux. HAYES attended to his ship, and lived on pork and beef
like a Christian. Therefore HAYES is the better man.

4. HAYES understands the use of instruments, and can take observations
of the temperature of hot springs, if any are found. HALL knows nothing
about instruments, and could not tell the time by a barometer if his
life depended upon it. Therefore HAYES should be the Congressional
favorite.

5. HALL is hot-tempered and once killed one of his crew. HAYES is a cool
man and never killed any body, except as a medical practitioner. Cool
men are at home in the Arctic Region. Therefore send HAYES.

WHAT THE HALL PARTY SAYS.

1. If the Pole is surrounded by water, it must be a visible point of
land. HALL is a landsman, and therefore the proper man to send in search
of land. To send a sailor like HAYES in quest of land would be absurd.
Therefore HALL is the right man.

2. HALL is a steady, hardworking, energetic Western man. HAYES is a
meddling Yankee. Of course HALL is the better man for carrying out a
difficult enterprise.

3. HALL has lived in the Arctic land as the Arctic people do; while
HAYES knows nothing of the people of that region. Therefore HALL is by
far the best man to send.

4. HAYES can have no use for his instruments in a place where there is
nothing but ice. HAYES would, therefore, only add to the cost of the
expedition. HALL can take all necessary observations with his eyes, which
cost Congress nothing and are easily carried. Therefore HALL is by all
odds the man for the expedition.

5. If HALL is hot-tempered, so much the better. He will keep warm with
less consumption of fuel. That he killed a mutineer is proof of his
resolute adherence to discipline. HAYES would never enforce discipline
if he dared to inflict no more punishment for mutiny than a draught of
Epsom salts. Therefore HALL is plainly the man to command an exploring
party.

Here we have the arguments which both sides advance, and our readers can
easily make up their minds. As for ourselves, the true course for
Congress to pursue seems so plainly evident that if we were asked which
is the best man, the Doctor or the Captain, we should unhesitatingly
answer in the negative.

* * * * *

[Illustration: CINCINNATUS SWEENY.]

CINCINNATUS SWEENY

(Adapted from AUTHOR'S Classical Dictionary, p. 351.)

"CINCINNATUS had retired to his patrimony, aloof from popular tumults.
The successes of the Equi, (young Democracy,) however, rendered the
appointment of a Dictator necessary, and CINCINNATUS was chosen to that
high office. He laid aside his rural habiliments, assumed the ensigns of
absolute power, levied a new army, marched all night to bring the
necessary succor to the Consul MINCIUS, (W. M. TWEED,) who was
surrounded by the enemy and blockaded in his camp, (Albany,) and before
morning surrounded the enemy's army, and reduced it to a condition
exactly similar to that in which the Romans had been placed. The baffled
Equi were glad to submit to the victor's terms, and CINCINNATUS,
returning in, triumph to Rome, (New-York,) laid down his dictatorial
power after having held it only fourteen days, and returned to his farm"
(Central Park.)

* * * * *

SPRING FEVER,

In such a joyous way?
If it were as you say,
Wouldn't _I_ know it, who know every thing!

"Ethereal mildness!" Pshaw! what nonsense, man!
Pooh! "Gentle spring," indeed!
It makes my liver bleed
To hear you talk as only idiots can.

But you're no idiot, THOMSON; _that_ I'll say!
I'll yield another bit:
I'm ready to admit
The Seasons may have altered since your day.

At any rate, JAMES, in the windy West
(Which wasn't in your eye--
At least, not frequently)
Your boasted Spring is _not_ a gentle guest.

My patience, no! She's the reverse of that!
Ah! hear her savage roar;
(So often heard before!)
And there (confound it!) goes my new Spring hat.

Alas! what means this stupid somnolence?
Why do my pulses go
So "melancholy slow"?
Why can't I think? why always "on the fence"?

O dews and fogs! O rain and snow and slush!
O various other things!
My soul! what need of wings:
Yes, "Spring's delights" are coming with a rush!

But stay, friend THOMSON--what you say is true:
Here _is_ a nice warm day!
The breezes softly play--
Then why, oh! _why_ then, do I feel so blue?

One "would not die in Spring-time," certainly--
Nor any other season,
For the same reason--
But if one can't eat dinner, why _not_ die?

Is there no panacea for such ills?
Oh! yes, a jolly one:
I find it in the dun!
In landlords', butchers', grocers', tailors' bills!

* * * * *

The Difference.

GOLDEN calves were worshipped by men of old. Modern men prefer to
worship saw-dust calves.

* * * * *

Dramatic Query.

Is Canada to be the Theatre of a Fenian War? It seems that the Canadian
Volunteers think so; and, to do justice to the performance, they have
taken possession of the whole Front-tier.

* * * * *

The Original Bow.

The EL-bow.

* * * * *

Not the Chimney for a Studio.

ONE that won't Draw.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE SICK EAGLE.

COLUMBIA. "DO LET THE POOR BIRD OUT, MR. B.; HE DROOPS SADLY."

Mr. BOOTWELL. "REALLY I DON'T SEE ANY THING THE MATTER WITH HIM, MA'AM.
HIS CAGE IS ALL GOLD, AND HE SURELY OUGHT TO BE CONTENTED."]

* * * * *

AN EXCELLENT OLD SONG MADE NEW.

BY A DEFAULTER.

Is there for his dishonesty
Who hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
And dare to steal for a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
Our grabs and games, and a' that,
Our business is to make a pile
And swindle SAM, and a' that.

What though the people curse and swear
At losing gold, and a' that?
Their fiercest wrath we'll proudly bear,
And cash is cash for a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
Their lawyers, courts, and a' that.
The lucky rogue who wins his pile
Is king of men for a' that.

The President knows how to beat
In battle, siege, and a' that;
But we're the lads for swift retreat,
Although he growl, and a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
Our bonds and oaths and a' that,
A bouncing swag's the better thing
For gentlemen, and a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it shall for a' that,
That plundering gents may keep the sway,
And help themselves, and a' that.
For a' that and a' that.
Leg bail's the thing, and a' that;
For travelling improves the mind,
The body saves, and a' that.

* * * * *

THE THIRTEENTH MAN IN THE OMNIBUS.

The New-York omnibus was constructed to seat and carry twelve persons;
certainly not more. Indeed, when twelve men, of nominal size, sit
squarely on the seats and do not clownishly cross their legs, one may
ride in an omnibus with comfort. Nay, with these conditions, he _may_
generally escape having his toes crushed, his shins kicked, his shoes
soiled, or his trowsers daubed with mud by his neighbor. But alas! how
often is this paradisiacal state disturbed by the intrusion of "the
thirteenth man in the omnibus."

Shall I attempt to portray the creature? He is pretty well known, and
perhaps the picture will be recognized. Sometimes he may be seen
standing at the corner of the street lying in wait for the "bus." He is
never known to walk toward its starting-place, lest he might be
confounded with the "twelve" by getting inside before the seats are
filled. No; he is "nothing if not" odd. His very hat never sits squarely
upon his head like the hat of a gentleman. It is either elevated in
front like a sophomore's, or depressed on one side, as if he had just
come from a cheap spree in the Bowery, or was troubled with some
obtrusive "bump" that kept his hat awry. If by chance he gets a seat
inside the omnibus, (as "accidents will happen," etc.,) he must cross
his legs and wipe the mud from his ill-shod feet upon your trowsers or
your wife's dress.

Indeed, methinks it was he who invented sitting cross-legged in a public
vehicle. Do savages ever sit thus when in close company? I have never
been able to imagine what special human sin this ingenious mode of
annoyance was meant to punish. It has been suggested that it might be
the man's pantomimic protest against sitting at all. But the saddest
commentary upon this vice of our hero is, that by some mysterious
magnetism of awkwardness and ill-breeding, he has betrayed into
imitation of it men whose early education has been less neglected than
his own.

Sometimes, as he gets into the "'bus," he carries in his hand or mouth
the stump of a half-burned, extinct cigar, which fills the atmosphere
with a rank and sickening odor. More frequently he is dressed in
well-worn black, and his clothes reek with noisome exhalations of stale
tobacco-smoke. Shall I finish his picture? I verily believe he is the
original Loafer.

Methinks I see him in my mind's eye. I am riding in a Broadway ominibus.
I have just handed up my fare, and, taking my seat, have surrendered
myself to a sweet half-hour of reverie. I disdain to spoil my eyes or
waste my time by newspaper-reading. I dream, and save my time for better
things, as I conceive.

The stage is full. "Twelve inside." The driver does not seem to get
along. He is constantly stopping or turning his horses to the sidewalk,
right or left. You wonder what is the matter. You begin to think the
whole town is striving to get a ride down with you in that particular
"'bus." At every street-corner we linger or stop. Suddenly the door is
pulled open with a jerk and our enemy leaps in. He sees the seats are
filled, but he does not hesitate. There is always room for him. Indeed,
his "spirit rises with the occasion." He becomes pertinacious as he is
offensive. He tramples upon more than one pair of feet in his struggle
to reach the middle of the omnibus. The passengers patiently submit to
the intrusion with that quiet good nature with which Americans usually
suffer imposition invasive of good manners, or petty social rights. They
seem to feel they can "stand it" if he can.

His mode of paying his fare evolves a climax of unconscious
impertinence. In order to have free use of one hand to pass up his
money, he grasps cane or umbrella with the other hand, by which he holds
the pendent strap. By this means he loses control of the lower end of
his stick, which thereby becomes an automatic instrument of torture,
menacing your face and eyes in quite a savage way. Indeed, his apparent
unconsciousness that he is a nuisance, and ought to be kicked out,
really approaches the sublime.

He is a pet of the driver, of course. Some innocent people wonder that
the drivers of omnibuses or cars should feel so very charitably disposed
toward the human family in general, as to take up extra passengers when
all seats are filled. Short-sighted mortals! Do you not see it! The more
passengers, beyond the complement of the "'bus," the more perquisites
for an ill-requited profession.

To return to our black sheep. Look where he stands. As he grows weary,
he grasps the straps on either side to steady him. His attitude is a
cunningly devised mode of tormenting his fellow-passengers. Either elbow
of our nondescript just reaches the hat of your opposite neighbor or
yourself. With each jolt of the stage, by a little dexterity of
movement, or want of it, he can knock the hats over the eyes of two
persons at a time, and by a little shifting of his position he can
frequently bring down four by a single spasmodic lunge. When he is
fresher, as in the morning, and can hold his own weight, he falls in his
more natural posture. Would you know what that may be? Did you ever
observe one of the descendants of the Lost Tribes who inhabit Chatham
street dreamily waiting for a passing rustic? He is apparently in a
comatose state. His abdomen is drawn in; his body is bent like a section
of a hoop; his eyes are cast down; while both his hands are thrust
deeply into his trowser's pockets.

But I grow weary of the subject, and stop by commending the Thirteenth
Man in the Omnibus to curiosity-hunters as a fungus growth of humanity
nursed by over-virtuous forbearance.

* * * * *

Hyperborean.

The hyperbole of bores it is, to bore Congress for a hundred thousand
dollars to go to the Pole! If Captain HALL wants adventure, let him
travel to the Halls of the MONTEZUMAS. If he wishes only to be left out
in the cold, let him go to Chili; or else up in a balloon; or let him
make himself Republican candidate for something in New York. We believe
the North Pole would rather be let alone. The whole subject is, at all
events, too HAYES-y just now to be comprehended. There is a sort of
KANE-ine madness, which shows itself not in fear of water but in an
insane disposition to do big things on ice. Haul off, Captain HALL!

* * * * *

Meteorological Query.

Is a temperance lecture synonymous with a Water Spout?

* * * * *

THE SPIRIT OF THE NAVY.

ITS PORTER. ITS SAILS.

_Impressions of an Outsider_.

MR. PUNCHINELLO: According to your instructions, your correspondent
proceeded to Washington, and there interviewed our present efficient
Secretary of the Navy, Admiral PORTER. I found him in his office,
surrounded by bills-of-sale of main-tops, carronades, iron-clads,
bo'sen's whistles, navy-yards, and other naval articles, the proceeds of
which were needed for the future experiments of the Department. These
papers were being bound up into bundles and stowed away by his
assistant, ROBESON.

After the ordinary greetings had passed between the admiral and your
correspondent, the following conversation ensued:

_Cor_. Admiral, what do you think of the Fifteenth Amendment?

_Ad_. All right. When Americans want votes, I say, give 'em to 'em.

_Cor_, (_A little apprehensively._) Votes are different from boats, then,
admiral?

_Ad_. Certainly. What do the negroes want with boats?

_Cor_. How are you satisfied, Mr. Secretary, with the plan of always
providing you with a civilian as an assistant?

_Ad_. I don't like it. Can't help it, though. This one, however,
(_pointing his thumb over his shoulder at_ ROBESON,) don't give me much
trouble. Quiet man.

_Cor_. What do you think of the condition of Cuba,

_Ad_. Very nice indeed! Got Admiral POOR out there, cruising around.
Just like a picnic, you know.

_Cor_. Are you in favor of the recognition of Cuban Independence?

_Ad_. No, sir! What's the good? POOR might have to come home, then.

_Cor_. You think, then, that recognition would not be a Poor policy?

_Ad_. Yes--no! No--yes! Doormat! You know what I mean.

_Cor_.(_quickly_.) Oh! yes. Certainly, sir! But what is your opinion upon
the woman question?

_Ad_. Don't care a snap. Let 'em vote. Won't make a difference 'board
ship.

_Cor_. You think, then that women will never be sailors, Admiral?

_Ad_. Nothing they could do. Except to trim the boats; look out for the
mizen sheets or somethg o' that kind. Couldn't expect 'em, even in a
calm, to be brisk in manning the yards, much less martingales.

_Cor_. What is your opinion, Admiral, of SHERIDAN'S work among the
Piegans?

_Ad_. (_laughing_). Neat job. How was that for Lo?

_Cor_. Good. Do you believe the Pope's infallible, Admiral?

_Ad_. The Pope's what?

_Cor_. Do you think that there is no such word as fail with PIO Nono?

_Ad_. No, no!

_Cor_. The Empress EUGENIE, Admiral, and Queen VICTORIA--which do you
think is the prettiest of these women?

_Ad_. Never saw 'em swimmin'. Can't say.

_Cor_. What is your opinion about McFARLAND? Was he justifiable, think
you?

_Ad_. No! Poor shot.

_Cor_. Have you seen _Frou Frou_, Admiral?

_Ad_. Yes. In New-York.

Cor. How did you like it, sir?

_Ad_. Not much. Do for folks whose taste for that sort of thing is DAILY
bred.

_Cor_. What do you think of oar new City Charter?

_Ad_. Is it a ship?

_Cor_. Yes, sir. It is a sort of hardship for New-York.

_Ad_. Well, the city must be used to that. Will take in its ale pretty
much as usual, I reckon.

_Cor_. What, sir, do you think of Chicago?

_Ad_. Ah! go way.

_Cor_. (_oblivious of hint_.) Where do you buy your pantaloon stuff, Mr.
Secretary?

_Ad_. (_sharply_.) Where the woodbine twineth.

_Cor_. Admiral, have you any children?

_Ad_. (_loudly_.) ROBESON!

_Cor_. My dear sir, you surprise me! Is he your son?

_Ad_. (_to assistant_.) ROBESON! Did you see MIKE HAINES?

_Cor_. One moment. Admiral! Let me ask of you, in which, if any, of our
New-York companies is your life insured; and do you wear the patent
perforated buckskin?--

Here the interview terminated. Your correspondent suddenly discovered
that he would have barely time to catch the N. Y. Express, and he took
leave with a renewed respect for the spirit of our Navy and its head.

SNIQUE.

* * * * *

[Illustration: COME, GENTLE SPRING.

SPRING has come. Now is the time to ask your friends for seed and roots,
and to tell somebody they ought to see about the garden. Turn your
chickens into your neighbors' grounds, and the cow too, if you think she
would like to go there. Now also is the time for house-cleaning, as well
as for settling up one's affairs generally; so, after you have called in
all the money due you, and paid out as little as possible, perhaps you
had better go out West for a week or so.]

* * * * *

The sort of Liquor most apt to Tell upon a Man.

PEACH Brandy.

* * * * *

Opinions of the Press.

The _Sun_ thinks that the World's end would be a god-send.

It also thinks that the Tribune is a try weakly and unique daily,
besides being a four centenary.

It thinks that the fact of the _Times_ being out of Joint is the reason
it is getting the cold Shoulder from its subscribers.

It thinks that the _Herald_ is not the leading paper, though it may have
Ben-it.

It thinks that the _Sun_ is awful shiny.

* * * * *

The Politician's Half-and-Half.

DEMAGOGUE and Demijohn.

* * * * *

CONDENSED CONGRESS.

SENATE.

LOFTY Mr. SUMNER wished to know what Mr. CARPENTER meant by pursuing
him. He was used to being blackguarded by the enemies of his country,
but now he was hounded in the house of his friends. He had looked
through the whole Congressional Library and failed to find a precedent
for the course of the carping CARPENTER, except in the case of the
classic chap who had warmed a viper which had turned again and rent him.
He did not mean to say that Mr. CARPENTER was a viper, but he thought
nobody but an Adder would put this and that together as Mr. CARPENTER
had done.

Mr. CARPENTER said that the passion of his friend from Boston for
maundering about himself amounted to a mild mania. All he had done was
to suggest that SUMNER had upheld States Rights twenty years ago, and
now pretended that he was never any such person.

Mr. SUMNER said that twenty years ago the States Rights boot was upon
the other leg. ÆNEAS SILVIUS had well observed that it made a heap of
difference whose ox was gored, and HORACE had pointed out the difference
between tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee. Unless his reading of the
Cyclopedia had failed to inform him, he believed that there was a game
known as "Heads I win, tails you lose." That was his little game. When
Massachusetts States Rights were invoked to aid the colored man, States
Rights were good. When Southern States Rights were invoked to crush the
colored man, States Rights were bad. As for him, give him liberty or
give him rats.

Mr. HARLAN wished to know why the Pacific Railway grant should be
passed. No officer of that railway had been to see him about it. He did
not believe in legislation of this kind. If a thing were worth having,
it was certainly worth asking for. He had no objection to breaking old
"ties," but he was averse to paying for new ones, unless he had some
personal reason for it. He wished he were altogether in the same
position as some of his colleagues, including these "bonds."

WILSON, and CASSERLY, and THURMAN, and THAYER said that HARLAN was of no
account, and that was the reason why he had not been "seen." As long as
a majority was prepared, it was wasting money to conciliate any body
else.

Mr. DRAKE said he had a better thing than the Pacific Railway. It was a
bill to provide that the Army and Navy of the United States might be put
on a war-footing on the application of any three colored persons. This
did not seem to be profitable, but it was. The profit in it was a JOB,
but much subtler than in the Pacific Railway. He hoped Senators would
see the illimitable vistas of patronage opened by the bill.

HOUSE.

Mr. BUTLER insisted upon his bill to annex Dominica. Somebody had said
that we had plenty of Dominicans already in the Southern States. This
was net so. He wanted to be Governor-General of Dominica. It was true
that silverware was not rife in that island, but there was an infinitude
of potential voters, who could be converted into coin. The House refused
to see it, however, and proceeded to discuss the case of SYPHER. Mr.
BROOKS said SYPHER was nothing. He did not see how SYPHER, who was a
nullity, could be figured out to be a member of Congress. Besides,
SYPHER lived in Pennsylvania.

Mr. KELLEY said that was the very reason why SYPHER should be admitted.
Every body knew, who knew any thing of arithmetic, that a SYPHER in the
proper place amounted to a great deal. He would like to know what
objection there was to Pennsylvanians representing Louisiana? A
Pennsylvanian was sure to be right on the tariff, and a Louisianian was
sure to be wrong. Therefore a Pennsylvanian was a much better
representative than a Louisianian. Besides, SYPHER's hands were not red
with loyal blood, neither had he waded knee-deep in patriotic gore.

Mr. BUTLER wanted to annex Dominica.

Mr. Cox said he did not object to SYPHER'S coming in because he was a
Pennsylvanian. He was an Ohio man, and represented a New-York district.
But be thought there were too many SYPHERS here now. An integer or two
would be more useful to maintain the integrity of the House.

Mr. BUTLER said he would like to introduce a bill to annex Dominica.

Mr. FARNSWORTH said he didn't care any thing about the merits of the
case. He knew the committee was all right. It was a martter of comity to
go with the committee. If the House added a SYPHER, it would increase
their strength ten fold.

Mr. STOKES said he would not weep for SYPHER if he were rejected. But he
would sigh for SYPHER, if he could cipher SYPHER in.

Mr. BUTLER moved a bill to annex Dominica.

SYPHER tried to swear himself in, but he had been so much irritated by
the previous proceedings that he found that he had sworn himself out.

The House adjourned, except Mr. BUTLER, who was preparing a bill to
annex Dominica.

* * * * *

A REMONSTRANCE.

MR. PUNCHINELLO: In the _Express_ of Saturday, April 17th, I read the
following announcement, printed at the foot of the regular weather
table, furnished for that journal by Professor THATCHER:

"Prediction.--It will not rain within 3¾ days from 8 P.M.

"A. E. THATCHER."

The positive character of this prediction made it very, welcome. My wife
and myself had been invited by friends in Westchester County to go to
their house on Saturday evening, stay all night, and pass the following
day--Easter-Sunday--with them. We had nearly made up our minds to do it.
They are very pleasant folks to visit, especially about Easter time; for
the man of the house has a mania for hens, and, being a dyer by trade,
his poultry, using the refuse of the drugs instead of gravel to aid
their digestion, lay natural painted eggs of the most varied and
delicate tints. If I am strict in any matter of religion, it is with
regard to having a blow-out of eggs at Easter. My wife is as fond of
eggs as myself, (the yolk sits lightly, she says, which is a joke upon
yoke,) and she required no egging on to persuade her to accept the
invitation. We were doubtful about the weather, though; but the
"Professor's" prediction decided us, and we went.

I thought it felt mighty like rain as we walked the short distance from
the railway station to our host's. I had rain-pains in my back, and my
wife said her corns were shooting. Nor did our punctual aches deceive
us. Between that Saturday night and Easter-Sunday morning it began to
rain. Easter-Sunday was the wettest day I remember ever to have
experienced. There was no "let up" of the deluge throughout that day
and Easter-Monday. We--my wife and I--are suffering dreadfully from the
effects of Easter-eggs, which we were obliged to devour by the stack
merely to kill time, as we could not walk out. Should we die, I will let
you know; but really it was too bad of "Professor" THATCHER.

WEATHERBOUND.

P.S.--Who is "Professor" THATCHER?

* * * * *

THE BIRD OF WISDOM IN IOWA.

Civilization, it seems, is making some headway in Iowa. Boys are no
longer allowed to shoot small birds there, especially song-birds. And so
the little warblers can pipe it all day, if they like, and when they
grow tired and hungry, they are welcome to refresh their small systems
at the strawberry beds. There is one feature of the regulation in
question, however, that does pain us. While vocal and fly-gobbling
talents are tenderly fostered, dignified Wisdom is not only neglected,
but persecuted. Our old friend the Owl is reputed by the people of Iowa
to be rather particular in his diet, (as all wise creatures are,) and to
prefer a nice young spring chicken to almost any other "delicacy of the
season"--a proof of wisdom and refinement that proved too much for the
people of Iowa. And so they have left the poor old Owl out of the
protective enactment; and it is not only legal to shoot him, but
meritorious. The legislators could have stood the wisdom, perhaps by
itself; and possibly they might have respected the taste; but the
combination troubled them, and could not, of course, be tolerated.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "THE MERRY FIRST OF MAY."

_First Young Wife_. "OH! THIS HORRID HOUSE-MOVING--AN'T YOU DISTRACTED
ABOUT IT, DEAR?"

_Second Ditto_. "O DEAR! NO. WE HAVE ARRANGED IT NICELY. CHARLES WILL
SEE TO THE FURNITURE AND THINGS, AND I WILL SUPERINTEND THE REMOVAL OF
FIDO MYSELF."]

* * * * *

HOW A DISCIPLE OF FOX BECAME A LOVER OF BULL.

PHILADELPHIA, 4th Month, 13th, 1870.

FRIEND PUNCHINELLO: I know thee treats our good city with more
consideration than thy brother journalists, and so it is that I address
the on this occasion. Last night I listened to the fiddle of OLE BULL. I
had long known of this man, even from the time when I first attired
myself in a coat, (called by the world after the name of the abdomen of
a fish,) as one who

--"skinned a cat
And put the fur around his hat."

But having recently been made aware of the fact that this fiddler only
availed himself, in his vain exhibitions, of a part of the _felis_ which
was not necessary to its felicity after death, I determined to give a
portion of my worldly goods toward the building of a light-house on the
Norway coast, for which purpose, I heard it averred, this man's
performances were given; and I went to the building where the fiddling
was to be, to see if it were done with fidelity for this end.

As I sat in the upper seats of the house, serenely elevated above the
vain throng, the man BULL appeared before me. His mien was humble and
his hair was of a gray tinge, which I attributed to the ceaseless
gratings of the instrument which he held on his arm, as carefully as if
it had been an immortal child.

At first, though I labored conscientiously toward that end, I could
discover nothing in the sounds he made which reminded me in the least
degree of a Norwegian light-house. But suddenly I forgot that useful
monument. Against my will, I seemed to be wafted aloft, even to where
the seats were cheaper; and anon, I felt as though I disported among the
shameless figures on the ceiling of the house. I now forgot all things
earthly, even that suspicious bill which friend HOPKINS paid in to my
cashier on Second-day. Yea, my whole being became, as it were, strung
upon the entrails of a cat and tickled with the tail of horse. I felt as
if I were wafted aloft on a blanket of shivering scrapes while quivering
angels gently swung me among the stickery stars! And there I heard a
melody as though the edges of glass skies were softly rubbed together.
Then all was stiller, stiller, until methought I heard nothing but one
consumptive angel breathing in his sleep. But even that sound dribbled
away, until the last drop seemed to me about to be sucked down into a
hole at the bottom of the airy void, when suddenly there came a rush as
though a vast light-house of brass had fallen into a sea of tinkling
cymbals, and I jumped so violently that my spectacles slipped from off
my nose and fell among the vain ones below.

A second time now came the fiddler forth, and soon methought I stood
within a surgeon's operating hall. The player drew his bow as though it
were a knife, gliding over the limb of a subject in a sleep.

So keen the blade, so soft the touch, the sleeper did not wake! I
clutched my knees--my breath did cease!

The skin divides!

And still he sleeps.

The muscles and the tendons fall apart!

He moves not.

Oh! That glittering blade

It deeper goes!

A--Ah!

He wakes!

He yells!

Horror! And now, through flesh and bones that vengeful weapon grinds!

'Mid screams and oaths!

Down falls the leg...

I staggered forward. My hat, which much clamor in the rear had not made
me remove, fell over the iron rail and plunged, resounding ike a sinful
drum, upon the head of a painted Jersey belle below.

I heeded not, but groped me to the door.

And now I write to thee, friend PUNCHINELLO. Can thee buy me such a
fiddle in New-York? Thy friend,

VENTER CLUPLE.

* * * * *

A Puzzler.

The Belgians, it is said, are anxious to have the letter _h_ dropped
from the French alphabet. As that contains no _w_, how, in the event of
a new elision, will the Parisians, who are so fond of English words,
manage to spell _wheelwright_?

* * * * *

A Blow that Hurteth not.

The Blow of a flower.

* * * * *

A Pleasant Prospect.

If the new Superintendent of the New-York Police Force is to be as
severely tried as was his predecessor, then, surely, JOURDAN will have
"a hard road to travel."

* * * * *

"OUT OF THE STREETS."

GEORGE W. MCLEAN am I,
And potent was my name,
Till TWEED and SWEENEY crossed my path
And spoiled my little game.

Our city roads I supervised,
Long time, with pious care,
The people's Ways I strictly watched--
Street, Avenue, and Square

But now, from office rudely swept
By Legislative BILL,
The crossing-sweeper's broom I ply,
My empty pouch, to fill.

* * * * *

Honeymoons in the Air

The rage for passing the honeymoon in a balloon appears to be on the
wane in this country. The reason for this may be that a majority of
those who enter wedlock find they "go up" soon enough without the aid of
a balloon.

* * * * *

Motto for Unsuccessful Croquet-Players.

"Hoops deferred make the heart sick."

* * * * *

[Illustration: OUR PAVEMENTS.

_Timid Tax-payer_. "WHAT! GOING TO PAVE THIS STREET AGAIN? WHY, IT WAS
NEWLY PAVED ONLY A WEEK AGO!"

_Gentlemanly Contractor_. "PAVED? NOT MUCH! FOUNDATION LAID, ONLY; AND
NOW WE'RE GOIN' TO PUT THE JOBBER'S PATENT TOP-SOLID-SUPERSTRUCTURE OVER
THAT!"]

PUNCHINELLO:

TERMS TO CLUBS.

WE OFFER AS PREMIUMS FOR CLUBS

FIRST:

DANA BICKFORD'S PATENT FAMILY SPINNER,

The most complete and desirable machine ever yet introduced for spinning
purposes.

SECOND:

BICKFORD'S CROCHET AND FANCY WORK MACHINES.

These beautiful little machines are very fascinating, as well as useful;
and every lady should have one, as they can make every conceivable kind
of crochet or fancy work upon them.

THIRD:

BICKFORD'S AUTOMATIC FAMILY KNITTER.

This is the most perfect and complete machine in the world. It knits
every thing.

FOURTH:

AMERICAN BUTTONHOLE, OVERSEAMING, AND SEWING-MACHINE.

This great combination machine is the last and greatest improvement on
all former machines. No. 1, with finely finished Oiled Walnut Table and
Cover, complete, price, $75. No. 2, same machine without the buttonhole
parts, etc., price, $60.

WE WILL SEND THE

Family Spinner, price, $8, for 4 subscribers and $16.
No.1 Crochet, " 8, " 4 " " 16.
" 2 " " 15, " 6 " " 24.
" 1 Automatic Knitter, 72 needles, 30, " 12 " " 48.
" 2 " " 84 needles, 33, " 13 " " 52.
No.3 Automatic Knitter, 100 needles, 37, for 15 subscribers and $60.
" 4 " " 2 cylinders, 33, " 13 " " 52.
1 72 needles 40. " 16 " " 64.
1 100 needles

No. 1 American Buttonhole and Overseaming Machine,
price, $75, for 30 subscribers and $120.

No. 2 American Buttonhole and Overseaming Machine,
without buttonhole parts, etc., price, $60, for 25 subscribers and $100.

Descriptive Circulars

Of all these machines will be sent upon application to this office, and
full instructions for working them will be sent to purchasers.

Parties getting up Clubs preferring cash to premiums, may deduct
seventy-five cents upon each full subscription sent for four subscribers
and upward, and after the first remittance for four subscribers may send
single names as they obtain them, deducting the commission.

Remittances should be made in Post-Office Orders, Bank Checks, or Drafts
on New-York City; or if these can not be obtained, then by Registered
Letters, which any post-master will furnish.

Charges on money sent by express must be prepaid, or the net amount only
will be credited.

Directions for shipping machines must be full and explicit, to prevent
error. In sending subscriptions give address, with Town, County, and
State.

The postage on this paper will be twenty cents per year, payable
quarterly in advance, at the place where it is received. Subscribers in
the British Provinces will remit twenty cants in addition to
subscription.

All communications, remittances, etc., to be addressed to
P.O. Box 2783.

PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY

No. 83 Nassau Street,

NEW-YORK

* * * * *

S. W. GREEN. PRINTER, CORNER JACOB AND FRANKFORT STREETS.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Punchinello, Volume 1, No. 06, May 7, 1870" ***

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