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Vol 1. No. 26.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1870.
PUBLISHED BY THE
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83 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.
* * * * *
THE MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD,
By ORPHEUS C. KERR,
Continued in this Number.
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THE MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD.
BY ORFHEUS C. KERR
THE H. AND H. OF J. BUMSTEAD.
The exquisitely sweet month of the perfectly delicious summer-vacation
having come, Miss CAROWTHERS' Young Ladies have returned again, for a
time, to their respective homes, MAGNOLIA PENDRAGON has gone to the city
and her brother, and FLORA POTTS is ridiculously and absurdly alone.
Under the ardent sun of August, Bumsteadville slowly bakes, like an
ogre's family-dish of stuffed cottages and greens, with here and there
some slowly moving object, like a loose vegetable on a sluggish current
of tidal gravy, and the spire of the Ritualistic church shooting-up at
one end like an incorrigibly perpendicular leg of magnified mutton.
Hotter and hotter comes the breath fiery of nature's cookery, until some
of the stuffing boils out of one cottage, in the shape of the Oldest
Inhabitant, who makes his usual annual remark, that this is the Warmest
Day in ninety-eight years, and then simmers away to some cooler nook
amongst the greens. More and more intolerably quivers the atmosphere of
the sylvan oven with stifling fervency, until there oozes from beneath
the shingled crust of a vegetarian country-boarding-house a parboiled
guest from the City, who, believing himself almost ready to turn, drifts
feebly to where the roads fork and there is a shade more dun; while, to
the speculative mind, each glowing field of corn, or buckwheat, is an
incipient Meal, and each chimney, or barn, a mere temptation to guess
how many Swallows there may be in it.
Upon the afternoon of such a day as this, Miss POTTS is informed, by a
servant, that Mr. BUMSTEAD has arrived, and, sending her his love, would
be pleased to have her come down stairs to him and bring him a fan.
"Why didn't you tell him I wasn't at home, you absurd thing?" cries the
young girl, hurriedly practicing a series of agitated looks and pensive
smiles before her mirror.
"So I did, Miss," answers the attached menial, "but he'd seen you
looking at him with an opera-glass as he came up the path, and said that
he could hear you taking a clean handkerchief out of tho drawer, on
purpose to receive him with, before he'd got to the door."
"Oh, what shall I do? My hands are so red to-day!" sighs FLCKA, holding
her arms above her head, that the blood may retire from the too pinkish
After a pause, and an adjustment of a curl over her right eye and the
scarf at her waist, to make them look innocent, she yields to the
meteorological mania so strikingly prevalent amongst all the other
characters of this narrative, and says that she will receive the visitor
in the yard, near the pump. Then, casting carelessly over her shoulder
that web-like shawl without which no woman nor spider is complete, she
arranges her lips in the glass for the last time, and, with a garden-hat
hanging from the elbow latest singed, goes down, humming
un-suspiciously, into the open-air, with the guileless bearing of one
wholly unprepared for company.
Resting an elbow upon a low iron patent-pump, near a rustic seat, the
Ritualistic organist, in his vast linen coat and imposing straw hat,
looks not unlike an eccentric garden statue, upon which some prudish
slave of modern conventionalities has placed the summer attire of a
western editor. The great heat of the sun upon his back makes him
irritable, and when Miss POTTS sharply smites with her fan the knuckles
of the hand which he has affably extended to take her by the chin, more
than the usual symptoms of acute inflammation appear at the end of his
nose, and he blows hurriedly upon his wounded digits.
"That hurt like the mischief!" he remarks, in some anger. "I don't know
when I've felt anything smart so."
"Then don't be so horrid," returns the pensive girl, taking a seat
before him upon the rustic settee, and abstractedly arranging her dress
so that only two-thirds of a gaiter-boot can be seen.
Munching cloves, the aroma of which ladens the air all around him, Mr.
BUMSTEAD contemplates her with a calmness which would be enthralling,
but for the nervous twisting of his features under the torments of a
singularly adhesive fly.
"I have come, dear," he observes, slowly, "to know how soon you will be
ready for me to give you your next music-lesson?"
"I prefer that you would not call me your 'dear,'" was the chilling
The organist thinks for a moment, and then nods his head intelligently.
"You are right," he says, gravely, "--there _might_ be somebody
listening who could not enter into our real feelings. And now, how about
"I don't want any more, thank you," says FLORA, coldly. "While we are
all in mourning for our poor, dear absurd EDDY, it seems like a
perfectly ridiculous mockery to be practicing the scales."
Fanning himself with his straw hat, Mr. BUMSTEAD shakes his bushy head
several times. "You do not discriminate sufficiently," he replies.
"There are kinds of music which, when performed rapidly upon the violin,
fife, or kettle-drum, certainly fill the mind with sentiments
unfavorable to the deeper anguish of human sorrow. Of such, however, is
not the kind made by young girls, which is at all times a help to the
intensity of judicious grief. Let me assure you, with the candor of an
idolized friend, that some of the saddest hours of my life have been
spent in teaching you to try to sing a humorous aria from DONIZETTI; and
the moments in which I have most sincerely regretted ever having been
born were those in which you have played, in my hearing, the
Drinking-song from _La Traviata_. Believe me, then, my devoted pupil,
there can be nothing at all inconsistent with a prevalence of profound
melancholy in your continued piano-playing; whereas, on the contrary,
your sudden and permanent cessation might at least surprise your friends
and the neighborhood into a light-heartedness temporarily oblivious of
the memory of that dear, missing boy, to whom you could not, I hear,
give the love already bestowed upon me."
"I loved him ridiculously, absurdly, with my whole heart," cries FLORA,
not altogether liking what she has heard. "I'm real sorry, too, that
they think somebody has killed him."
Mr, BUMSTEAD folds his brown linen arms as he towers before her, and the
dark circles around his eyes appear to shrink with the intensify of his
"There are occasions in life," he remarks, "when to acknowledge that our
last meeting with a friend, who has since mysteriously disappeared, was
to reject him and imply a preference for his uncle, may be calculated to
associate us unpleasantly with that disappearance, in the minds of the
censorious, and invite suspicions tending to our early cross-examination
by our Irish local magistrate. I do not say, of course, that you
actually destroyed my nephew for fear he should try to prejudice me
against you; but I cannot withhold my earnest approval of your judicious
pretence of a sentiment palpably incompatible with the shedding of the
blood of its departed object. If you will move your dress a little, so
that I can sit beside you and allow your head to rest upon my shoulder,
that fan will do for both of us, and we may converse in whispers."
"My head upon _your_ shoulder!" exclaims Miss POTTS, staring swiftly
about to see if anybody is looking. "I prefer to keep my head upon my
own shoulders, sir."
"Two heads are better than one," the Ritualistic organist reminds her.
"If a little hair-oil and powder _does_ come off upon my coat, the
latter will wash, I suppose. Come, dearest, if it is our fate to never
get through this hot day alive, let us be sunstruck together."
She shrinks timidly from the brown linen arm which he begins insinuating
along the back of the rustic settee, and tells him that she couldn't
have believed that he could be so absurd. He draws back his arm, and
"FLORA," he says, tenderly, "how beautiful you are, especially when
fixed up. The more I see of yon, the less sorry I am that I have
concluded to be yours. All the time that my dear boy was trying to
induce you to relase him from his engagement, I was thinking how much
better you might do; yet, beyond an occasional encouraging wink, I never
gave the least sign of reciprocating your attachment. I did not think it
would be right"
The assertion, though superficially true, is so imperfect in its
delineation of habitual conduct liable to another construction, that the
agitated Flowerpot returns, with quick indignation, "your arm was always
reaching out whenever you sat in a chair anywhere near me, and whenever
I sang you always kept looking straight into my mouth until it tickled
me. You know you did, you hateful thing! Besides, it wasn't you that I
preferred, at all; it was--oh, it's too ridiculous to tell!"
In her bashful confusion she is about to arise and trip shyly away from
him into the house, when he speaks again.
"Miss POTTS, is your friendship for Miss PENDRAGON and her brother such,
that their execution upon some Friday of next month would be a spectacle
to which you could give no pleased attention?"
"What do you mean, you absurd creature?"
"I mean," continues Mr. BUMSTEAD, "simply this: you know my double loss.
You know that, upon the person of the male PENDRAGON was found an apple
looking and tasting like one which my nephew once had. You know, that
when Miss PENDRAGON went from here she wore an alpaca waist which looked
as though it had been exposed more than once to the rain.--See the
FLORA gives a startled look, and says: "I don't see it."
"Suppose," he goes on--"suppose that I go to a magistrate, and say:
'Judge, I voted for you, and can influence a large foreign vote for you
again. I have lost a nephew who was very fond of apples, and a black
alpaca umbrella of great value. A young Southerner, who has not lived in
this State long enough to vote, has been found in possession of an apple
singularly like the kind generally eaten by my missing relative, and his
sister has come out in a waist made of second-hand alpaca?'--See the
"Mr. BUMSTEAD," exclaims FLORA, affrighted by the terrible menace of his
manner, "I don't any more believe that Mr. PENDRAGON is guilty than I,
myself, am; and as for your old umbrella--"
"Stop, woman!" interrupted the bereaved organist, imperiously. "Not even
your lips shall speak disrespectfully of my lost bone-handled friend. By
a chain of unanswerable argument, I have shown you that I hold the fate
of your southern acquaintances in my hands, and shall be particularly
sorry if you force me to hang Mr. PENDRAGON as a rival."
FLORA puts her hands to her temples, to soothe her throbbing head and
display a bracelet.
"Oh, what shall I do! I don't want anybody to be hung! It must be so
Her touching display of generous feeling does not soften him. On the
contrary, he stands more erect, and smiles rather triumphantly under his
"Beloved one," he murmurs, in a rich voice, "I find that I cannot induce
you to make the first advance toward the mutual avowal we are both
longing for, and must therefore precipitate our happiness myself. My
poor boy would not have given you perfect satisfaction, and your
momentary liking for the male PENDRAGON was but the effect of a
temporary despair undoubtedly produced by my seeming coldness. That
coldness had nothing to do with my heart, but resulted partially from my
habit of wearing a wet towel on my head. I now propose to you--"
"Propose to me?" ejaculates Miss POTTS, with heightened color.
"--That you pick out a worthy man belonging to your own section of the
Union," he continues hastily. "Here's my Heart," he adds, going through
the motions of taking something from a pocket and placing it in his
outstretched palm, "and here's my Hand,"--placing therein an equally
imaginary object from another pocket.--"Try the H. and H. of J.
His manner is as though he were commending some patent article of
"But I can't bear the sight of you!" she cries, pushing away the brown
linen arm coming after her again.
Taking away her fan, he pats her on the head with it, and seems
momentarily surprised at the hollow sound.
"Future Mrs. BUMSTEAD," he cheerfully replies, at last, "my observation
and knowledge of the women of America teach me that there never was a
wife going to Indiana for a divorce, who had not at first sworn to love,
as well as honor and obey, her husband. Such is woman that if she had
felt and said at the altar that she couldn't bear the sight of him, it
wouldn't have been in the power of masculine brutality and dissipated
habits to drive her from his side through all their lives. There can be
no better sign of our future happiness, than for you to say, beforehand,
that you utterly detest the man of your choice."
There is something terrible to the young girl in the original turn of
thought of this fascinating man. Say what she may, he at once turns it
into virtual devotion to himself. He appears to have a perfectly
dreadful power to hang everybody; he considers her strongest avowal of
present personal dislike the most promising indication she can give of
eternal future infatuation with him, and his powerful mode of reasoning
is more profound and composing than an article in a New York newspaper
on a War in Europe. Rendered dizzy by his metaphysical conversation, she
arises from the rustic seat, and is flying giddily into the house, when
he leaps athletically after her, and catches her in the doorway.
"I merely wish to request," he says, quietly, "that you place sufficient
restraint upon your naturally happy feelings to keep our engagement a
secret from the public at present, as I can't bear to have boys calling
out after me, 'There's the feller that's goin' to get married! There's
the feller that's goin' to get married!' When a man is about to make a
fool of himself, it is not for children to remind him of it."
The door being opened before she can answer, FLORA receives a parting
bow of Grandisonian elegance from Mr. BUMSTEAD, and hastens up stairs to
her room in a distraction of mind not uncommon to those having
conversational relations with the Ritualistic organist.
_(To be Continued.)_
* * * * *
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by the
PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY, in the Clerk's Office of the District
Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York.
* * * * *
A GOOD FIGHT.
We presume that all the Boston people "lecture" at times; at any rate
they could, if they wanted to. No one doubts their ability.
But, let the number of these imparters of information be ever so great,
we have reason to doubt whether any other of these accomplished parties
has grappled with so formidable, so tremendous a subject, as that which
is now exciting the powerful mind of Miss LILLIAN EDGARTON.
She is going to do it, though! If her life is spared, and her
constitution remains free from blight, (both of which felicities we
trust will be hers,) that subject has got to come under.
That all may know how great is the task, and the confidence required to
pitch into it, we announce, with a flourish, that Miss L. E. is about to
attack that well-known Saurian Monster, termed GOSSIP! Considered as a
Disease, she proposes to find the Cause and the Cure. Considered as a
living and gigantic Nuisance (by far surpassing any Dragon described by
SPENSER,) she designs to hunt him out and slay him incontinently.
Courage, fair Knight! Our eldest Son is kept in reserve for some such
Heroine! If you would be famous, if you would make a perfect thing of
this Crusade, if you would render the lives of your fellow mortals
longer and happier, if you would win that noble and ingenuous youth, our
son, go in vehemently!
And, while you are about it, LILLIAN, would you object to giving your
attention to certain relations of the monster which you propose to slay?
We name them, Detraction and Calumny. They are tough old Dragons, now,
we tell you; perhaps it were best to fight shy of them.
We have it, LILLIAN! Leave 'em to us! Us, with a big U! You kill little
Gossip, and see how quick his brothers and sisters will fall, before our
(And so they will fall, sure enough, but it will be simply because when
our dear young knight, L.E., has killed _her_ Dragon, she will have
wiped out the whole brood! They can't live without their sweet and
attractive little sister. And so, like many a bigger humbug, we shall
take great credit, that belongs to somebody else, and assume to have
done big things, at enormous expense of blood and money. Trust us, for
* * * * *
NAPOLEON III AT SEDAN.
I _was_ an Emperor. _Voila c'est bon!_
BAZAINE, MACMAHON, fought--'twas my affair.
Only, to please my doctor, NELATON,
I left the throne, to take a Sedan chair.
* * * * *
_Veritas_ writes to say that as he was crossing the ferry from Wall
Street to Brooklyn, yesterday afternoon, he counted 117 persons reading
PUNCHINELLO. He did not observe a single copy of the _Sun_ on board,
until the boat neared Brooklyn, when a man of squalid appearance
produced from a dirty newspaper some soiled articles, all of which
seemed to have been steeped in Lye, from contact with the sheet, which
proved to be the _Sun._
* * * * *
A Con for the "Ninth."
What is there in common between Colonel FISK'S war-horse and a New York
Both are tremendous Chargers.
* * * * *
THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.
Here I am again, back from the seashore, to find the theatres opening,
the war closing, and GREELEY burning to imitate the late French Emperor,
by leading the Republican hosts to defeat in the Fall campaign, so as to
be in a position to write to the Germanically named HOFFMAN--"As I
cannot fall, ballot in hand, at the head of my repeaters, I surrender to
your victorious Excellency."
Being back, I went to see _Julius Caesar_ at NIBLO'S Garden. It was the
day when the French CAESER fell, and the impertinent soothsayer,
ROCHEFORT, who had so often advised him to beware, not of the Ides of
March, but of the _Idees Napoleoniennes,_ (there is a feeble attempt at
a pun here) obtained his liberty, and the right to assail in his
newspaper, the virtue of every female relative of the Imperial family.
Of course I know that JULIUS CAESAR was not a Frenchman--for the modesty
of his "Commentaries" is proverbial--and that SHAKESPEARE never so much
as heard of the Man of December. Nevertheless the two CAESARS were
inextricably mixed up in my mind. I know that two or three editorial
persons who sat close by me, were continually talking of NAPOLEON, and I
may possibly have confounded their remarks with those of the actors.
Still I could not divest myself of the impression that I was sometimes
in Paris and sometimes in Rome, and that the sepulchral voice of Mr.
THEODORE HAMILTON, was more often that of NAPOLEON than that of JULIUS.
The play presents itself to my recollection in the following shape. As I
said before, it was represented at the very moment that the French
republicans, being satisfied with the bees in their respective bonnets,
were obliterating the imperial bees from the doors of the Tuileries, and
being anxious to take arms against a sea of Prussians, were taking down
the imperial arms wherever they could find them. Remembering this, the
reader will be able to account for any slight difference in text between
my _Julius Caesar,_ and that of the respectable and able Mr. SHAKESPEARE.
ACT I.--_Enter various Irish Roman Citizens, flourishing the shillelahs
of the period._
1ST. CITIZEN. "Here's a row. Great CAESAR is going to march to Berlin.
Hooray for the Hemperor."
1ST EDITORIAL PERSON. "I grant you he was popular when the war began,
but to-day the people despise him."
CASSIUS. "I hate this CAESAR. Once he tried to swim across the British
Channel with a tame eagle on his shoulder, and couldn't do it. When he
is sick he takes anti-bilious pills, like any other man. Obviously he
don't deserve to live."
CASCA. (_Who is fat enough to know better, and not pretend to be
discontented_.) "Let's kill him and break all the glass in the windows
BRUTUS. "My friend, those who live in stone houses should never throw
glass about. I don't mean anything by this, but it sounds oracular, and
will make people think I am a profound philosopher."
EDITORIAL PERSON. "What I say is this. He, CAESAR, governed the Roman
rabble vastly better than they deserved. His only mistakes were, in not
sending CASSIUS, who was a sort of ROCHEFORT, without ROCHEFORT'S
cowardice, to the galleys, and in not sending BRUTUS as Minister to some
capital so dreary that he would have shot himself as soon as he reached
ACT II.--_Enter_ BRUTUS _and fellow radicals._
BRUTUS. "I have no complaint against CAESAR, and I therefore gladly join
your noble band of assassins. We will kill him and establish a
provisional government with myself at its head. CAESAR is ambitious, and
I hate ambition. All I want is to be the ruler of Rome."
CASSIUS. "Come, my brave fellows. Haste to the stabbing. Away! Away!"
EDITORIAL PERSON. "What a farce is history. Here are PUMBLECHOOK, BRUTUS
and JOHN WILKES CASSIUS held up as models of excellence and integrity.
What did they and their fellow scoundrels do after they had killed
CAESAR, but desolate their country with civil war?"
ACT III.--_Enter_ ASSASSINS _headed by_ BRUTUS _and_ GAMBETTA, CASSIUS
CASSIUS. "Here is CAESAR with his back toward us, fighting the German's
hordes. Let us steal up and stab him before he can help himself." _(They
CASSIUS. "Now we will kick his wife out of Paris and smash his
furniture. We will all become a Provisional Government, and fix
everything to suit ourselves. I will revive my newspaper, and hire a
staff from the New York _Sun,_ who will make it more scurrilous than
_Enter the Parisian populace crying, "Hooray for_ CAESAR."
CASSIUS. "Hush. CAESAR is dead, and we are going to proclaim a republic.
Begin and abuse him with all your might. We'll let you smash some
POPULACE. "Hooray. The tyrant has fallen. Let's go and insult his wife
and smash everything generally."
1ST EDITORIAL PERSON. "Yesterday these precious rascals voted for him.
To-day they insult him--it being safe to do so--and to-morrow they will
want him back again."
2ND EDITORIAL PERSON, "There lies the ruins of the noblest nephew of his
uncle that ever lived in France or elsewhere. He was unscrupulous, I
admit, but he knew how to rule. Shall we stay and hear MARK ANTONY
praise him, and set the fickle rabble at the throats of ROCHEFORT and
BRUTUS, and their gang?"
1ST EDITORIAL PERSON. "That will take place very shortly, but I can't
wait for it. I must go home to write an editorial welcoming the new
republic, and prophesying all manner of success for it. The American
people like that sort of trash, though they have already twice seen the
French try republican institutions only to make a muddle of them."
2ND EDITORIAL PERSON. "What do you think of the actors here at NIBLO'S."
1ST EDITORIAL PERSON. "DAVENPORT is good but heavy, BARRETT rants like a
raving French radical. MONTGOMERY is excellent, and the rest are so so."
And the undersigned having seen the French revolution played on the
Roman stage at NIBLO'S, also went home without waiting to see the
prophetic fourth and fifth acts, in which the conspirators come to
grief, and the empire is reestablished. We shall read all about it in
the cable dispatches a few months hence. Good Heavens! who can listen
calmly to the speeches of the players, while the grandest drama of the
century is acting across the sea, where a mad populace, freed from the
firm grasp of its master, breaks windows and howls itself hoarse as the
best preparations for holding the fairest of cities against the
resistless veterans of VON MOLTKE.
* * * * *
PUNCHINELLO, pondering over the vast sums that have been forwarded to
Cuba, in aid of the insurrectionary movements there, and struck with the
disadvantages under which the promoters of liberty labor in that sunny
isle, blesses his stars that, thanks to the enterprise of Miss SUSAN B.
ANTHONY, he can raise a Revolution in New York City, at any time,
for ten cents. Let those whom it may concern take heed.
* * * * *
Bluff King Bill.
L.N. declared his determination to kick old King BILLY, of Prussia, off
from French territory. Well, it would only have been a new illustration
of "footing the Bill."
* * * * *
As soon as the abominable fat-boiling nuisances have been abolished,
will it be right to say that they have fallen into de-_suet_-ude?
* * * * *
A Seasonable Conundrum.
Why is New York City like the ex-Emperor of the French?
Because it has just got rid of its Census.
* * * * *
In consideration of the splendid jewels worn by him, might not Colonel
JIM FISK be more appropriately called Colonel GEM FISK.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE SPIRIT OF THE WAR.
A Sketch In the Bowery.
_Small Frenchman._ "WHAT FOR YOU HIT ME WITH YOUR DAMBABY VEN YOU PASS?"
_Big German._ "WANTS TO FIGHT?--DINKS YOU CAN WHIP ME, EH?"
_Small Frenchman._ "NO--BUT I CAN GIVE YOUR DAMBABY ONE BLACK EYE!"]
* * * * *
LAKE GEORGE, August 30.
DEAR PUNCHINELLO:--I arrived here last Saturday, and as I would be the
last person to allow a commendable enterprise to languish for want of
proper encouragement, and in order to put the Hotel proprietors out of
suspense, I thought I would let you know without further delay that I
consider Lake George a success.
Not being expected, as I supposed, I must admit I was somewhat gratified
to find a full band playing on the veranda as the coach I was in drove
It was a sort of delicate attention, you know.
I notice, however, that they continue playing in the afternoon since
then, I suppose it struck them as a good idea at the time.
The Fort William Henry Hotel is a gorgeous affair in every respect. It
is situated very near the old original Fort, just where the French
troops advanced to capture it, and made their celebrated charges.
Perhaps the present proprietor can't discount them at that sort of
Looking over one's bills reminds you a good deal of the Police Courts,
five dollars fine, twenty-five dollars costs.
The costs they make here are very good, however, altho' they do put a
little too much mint in them, I must say.
L.G. is all right, though. It is supplied with all the modern
conveniences. It isn't within five minutes walk of the post office, but
its water conveniences are apparent to all. There is no end to its
belles, and as for its ranges, it has two of them--both Adirondacks.
Yesterday I took a trip up the Lake and across to its neighbor,
Everybody takes this trip because its "the thing," and it is therefore
particularly necessary to take it. Ostensibly, you go to view the
scenery, really, to be inveigled into paying for a low comedy of a
dinner at the other end.
The first place our boat stopped at is called the "Trout Pavillion,"
principally, so far as I can learn, on account of the immense number of
pickerel caught there, and from the fact that it is unquestionably a
good site for a Pavillion whenever the esteemed Proprietor turns up
jacks enough, at his favorite game, to build one.
The next place was set down in the Guide Book as the "Three Sisters"
Islands, an appellation arising from the fact that there are precisely
_four_ of them.
I mentioned this apparent discrepancy to the boat clerk.
This young man, who belongs to a Base Ball Club, informs me that these
islands invariably travelled with a "substitute," as one occasionally
This certainly seems a little curious, but as the young man says he was
born here, I suppose he knows.
This same young man pointed out a beautiful spot called Green Island and
asked me if I wouldn't like to live there.
He said he thought it would just suit me.
The attention of these people is really delightful.
Some of these places, however, have very inappropriate names, for
instance another little gem is called "Hog Island." No one knows why it
was so called. The clerk of the boat don't either.
He wanted to know if I had ever dined there.
I always make it a point to get on the right side of these Steamboat
About half way up the Lake is a place called Tongue Mountain.
A long time ago a colony of strong-minded women settled there.
That may have had something to do with its name.
Nobody ever goes there now.
People go very near the mountain in boats, however, as it is noted for
something very extraordinary in the Echo line.
It has what is called a "Double Echo."
I fully expected something of this kind.
Now if there is anything I am particularly down on, it is those
unmitigated frauds known as Echoes. And if I ever throw four sixes, it
is when I am tackling some unsuspecting old ass of a watering place
I consider them "_holler_ mockeries."
Of course we steamed within proper distance, and I seized the
opportunity to "put a head on" this venerable two-ply nuisance, as
First, I read a page of a Patent Office Report I go armed with.
This the Echo, with very little hesitation, repeated in duplicate as
usual. From one side of the rock in English, and from the other in fair
I saw at once that old EK was pretty well filled.
Next I sang "Listen to the Mocking Bird," which it repeated very
creditably indeed, dropping but two notes on the third verse. This it
made up for, I am bound to admit, by throwing in some original
variations in the chorus.
But I hadn't played from my sleeve yet, so I recited HAMLET'S Soliloquy.
From the wooded slope on our right came the familiar "_To be_" of BOOTH,
while from the sloping woods on our left proceeded a finely rendered
imitation of the Teutonic FECHTER, in the same.
This staggered me!
I had one more jack in my cuff, however. I pulled out a copy of the
Tribune and read a few paragraphs of GREELEY'S "What do I know about
_That settled him!_
He never got to the first semi-colon. It knocked the breath right out of
The poor old fossil had to quit. He changed his repeater to a leaver.
But then you see he had held the office a good while.
He hasn't left the business to any one, either.
In future no one will go fooling round there except the fishermen. The
sign is down.
In my next I will finish the Lake trip, and give you some account of the
celebrated "Roger's Slide."
[_To be continued._]
* * * * *
BY MOSE SKINNER.
Next to talk, popularity is the cheapest thing I know of. It is achieved
by three classes--those who have brains, those who have money, and those
who have neither. The first earn it; the second buy it; and the third
stumble into it, perhaps by waving their hat at an engineer just in time
to prevent the train from dashing over a precipice, or by chopping off
somebody's head with a meat axe and burning the remains up afterwards,
in which case the next day's paper gives a faithful account of their
pedigree, and their photograph can be purchased at any respectable
news-dealers, at a price within reach of all.
The most common-place sayings of popular men are handed down to
posterity, and a casual remark about the weather is often framed and
hung up in the spare-bedroom.
It behooves every public man to keep a sentence or two on hand, with a
view to embalming them for future reference. I wish to state, in
confidence, that if any prominent man who can't think of anything that
sounds well, will address me, I will furnish him at the low price of one
dollar a sentence. My stock is entirely fresh and original, and embraces
such gems as--"Don't give up the ship," "Such is Life," "How's this for
high?" "I die happy," "A stitch in time saves nine," &c., &c.
I am also prepared to furnish "last words of eminent men," at a moderate
General GRANT has taken time by the forelock in this matter. His "Let us
have Peace," was a most brilliant effort, because nobody ever thought of
it before. "I propose to move on your works immediately, if it takes all
summer," was also a happy thought.
When General GRANT was in Boston he said he liked the way they made
gravy in Massachusetts. Now this in itself would not, perhaps, be called
deep, because others have said the same thing before, but, coming from a
man like GRANT, it set folks to thinking, and it is not surprising that
something of this sort went the rounds:
"We have the best authority for stating that General GRANT,
during his recent visit to Boston, remarked that he was
gratified at the manner in which gravy was produced in
Massachusetts. Our talented Chief Magistrate is a man of few
words, but what he does say is spicy, and to the point."
At the Peace Jubilee, GRANT said he "liked the cannon best;" but the
reporters, being confidentially informed that the remark wasn't intended
for posterity, it didn't get out much. I didn't hear of his saying
If a popular man takes cold, the whole public sneeze. His opinions must
go into the papers any how, though perhaps no better than anybody's
else. Thus--from a daily paper:
"The Hon. MONTGOMERY BLAIR recently said in a private
conversation, that the present war would probably end in
victory for the Prussians, and the overthrow of Napoleon."
Supposing he did? I heard JOHN SMITH say the same thing in an eating
saloon over a month ago, and out of twenty gentlemen present, four were
reporters, but they didn't take out their note books in breathless haste
and put down the Hon. JOHN SMITH'S opinion, how Mr. SMITH looked when he
said it, and if he said it as though he really meant it, and in a manner
that thrilled his listeners.
But JOHN hasn't any popularity, you see, and the Hon. MONTGOMERY
has--though it may be a little mildewed.
Soon after the war, I wrote an article on the Alabama Claims. It was a
masterly effort, and cost me a month's salary to get it inserted in a
popular magazine. If that article had proved a success, I could easily
have gulled the public all my life on the popularity thus achieved.
But I made a wretched mistake to start with. Instead of heading it "The
Alabama Claims," "By CHARLES SUMNER," or "HORACE GREELEY." I said "By
I will not dwell on the result. Suffice it to say that I soon after
retired from literature, a changed being, utterly devoid of hope.
A friend of mine, an eminent New York philanthropist, relates the
following interview with a condemned criminal. The crime for which this
wretched man was hung is still fresh in our memories. One morning at
breakfast his tripe didn't suit him, and he immediately brained his wife
and children and set the house on fire, varying the monotony of the
scene by pitching his mother-in-law down the well, having previously,
with great consideration, touched her heart with a cheese knife.
I will now quote my friends' own words:
"He was pronounced a hard case, manifesting no sorrow for his act, and
utterly indifferent to his approaching doom. A score of good people had
visited him with the kindest intentions, but without making the smallest
impression upon him.
"Without boasting, I wish to say that I knew I could touch this man's
heart. I saw a play once in which the most blood-thirsty and brutal
ruffian that ever existed was melted to tears at the mention of his
mother's name, and childhood's happy hours, and everybody knows that
what happens on the stage happens just the same in real life.
"I naturally congratulated myself on having seen this play, for it gave
me power to cope with this relentless disposition.
"He resisted all attempts at conversation, however, in the most dogged
manner, barely returning surly monosyllables to my anxious wishes for
his well being.
"At last, laying my hand on his shoulder, and throwing considerable
pathos into my voice, I said:
"My friend, it was not always thus with you. There was a time when you
sat upon your mother's knee, and gathered buttercups and daisies?"
"Ah! I had touched the right chord at last. His brow contracted and his
lips twitched convulsively."
"And when that mother put you in your little bed," I continued, "she
kissed you, and hoped you would grow up a--"
"You lie," said he, "she didn't. The old woman was six foot under ground
afore I could chaw. Now, look a here, you're the fourth chap that's
tried the 'mother' dodge on me. Why don't you fellers" he added with a
malicious grin, "go back on the mother business, and give the old man a
chance, jest for a change?"
"After the above scurvy treatment I was naturally anxious to witness the
man's funeral, which I understood was to be a gorgeous affair, six
respectably-attired females having been sworn in to kiss the body, amid
the hysteric weeps of three more in the background."
* * * * *
_Housewife._ "VAKE YOU UP, HANS--HERE'S ANODER BRUSSIAN VICTORY."
_Hans, (dreamily.)_ "ANODER BRUSSIAN VICTORY?--DEN LET US HAVE ANODER
* * * * *
Hot and Cold.
The sensational paragraph writers had better "let up" on the question of
an imminent dearth of ice. There is no real probability that we shall be
without ice before winter sets in. It is only for the purpose of keeping
us in hot water that the newspaper men say we shan't have cold water.
* * * * *
[Illustration: NOT JUST YET!
_Mr. Greeley._ "PRAY, TAKE A SEAT, MR. WOODFORD; I WOULDN'T ON ANY
ACCOUNT DEPRIVE YOU," etc., etc.
_Mr. Woodford._ "No! NO!--TAKE IT YOURSELF, MR. GREELEY; THE LAST THING
I SHOULD THINK OF WOULD BE," etc., etc.
_Governor Hoffman._ "DON'T TROUBLE YOURSELVES, GENTLEMEN: I SHALL
PROBABLY CONTINUE TO OCCUPY THE CHAIR FOR A COUPLE OF YEARS, YET."]
* * * * *
Genus, Phoca.--The Seal.
This is the common name of the inoffensive and fur-bearing members of
the Phocidae family. The word seal is derived, radically, from the
German _Siegel,_ so that to say a man has "fought mit SIEGEL," is
equivalent to remarking that he has assailed a harmless and timid seal.
The Phocidae, without distinction of sex, are known as Mammafers,
although it would manifestly be more correct to call the males Papafers.
Under the present classification, the confusion of genders necessarily
Unless AGASSIZ is gassing us, the true seal has no sign of an ear,
wherefore the deafening roar of the surf in which it delights to sport
is probably no inconvenience to it. As distinguished from dumb beasts in
general, it may properly be called a deaf and dumb animal. The false
seal, on the contrary, has as true an ear as e'er was seen. To the
counterfeits belong the sea lion, the Mane specimen of the tribe in the
Arctic sea, and the sea leopard, which seems to be phocalized in the
Antarctic circle. All the varieties of the seal seek concealment in
caverns, and their Hides are much sought after.
Sealing was at one time chiefly monopolized by adventurous New
Englanders, who combined the pursuit with whaling, but at present the
sealers of Salt Lake bear off the palm from all competitors, both as
regards numbers and hardihood. Whether they combine whaling with sealing
is not positively known, but probably they do. Such is the universal
passion for sealing among the people of that region, that the old men
act like Young men when engaged in this exciting occupation.
The Phocidae appear to have attracted the attention of Mankind at a very
early period--Seals being frequently spoken of in the Scriptures. St.
JOHN witnessed the opening of no less than seven varieties, and must
have been well acquainted with their internal structure.
The earless, or true species, are often seen in considerable numbers on
the British coast, and the Great Seal of England--only to be found in
the vicinity of the Thames--is of such remarkable size and weight, that
it never makes its appearance without producing a strong Impression.
The Green Seal, a much admired variety, is peculiar to Madeira, and
seals of various colors are often seen in close proximity to the
British. Ports; the number taken off Cork being prodigious.
None of the animals of the Phoca genus are tenacious of life. They may
readily be destroyed with sealing whacks. A large stick properly applied
has been known to seal the fate of a dozen in the space of half an hour.
KANE knocked them over without difficulty, and they never attempt to
defend themselves, according to PANEY.
In conclusion, it may be remarked that immense herds of seals cover the
coasts of Alaska. It is nevertheless difficult to catch a glimpse of
them, on account of the enormous flocks of humming birds, which darken
the air in that genial clime. Occasionally, however, the Arctic zephyrs
disperse the feathery cloud, and then vast numbers of the timid
creatures, with a sprinkling of the Walrus, may be seen by looking in a
* * * * *
A LITTLE ACKNOWLEDGMENT.
The _Free (and Easy) Press_ has honored PUNCHINELLO with a brief as well
as premature obituary paragraph. Flattered as he is by being thus
noticed in the columns of a journal of the long standing and well
sustained popularity of the _Free (and Easy) Press_, it pains
PUNCHINELLO to be obliged to state that he still lives, and that he is
not only alive, but kicking. That he has come to an end, is true--but it
is to the end of his First Volume, as the _F. (and E.) Press_ can see by
turning to the admirably written, dashing, humorous, and absolutely
unsurpassable Index appended to our present number, which Index
PUNCHINELLO cordially recommends to the perusal of the _F. (and E.)
Press_. The Preface to his Second Volume, however, which is now in
preparation, will, PUNCHINELLO confidently assures the _F. (and E.)
Press_, be altogether superior to the Index to his First. Let the _F.
(and E.) Press_ look out for it. But, meanwhile, the _F. (and E.) Press_
can cheer itself by frequent contemplation of the entertaining personage
who serves as tail-piece to the Index, and whose gesture is of that
familiar and suggestive kind that will doubtless be thoroughly
understood by the _F. (and E.) Press_, and, as PUNCHINELLO hopes, fully
* * * * *
[Illustration: "HUMPTY DUMPTY SAT ON THE WALL, HUMPTY DUMPTY HAD A GREAT
AND IT HE HAD FALLEN AMONG THE PRUSSIANS, ONLY, IT MIGHTN'T HAVE BEEN SO
BAD FOR HIM; BUT, AS HE ALSO FELL UPON FRENCH BAYONETS, IT IS QUITE
CERTAIN THAT HE CAN NEVER GET UP AGAIN.]
* * * * *
HIRAM GREEN IN WALL STREET.
His Celebrated Speech before the Board or Brokers.--A few Words of Sound
Advice from the Squire.
Doorin' a breef sojern in the Emperor City, a deputation of Wall Street
brokers and smashers called and invited me to make a speech afore the
members of their church, whose _Sin_-agog is situated in Brod Street.
Thinks I, if I can make these infatuated worshippers of the Golden Calf,
Mammon, see the error of their ways and take a back track, me thunk my
chances for the White House would be full as flatterin' as Sisters
WOODHUL, GEORGIANA FRANCIS TRAIN, or any other woman, in '72.
Layin' off my duster, and adjustin' my specturcals, at the appinted
hour, I slung the follerin' extemperaneous remarks at 'em:
My infatuated friends and Goverment Bondmen:
As an ex-statesman which has served his country for 4 years as Gustise
of the Peece, raisin' said offis to a hire standard than usual, to say
nothin' about raisin' an interestin' family of eleven morril an hily
intellectooal children, I rise and git up, ontramelled by any politikle
alliances, to say: that when you fellers git on a mussy fit, like the
old woman who undertook to pick her chickens by runnin' them through a
patent hash cutter, you make the feathers fly, and leave your victims in
a hily clawed up stait.
Perfesser ARKIMIDEES, of Oxford, (and here allow me to stait, so as to
avoid newspaper contraryversy, as in the case of DISRALLY'S novel
Lothere, _I have no refference to_ T. GOLDWIN SMITH _whatsomever_, as I
believe ARKIMIDEES is now dead,) said he could raise the hul earth with
a top section of a rale fence, if he could only find something tangible
to rest his timber on.
My friends, that man had never heerd of Wall Street, and I'de bet all
the money I can borrer on it.
With such a prop as this ere little territory, where games of chance are
"entered into accordin' to the act of Congress," to cote from a familiar
passage in every printed copy of PUNCHINELLO, the Perfesser could have
raised this little hemisfeer quicker than any of you chaps can gobble up
And, sirs, I'me sorry to be obliged to speak plain, it would be a darned
site more to your credit if you'd try and raise the earth, instead of
daily usin' Wall Street as a base of operations to raise H----,
well--excuse me, the futer asilum for retired brokers.
How do you manage, when you want to make a steak?
You run up stocks and produce a crysis.
Outsiders rush in lickety smash, and invest all the money they can rake
and scrape, in these inflated stocks. Suddenly you prick the bubble,
when, alas! besides the cry-sis, there's more cry-bubs in and about Wall
Street than there was in Egipt, when NAPOLEON BONAPART chopped off the
heads off all the first born. Instances have been known, where a good
many of you chaps have rammed your head in the Tiger's mouth once too
If my memry serves me correctly, FISKE and GOOLD made you perambulate
off on your eyebrows, last fall, and while the a-4-said Tigers walked
off with the seats of your trowserloons in their teeth, you all jined in
the follerin' him:
Wall Street is all a fleetin' sho',
From which lame ducks are driven,
"Up in a balloon they allers go,
To Tophet, not to Heaven."
Another little dodge of your'n, my misguided friends, is to keel off K.
What did you do t'other day?
Why, when KERNELIUS was engaged in a friendly game of cards for _keeps_,
up at Saratogy, some poor deluded _money_-maniac telegrafs that the
Commodore had at last found his match, and had been gathered to his
fathers. While at the bottom of the dispatch was forged the name of my
friend, KISSLEBURGH, city editor of the _Troy Times_, who, up to the
present time, if this coot knows herself, hain't bin into the hiway
robbin' bizziness, not by a long shot. But, my friends and feller
citizens, old VAN is sharper that a two-edged gimlet.
When he lays down his wallet among a lot of other calf skins, like a
great sponge in a puddle of water, it sucks every square inch of legal
tender, which is in suckin' distance.
For a regler 40 hoss power suction, K. VANDERBILT is your man. I ones
thought I could never take a locker to this 'ere honest old heart, but
as I cast my gaze over this audience, and observe among the Bulls and
Bears, a cuple of Dears, I will retract that, payin' in the follerin'
_Jew de spree_:
Come rest on this buzzum,
Oh! butiful broker,
With your arms clinchin' tite,
This innercent choker.
I'le stand it from thee,
If you'll never go near,
The Bulls and the Bears,
When HIRAM is here.
(This impromtu poetikism, Mr. PUNCHINELLO, kicked up quite a little
breeze, in the midst of which the pretty brokers blushed and looked so
bewitchin' like, that it was enuff to make a feller throw stuns at K.
VANDERBILT if the pretty Dears only wanted him to.)
I agin resoomed:
My infatuated friends; afore I wind up, let me give you a few partin'
words of advice.
Give up this 'ere gamblin' bizziness. When you run up gold it hits the
hul mercantile body of this nation a wipe in the stummuck. A good many
little cubs, as well as a few ole Bears, have been gobbled up by your
confounded efforts at runnin' up gold, while you grin and chuckle like
the laffin' hyena, when ransackin' Navy Yards and whisky distilleries.
But, if you insist on goin' ahead and earnin' your daily peck by
smashin' things and layin' out the onsofisticated, all I have got to say
is, that next time you've got a _sure thing_ to make a speck, by
telegrafin' me at Skeensboro, I won't mind comin' down and takin' a hand
in, if my pocketin' a few hundred thousands will be the means of
betterin' your morrils, by my sharin' your burden. In concloosion,
feller citizens, feelin' in rather a poetical mood to-day, I will close
with the follerin' tribute to Wall Street and its inhabitants:
"Imperious SEIZER, dead, and turned to cla,
Mite stop a hole to keep the wind away;"
Onless from Wall Street, was blowin' raw.
The tempestous breezes, from a broker's flaw.
Amid tumultous cheers, and a general rushin' to DELMONICO'S, where Wall
Street waters her stock, (of lickers,) I sot down.
Ewers, without a dowt,
HIRAM GREEN, Esq.,
_Lait Gustise of the Peece._
* * * * *
A sporting paper gives the following item:
"Two nines, composed of members of BOOTH'S, WALLACK'S and the Olympic
theatrical companies, played an interesting game of base-ball at the
Union base-ball grounds, last week."
Imagine Sir HARCOURT COURTLEY batting splendidly to DIEDRICK VAN
BEEKMAN'S pitching; or picture Major DE BOOTS waiting patiently on the
short stop for a chance to put Captain ABSOLUTE out on his second base.
The experience of these gentlemen before the footlights may have made
them light-footed, but from mere force of habit they are all pretty sure
to be caught out in the "flies."
* * * * *
"They may talk about nines," said the Doctor, when base-ball was the
subject under discussion. "They may talk about their nines; but I know
of a nine that would lay them all out in double-quick time, and it is
* * * * *
A FECULENT NUISANCE.
Persons passing along Nassau Street, between Ann and Beekman Streets,
for some days past, have had their olfactories unpleasantly assailed by
a vile stench. On investigation by officers of the Board of Health, the
foul odor was found to exhale from the premises of 113 Nassau Street.
Further examination disclosed the fact that the nuisance arose from a
quantity of Dead Rabbits deposited on the premises by one JAMES O'BRIEN,
for purposes best known to himself. It is said that the entire concern
is to be handed over to the New York Rendering Company, for conversion
into the kind of tallow used for the manufacture of the cheapest kind of
* * * * *
The Greatest Joke of the Season.
The idea of nominating JAMES O'BRIEN for the office of Mayor of the City
of New York. But it cannot be called a practical joke.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "IT WAS IN THE CHAMPAGNE COUNTRY THAT LOUIS NAPOLEON CAME
TO GRIEF. THE FIZZ OF THE CHAMPAGNE WAS TOO MUCH FOR HIM, AND HE
FIZZLED."--_(Letter from a War Correspondent.)_]
* * * * *
PUNCHINELLO AS A "SAVANT."
MR. PUNCHINELLO: I have always taken a profound interest in Science.
When a child my fond parents observed in me a decided taste for
Entomology, the wings and legs of butterflies and grasshoppers being the
objects of my special investigation. As a school-boy I obtained (despite
the frequent closing of my visual organs) considerable Insight into
Physical Science in the course of numerous pugilistic encounters. A
close Application to Optics at that time enabled me to get some Light on
I was quite a phenomenon in Astronomy. While yet an unweaned infant I
made numerous observations on the Milky Way, and when learning to walk
frequently saw stars undiscernable with the most powerful telescope.
Since my arrival at man's estate I have frequently experimented on the
Elasticity of the Precious Metals, but have generally found it extremely
difficult to make both ends meet.
Considering, therefore, that I had as just a claim to be called
scientific, as many who pretend to be _Savants_, I determined to attend
the late Scientific Convention at Troy. My reception was most
gratifying. On presenting my credentials to the Convention, that learned
body welcomed me with open arms, and I was escorted to a place among the
members by its distinguished head.
Some of the speculations of these eminent philosophers were exceedingly
profound, and it is really wonderful, Mr. PUNCHINELLO, to what an extent
theory may be carried in the advance of science.
Mr. GOOSEFELT read a learned and original paper--carefully compiled from
various sources--on the Steam Engine, in the course of which he stated
that his great aunt, who had been blown up on the first steamboat that
ever went down in the Mississippi, during the great Earthquake of 1811,
was still living. Also, that his godfather, the celebrated Mr.
NICODEMUS, assisted (probably in the interests of science) in pulling
down the statue of GEORGE III in the Bowling Green. The importance of
these two facts cannot be over-estimated, as they will undoubtedly give
a tremendous impulse to the wheels of science.
Professor GREYWACKE, the eminent Geologist, delivered an address on
Natural Petrifactions, indicating the various specimens of Ancient
Fossils by which he was surrounded, and describing their formation. The
audience was probably Petrified with astonishment at the immense
learning and research he displayed, for it observed a Stony silence,
only interrupted by an occasional snore.
A brilliant paper on the Illuminating Power of Gas was read by Professor
M.T. HEAD. It was a most Luminous production, and proved conclusively
that an immense expenditure of gas sometimes throws very little Light on
any Subject. The Professor is thoroughly versed in Meters, and is the
author of the "Volume of Gas" which has attracted so much attention in
the scientific world.
Professor SUETT addressed the Scientists on the Effect of Tallow upon
Ox(h)ides. From certain experiments made by him it appears that the
Oleaginous principle is incompatible with Water, and unfavorable to the
action of rust.
A member was of the opinion that this important discovery might be
turned to great practical advantage, as the application of cart grease
to rusty iron axles might possibly facilitate the rotary motion of the
This novel and valuable suggestion was hailed with shouts of applause,
and the thanks of the Convention were immediately voted to the
distinguished member, whose name I have unfortunately forgotten.
Professor HYDRAGE read an Essay on the Transit of Mercury, which he said
would take place in the form of a Bed Precipitate in 1878. It may
possibly take place before then, however, as the Faculty of Medicine are
said to be rapidly abandoning the use of calomel.
The State Conchologist read an extremely interesting disquisition on the
Oyster, which was divided into sections and literally devoured by the
audience. He also exhibited some Specimens of Conchs, which were regular
Sneezers in point of size.
An announcement which was made by the distinguished Astronomer,
Professor LOONEY, created a most profound sensation.
He stated that with the aid of a powerful telescope he had discovered an
immense Fissure in the Moon. He was quite positive that he had also
observed a Man in the Gap. Although unable to distinguish the features
of this individual, he thought it might possibly be JAMES STEPHENS, the
missing Fenian Head Centre.
When the excitement consequent upon this startling announcement had
subsided, I rose and addressed the Convention as follows:
"Ladies and Gentlemen: I cannot express, in words, the profound
gratification with which I have listened to the learned and eloquent
addresses which have just been delivered. The advancement of Science is
an object which is worthy the efforts of such distinguished _savants_ as
I see around me, and to this object they have brought that profundity of
learning which is only to be gathered from the perusal of elementary
text books, that almost strabismal acuteness of perception which enables
them to descry such great scientific truths as can be discovered through
an orifice in a barn door, and that wonderful power of discrimination
which enables them to distinguish between the seed of the leguminous
plant known as the bean, and the other vegetable productions of Nature,
when the bag is open.
As an humble member of the Brotherhood of Science, I desire to
contribute, in however insignificant a degree, to the Great Cause of
Learning. I will therefore, with Your Permission, read" (loud cries of
'No! No!' 'Put him out!' etc., to which of course I paid no attention,)
"the following papers: 'An Inquiry as to Whether Diptheria has anything
to do with the Migration of the Swallow,' 'On the possibility of
straightening the curve of the African Shin Bone.' 'On Marine Plants and
Deep Sea Currents.' 'On the Laws of Mechanics, with observations on the
Mechanic's Lien Law and the By-Laws of Trades Unions.' 'Some Reflections
on Reflection.' 'The Connection between Mathematics and Versification,
as illustrated by LOGARHYTHMS.' 'Minute Experiments with the
Hour-Glass,' and 'Important Speculations on the Sea Changes.'"
I proceeded to read the first of the above named papers, but before I
had got very far, Mr. PUNCHINELLO, I was interrupted by a peculiar
sound, which I at first took for subdued applause, but which, on
investigation, I found proceeded from the noses of the audience. In
short, Mr. P., both audience and Convention were in a profound slumber.
Considerably mortified, I withdrew in silence. I am determined, however,
that my theses shall not be lost to posterity. I intend to have them
published, and to send you a copy of each.
* * * * *
We learn that "some of the pear trees in Suffolk County are now in
blossom." Surely such a season as this one for pears has never before
been seen. Who knows but the fact may induce SUSAN B. ANTHONY to go
pairing with some Revolutionary bachelor?
* * * * *
About a Clock
Advice to Picnic Parties
Agricultural Column, Our
Albany Cock Robins
Allurements of the Period
All Aboard for Holland
American Cutlery in France
Answers to Correspondents
Arrah, What Does He Mane, at All?
Associated Press Telegrams
Augean Job, An
Ballad of Capt. Eyre, The
Bachelor's Moving Day, The
Bad "Odor" in the West
Ballad of the Good Litttle Boy aged ten
"Behold how Pleasant a Thing," &c.
Bit of Natural History, A
Bird of Wisdom in Iowa, The
Bingham on Rome
Blocks and Blockheads
Broadbrim to Aborigine
Cause and Effect
Captain Hall, To
Card of Thanks, A
Chat about Railroads, A
Chance for our Organ Grinders, A
Charge of the Ninth Brigade
China Pattern, A
Chincapin at Long Branch
Chincapin among the Free Lovers
Colonel Fisk's Soliloquy
Cons, by a Wrecker
Congressman to his Critics, A
Consistent League, A
Coup d'etat, My
Conversion of the "_Sun_"
Cool, if not Comfortable
Colored Troopa Fought Nobly, The
Criticism of the Period
Crispin _vs_. Coolie
CARTOONS--March 4, 1869--March 4, 1870
Our Efficient Navy Department
The Descent of the great Massachusetts Frog upon the Newspaper Flies
The Great National Game
The Sick Eagle
The Financial Inquisition
Editorial Washing Day in New York
The New Plea for Murder
The Wedding Ring as Sorosis would like to see it
The Blood Money
"What I Know About Farming"
The Wedding Ring again
Yan-ki _vs_. Yankee
The New Pandora's Box
Lncifer's Little Game with his Royal Puppets
Death of the "Entente Cordial"
Wonderful Tour de Force
The Ovation of Murder
Law _versus_ Lawlessness
What Will He Do With It?
At the Saratoga Convention
Depressions for Chicago
Delights of Dougherty, The
Desultory Hints and Maxims for Anglers
Distinguished Visitor, A
Dogs Tale, A
Down the Bay
Drainage under Difficulties
Dreadful State of Things out West, The
Dwarf Dejected, The
Editorial Washing Day
Episode of Jack Horner
Excellent Old Song Made New, An
Ferocity of Failure, The
Female Gentleman, The
Finances, On the
Fine Arts in Philadelphia
Fishery Question, The
Financial Article, Our
Four Seasons, The
Forty-four to Fourteen
Free Baths, The
From an Anxious Mother to her Daughter
Fun and Fin
Gay Young Joker, A
George Francis the Ubiquitous
Glimpses of Fortune
Gossip in a School-house
Good for Something Better
Gravestones For Sale
Grant's Blackbird pie
Greeley's Aid to Literary Effort
Greeley on Bailey
Great Canal Enterprise, The
Great African Tea Company, The
Greek Meeting Greek
Habits of Great Men
Hamlet from a Rural Point
Hall and Hayes
H. G. and Terpsichore
Hints for the Family
High and Low Church
Hints upon High Art
Hints to Car Conductors
Hints for Those Who Will Take Them
Hints for the Census
High Notes by our Musical Critic
Hiram Green at Saratoga
Hiram Green at the Tower of Babel
Hiram Green on the Chinese
Hiram Green Experience as an Editor
Hiram Green writes to Napoleon
Hiram Green on Jersey Musquitoes
Hiram Green at the Female Convention
Hiram Green on Base Ball
Hiram Green among the Fat men
Hiram Green to Napoleon
Hiram Green in Wall Street
How a Disciple of Fox Became a Lover of Bull
Holy-Grail, and other Poems, The
Important to Publishers
Interesting to Bone Boilers
Indian Question, The
Inspiration vs. Perspiration
Items from our Rural Reporters
Joys of Summer, The
Jottings from Washington
Kellogg Testimonials, The
King Oakey, the First
King Craft Looking Up
Latest from Washington
Latest News Items
Latest about "Lo."
Letter from a Friend
Letter of Advice, A
Letter from a Japanese Student
Letter from a Croaker, A
Leaven of Leavenworth
Lines by a Hapless Swain
Long Shot, A
"Lot" on a Lot of Proverbs
Love in a Boarding-House
Lucus a non, etc
Mariner's Wrongs, The
Marriage Market in Rome, The
Maine Question in Massachusetts
Marine Mixture, A
Managers of Railroads, To
Medical Miss, A
Methodist Book Concern, Concerning the
Mercantile Library Association
Mind your P's and Q's
Miseries of a Handsome Man
Motley Melody, A
Murphy the Conqueror
Mystery of Mr. E. Drood.
Mythology, Further of
Napoleon's Latest Manifesto
Natural Mistake, A
New Conglomerate Pavement
New England to New York
New Railway Project, A
New "Process", The
Ninety-nine in the Shade
Nothing like Leather
Notary's Protest, A
Nought for Nought
Now We Shall Have It
Notes from Chicago
Now's your Chance
Note from the Orchestra
Ode to the Missing Collector
Old Bailey Practitioner, An
Old Boy to the Young Ones, An
Old Saws Re-set
Opinions of the Press
Orange Peel, Etcetera
Origin of the Mississippi
Orpheus C. Kerr, Sketch of
Organizing an Organ
Origin of Punchinello
O, that air!
Out of the Streets
Our Literary Legate
Our Cuban Telegrams
Pat to the Question
Parable About the 12th of July
Plays and Shows
Please the Pigs
Plea for Protection
Pluckily Patriotic, Still
Poems of the Cradle
Police Report, Our
Possible "Why" of it, The
Punchinello's New Charter
Punchinello in Wall Street
Punchinello and the Aldermen
Punchinello on the Jury
Punchinello Is Sorry
Punchinello as a "Savan"
Rather Flashy Idea, A
Real Estate of Woman, The
Religion of Temperance
Receipe to be Tested
Reform in Juvenile Literature
Right and Left
Romaunt of the Oyster
Rose by any other Name, A
Roar from Niagara, A
Romance of a Rich Young Man
Sailing Directions, &c
Seasonable Parody, A
Several Unsavory Renderings
Sic Semper Epluribus, &c
Sorosian Impromptu, A
Song of the Returned Soldier
Song of the New Babel
Song of the Red Cloud
Song of the Chicago Lawyer
Song of the Mosquito
Spiritual Susceptibility of Cats
Spirit of the Navy
Summer on the Catskills
Summer at Sandy Point
Taking a Senator's Measure
Take Care of the Wounded
That Indian Talk
Thiers, Idle Thiers
Thirteenth Man in the Omnibus
"Tobacco Parliament" of Ohio, The
To Our Readers
Treatment for Potato Bugs
Turkish Bath, My
Urbs in Rure
V.H. to Punchinello
Visit to "Sheridan's Ride"
Voice from the Hub
Voice of the Turtle, The
Vultures Call, The
Wanted, a Sheriff
Wat Cum Snecst
Way to Become Great, The
Weather Prophecies for May
What the Press is Expected to Say
What I Know About Free Trade
What I Know About Protection
What Is It
What Sigerson Says
What Shall We Call It?
Why is it so Dry?
Woman, Past and Present
Women's Rights Again
Woman in Wall Street
Woman in the Census
Woman's Right to Ballot and Bullet
Words and their Abases
Wringer of the Future
* * * * *
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