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Project Gutenberg's Punchinello Vol. 1, No. 21, August 20, 1870, by Various

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Title: Punchinello Vol. 1, No. 21, August 20, 1870

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<table width="800" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="3"
 cellspacing="0">
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td width="33%">
      <center>
      <p><span style="font-weight: bold;">CONANT'S</span></p>
      <p>PATENT BINDERS FOR</p>
      <p> <big><big><b>"PUNCHINELLO",</b></big></big></p>
      <p>to preserve the paper for binding, will be sent post-paid, on
receipt of One Dollar,</p>
      <p>&nbsp;by</p>
      <p><b>PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING CO.,<br>
      </b></p>
      <p><b>83 Nassau Street, New York City.</b></p>
      </center>
      </td>
      <td width="33%">
      <center>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">J.M. SPRAGUE</p>
      <p>Is the Authorized Agent of</p>
      <p><big><big><b>"PUNCHINELLO"</b></big></big></p>
      <p>For the</p>
      <p><b>New England States,</b></p>
      <p>To Procure Subscriptions,<br>
and to Employ Canvassers.</p>
      </center>
      </td>
      <td width="33%">
      <center>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">HARRISON BRADFORD &amp; CO.'S</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"><big><big><big>STEEL PENS.</big></big></big></p>
      <p>These pens are of a finer quality, more durable, and cheaper
than any other Pen in the market. Special attention is called to the
following grades, as being better suited for business purposes than any
Pen manufactured. The</p>
      <p><b>"505," "22,"</b> and the <b>"Anti-Corrosive."</b></p>
      <p>We recommend for bank and office use.</p>
      <p><b>D. APPLETON &amp; CO.,</b> <b><br>
Sole Agents for United States.</b></p>
      </center>
      </td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>
<table width="800" border="0" align="center" cellpadding="3"
 cellspacing="0">
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td>
      <center> <br>
      <br>
      <img src="images/01.jpg" alt=""><br>
      <h1>PUNCHINELLO</h1>
      <h2>Vol. 1. No. 21.</h2>
      <p>SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 1870.</p>
      <br>
      <h3>PUBLISHED BY THE</h3>
      <br>
      <h3>PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,</h3>
      <br>
      <br>
      <h4>83 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.</h4>
      </center>
      <br>
      <br>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td align="center">
      <p><small>THE MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD, By ORPHEUS C. KERR,
Continued in this Number.</small></p>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td align="center">
      <p><small>See 15th page for Extra Premiums.</small></p>
      </td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>
<br>
<table
 style="width: 800px; text-align: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"
 border="1" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0">
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td align="center">
      <p>APPLICATIONS FOR ADVERTISING IN</p>
      <p> <big><big><big><b>"PUNCHINELLO"</b></big></big></big></p>
      <p>SHOULD BE ADDRESSED TO</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">J. NICKINSON,</p>
      <p>Room No. 4,</p>
      <p>83 NASSAU STREET.</p>
      </td>
      <td style="text-align: center; width: 35%;" rowspan="2">
      <p><big><b>TO NEWS-DEALERS</b>.<br>
      <br>
      </big></p>
      <p><b>Punchinello's Monthly</b>.</p>
      <br>
      <p>The Weekly Numbers for July,</p>
      <br>
      <p><b>Bound in a Handsome Cover</b>,</p>
      <br>
      <p>Is now ready. Price Fifty Cents.</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"><big>THE TRADE</big></p>
      <p>Supplied by the</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"><big>AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY,</big></p>
      <p>Who are now prepared to receive Orders.</p>
      </td>
      <td style="text-align: center; width: 30%;">
      <p><b>FORST &amp; AVERELL</b></p>
      <p><b>Steam, Lithograph, and Letter Pres</b></p>
      <p><b>PRINTERS</b>,</p>
      <p><b>EMBOSSERS, ENGRAVERS, AND LABEL MANUFACTURERS</b>.</p>
      <p>Sketches and Estimates furnished upon application.</p>
      <b>23 Platt Street, and<br>
20-22 Gold Street</b>,<br>
[P.O. Box 2845.]<br>
NEW YORK.<br>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td rowspan="3" align="center">
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">CHARLES C. CHATFIELD &amp; CO.,</p>
      <p><small>New Haven, Conn.,</small></p>
      <p><small>Have Just Published</small></p>
      <p>"THE AMERICAN COLLEGES AND THE AMERICAN PUBLIC,"</p>
      <p><small>BY</small></p>
      <p><span style="font-weight: bold;">PROF. NOAH PORTER, D.D.,</span><br>
OF YALE COLLEGE.</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">OPINIONS OF THE BOOK.</p>
      <p>"I have read it with very deep interest."&#8212;PRESIDENT McCOSH,
PRINCETON.</p>
      <p>"An excellent and valuable work."&#8212;PRESIDENT CUMMINGS, WESLEYAN
UNIVERSITY.</p>
      <p>"Able and just presentations of our colleges to the
public."&#8212;PRESIDENT ANDERSON, ROCHESTER UNIVERSITY.</p>
      <p>"The discussion is not only very reasonable, but thorough,
comprehensive and wise."&#8212;PRESIDENT BROWN, HAMILTON COLLEGE.</p>
      <p>"An able and scholarly review of the system of instruction
pursued in our American Colleges."&#8212;PROF. FRANCIS BOWEN, HARVARD.</p>
      <p>"Unique, profound, discriminating."&#8212;PROF. L. H. ATWATER,
PRINCETON.</p>
      <p>"The best book ever published on this subject of collegiate
education."&#8212;SPRINGFIELD REPUBLICAN.</p>
      <p><small>The book contains 285 pages, is printed on a fine
quality of tinted paper, is handsomely bound, and is sold by all
booksellers for $1.50, and sent for the same (postage paid) to any
address, by the publishers.</small></p>
      <p>NEW COLLECTION OF YALE SONGS.</p>
      <p><small>Just Published.</small></p>
      <p><small>SONGS OF YALE.&#8212;A new Collection of the Songs of Yale,
with Music. Edited by CHARLES S. ELLIOT, Class of 1867.&#8212;16mo, 126
pages. Price in extra cloth, $1.00; in super extra cloth, beveled
boards, tinted paper, gilt edges, $1.50</small></p>
      <hr style="width: 35%;">
      <h2>UNIVERSITY SERIES.</h2>
      <p><small><i>Educational and Scientific Lectures, Addresses and
Essays, brought out in neat pamphlet form, of uniform style and price.</i></small></p>
      <p>I.&#8212;"ON THE PHYSICAL BASIS OF LIFE." By Prof. T. H. HUXLEY, LL.
D., F. R. S. With an Introduction by a Professor in Yale College. 12mo,
pp. 36. Price 25 cents.</p>
      <p><small>The interest of Americans in this lecture by Professor
HUXLEY can be judged from the great demand for it; the fifth thousand
is now being sold.</small></p>
      <p>II.&#8212;THE CORRELATION OF VITAL AND PHYSICAL FORCES. By Prof.
GEORGE F. BARKER, M.D., of Yale College. A Lecture delivered before Am.
Inst., N. Y. Pp. 36. Price 25 cts.</p>
      <p><small>"Though this is a question of cold science, the author
handles it with ability, and invests it with interest. A series of
notes appended is valuable as a reference to works quoted."</small>&#8212;<small>PROV.
(R.I.) PRESS.</small></p>
      <p>III.&#8212;AS REGARDS PROTOPLASM, in Relation to Prof. HUXLEY'S
Physical Basis of Life. By J. HUTCHINSON STIRLING, F. R. C. S. Pp. 72.
Price 25 cents.</p>
      <p><small>By far the ablest reply to Prof. HUXLEY which has been
written.</small></p>
      <p><small>Other valuable Lectures and Essays will soon be
published in this series. Address:</small></p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">CHARLES C. CHATFIELD &amp; CO.,</p>
      <p>No. 460 Chapel Street, New Haven, Conn.</p>
      </td>
      <td align="center">
      <p>FOLEY'S<br>
      <b>GOLD PENS</b>.<br>
THE BEST AND CHEAPEST.<br>
256 BROADWAY.</p>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td align="center">
      <p><big><b>WEVILL &amp; HAMMAR</b>,</big></p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"><big><big>Wood Engravers,</big></big></p>
      <p><b>208 Broadway</b>,</p>
      <p>NEW YORK.</p>
      </td>
      <td align="center">
      <p><big><big><b><big><big>$2</big></big><br>
to ALBANY and TROY</b>.</big></big></p>
      <p><b>The Day Line Steamboats C. Vibbard and Daniel Drew</b>,
commencing May 31, will leave vestry st. Pier at 8.45, and
Thirty-fourth st. at 9 a.m., landing at <b>Yonkers, (Nyack, and
Tarrytown</b> by ferry-boat), <b>Cozzens, West Point, Cornwall,
Newburgh, Poughkeepsie, Rhinebeck, Bristol, Catskill, Hudson, and
New-Baltimore.</b> A special train of broad-gauge cars in connection
with the day boats will leave on arrival at Albany (commencing June 20)
for <b>Sharon Springs</b>. Fare <b>$4.25</b> from New York and for
Cherry Valley. The Steamboat <b>Seneca</b> will transfer passengers
from Albany to Troy.</p>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td align="center">
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"><big>Bowling Green Savings-Bank<br>
      <br>
      </big></p>
      <p>33 BROADWAY,</p>
      <br>
      <p><b>NEW YORK</b>.</p>
      <br>
      <p>Open Every Day from<br>
10 A.M. to 3 P.M.</p>
      <p><small><i>Deposits of any sum, from Ten Cents<br>
to Ten Thousand Dollars will be received</i>.</small></p>
      <p><b>Six per Cent interest,<br>
Free of Government Tax</b></p>
      <p>Commences on the First of every Month.</p>
      <br>
      <p>HENRY SMITH, <i>President<br>
      <br>
      </i></p>
      <p>REEVES E. SELMES, <i>Secretary</i>.</p>
      <br>
      <p>WALTER ROCHE, EDWARD HOGAN, <i>Vice-Presidents</i>.</p>
      </td>
      <td align="center">
      <p>ESTABLISHED 1866. JAS R.</p>
      <p>&nbsp;NICHOLS, M.D.</p>
      <p>WM. J. ROLFE. A.M.</p>
      <p>Editors</p>
      <p>Boston Journal of Chemistry.</p>
      <p>Devoted to the Science of <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br>
      </span> <b>HOME LIFE</b>, <b><br>
      </b></p>
      <p><b>The Arts, Agriculture, and Medicine</b>.</p>
      <p>$1.00 Per Year.</p>
      <p><i>Journal and Punchinello<br>
      </i></p>
      <p><i>(without Premium).</i> $4.00</p>
      <p>SEND FOR SPECIMEN-COPY</p>
      <p>&nbsp;Address&#8212;JOURNAL OF CHEMISTRY,</p>
      <br>
      <p><b>150 CONGRESS STREET,<br>
      </b></p>
      <p><b><br>
BOSTON</b>.</p>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td style="text-align: center;" rowspan="2">
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">J. NICKINSON</p>
      <p>begs to announce to the friends of</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"> <big><big>"PUNCHINELLO,"</big></big></p>
      <p>residing in the country, that, for their convenience, he has
made arrangements by which, on receipt of the price of</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">ANY STANDARD BOOK PUBLISHED,</p>
      <p><small>the same will be forwarded, postage paid.</small></p>
      <p><small>Parties desiring Catalogues of any of our Publishing
Houses, can have the same forwarded by inclosing two stamps.</small></p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">OFFICE OF</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING CO.,</p>
      <p>83 Nassau Street.</p>
      <p>P.O. Box 2783.</p>
      </td>
      <td align="center" rowspan="2">
      <p><b>NEWS DEALERS</b>.<br>
      <small>ON</small><br>
      <b>RAILROADS,<br>
STEAMBOATS</b>,<br>
And at <b><br>
WATERING PLACES</b>,</p>
      <p>Will find the Monthly Numbers of</p>
      <p><big><big>"<b>PUNCHINELLO</b>"</big></big></p>
      <p><small>For April, May, June, and July, an attractive and
Saleable Work.</small></p>
      <p><small>Single Copies<br>
Price 50 cts.</small></p>
      <p><small>For trade price address American News Co., or</small></p>
      <p><b>PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING &amp; CO.,</b></p>
      <p><b>83 Nassau Street</b>.</p>
      </td>
      <td align="center">
      <p><b>HENRY L. STEPHENS</b>,</p>
      <p><b>ARTIST</b>,</p>
      <p><b>No. 160 FULTON STREET</b>,</p>
      <p>NEW YORK.</p>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td align="center">
      <p><b>GEO. B. BOWLEND</b>,</p>
      <p>Draughtsman &amp; Designer</p>
      <p><b>No. 160 Fulton Street</b>,</p>
      <p>Room No. 11,</p>
      <p>NEW YORK.</p>
      </td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>
<table width="800" align="center">
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td> <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>The<br>
      </b></p>
      <p><b>MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD.</b></p>
      <p><b>AN ADAPTATION.</b></p>
      <p>BY ORPHEUS C. KERR.</p>
      <p>CHAPTER XIV.</p>
      <p>CLOVES FOR THREE.</p>
      <p>Christmas Eve in Bumsteadville. Christmas Eve all over the
world, but especially where the English language is spoken. No sooner
does the first facetious star wink upon this Eve, than all the
English-speaking millions of this Boston-crowned earth begin casting
off their hatreds, meannesses, uncharities, and Carlyleisms, as a
garment, and, in a beautiful spirit of no objections to anybody,
proceed to think what can be done for the poor in the way of sincerely
wishing them well. The princely merchant, in his counting-room,
involuntarily experiences the softening, humanizing influence of the
hour, and, in tones tremulous with unwonted emotion, privately directs
his Chief-Clerk to tell all the other clerks, that, on this night of
all the round year, they may, before leaving the store at 10 o'clock,
take almost any article from that slightly damaged auction-stock down
in the front cellar, at actual cost-price. This, they are to
understand, implies their Employer's hearty wish of a Merry Christmas
to them; and is a sign that, in the grand spirit of the festal season,
he can even forget and forgive those unnatural leaner entry-clerks who
are always whining for more than their allotted $7 a week. The
President of the great railroad corporation, in the very middle of a
growling fit over the extra cost involved in purchasing his last
Legislature, (owing to the fact that some of its Members had been
elected upon a fusion of Radical-Reform and Honest-Workingman's
Tickets,) is suddenly and mysteriously impressed with the recollection
that this is Christmas Eve. "Why, bless my soul, so it is!" he cries,
springing up from his littered rosewood desk like a boy. "Here, you
General Superintendent out there in the office!" sings he, cheerily,
"send some one down to Washington Market this instant, to find out
whether or not any of those luscious anatomical western turkies that I
saw in the barrels this morning are left yet. If the commercial hotels
down-town haven't taken them all, buy every remaining barrel at once!
Not a man nor boy in this Company's service shall go home to-night
without his Christmas dinner in his hand! Lively, now, Mr. JONES! and
just oblige me by picking out one of the birds for yourself, if you can
find one at all less blue than the rest. It's Christmas Eve, sir; and
upon my word I'm really sorry our boys have to work to-morrow as usual.
Ah! it's hard to be poor, JONES! A merry Christmas to us all. Here's my
carriage come for me." And even in returning to their homes from their
daily avocations, on Christmas Eve, how the most grasping, penurious
souls of men will soften to the world's unfortunate! Who is this poor
old lady, looking as though she might be somebody's grandmother,
sitting here by the wayside, shivering, on such an Eve as this? No home
to go?&#8212;Relations all dead?&#8212;Eaten nothing in two days?&#8212;Walked all the
way from the Woman's Rights Bureau in Boston?&#8212;Dear me! <i>can</i>
there be so much suffering on Christmas Eve? I must do something for
her, or my own good dinner to-morrow will be a reproach to me. "Here!
Policeman! just take this poor old lady to the Station-House, and give
her a good warm home there until morning. There! cheer-up, Aunty;
you're all right <i>now.</i> This gentleman in the uniform has
promised to take care of you. Merry Christmas!"&#8212;Or, when at home, and
that extremely bony lad, in the thin summer coat, chatters to you, from
the snow on the front-stoop, about the courage he has taken from
Christmas Eve to ask you for enough to get a meal and a
night's-lodging&#8212;how differently from your ordinary style does a
something soft in your breast impel you to treat him. "No work to be
obtained?" you say, in a light tone, to cheer him up. "Of course
there's none <i>here,</i> my young friend. All the work here at the
East is for foreigners, in order that they may be used at
election-time. As for you, an American boy, why don't you go to h&#8212; I
mean to the West. <i>Go West</i>, young man! Buy a good, stout farming
outfit, two or three serviceable horses, or mules, a portable house
made in sections, a few cattle, a case of fever medicine&#8212;and then go
out to the far West upon Government-land. You'd better go to one of the
hotels for to-night, and then purchase Mr. GREELEY'S 'What I Know About
Farming,' and start as soon as the snow permits in the morning. Here
are ten cents for you. Merry Christmas!"&#8212;Thus to honor the natal
Festival of Him&#8212;the Unselfish incarnate, the Divinely insighted&#8212;Who
said unto the lip-server: Sell all that thou hast, and give it to the
Poor, and follow Me; and from Whom the lip-server, having great
possessions, went away exceeding sorrowful!</p>
      <p>Three men are to meet at dinner in the Bumsteadian apartments
on this Christmas Eve. How has each one passed the day?</p>
      <p>MONTGOMERY PENDRAGON, in his room in Gospeler's Gulch, reads
Southern tragedies in an old copy of the <i>New Orleans Picayune,</i>
until two o'clock, when he hastily tears up all his soiled paper
collars, packs a few things into a travelling satchel, and, with the
latter slung over his shoulder, and a Kehoe's Indian club in his right
hand, is met in the hall by his tutor, the Gospeler.</p>
      <p>"What are you doing with that club, Mr. MONTGOMERY?" asks the
Reverend OCTAVIUS, hastily stepping back into a corner.</p>
      <p>"I've bought it to exercise with in the open air," answers the
young Southerner, playfully denting the wall just over his tutor's head
with it "After this dinner with Mr. DROOD, at BUMSTEAD'S, I reckon I
shall start on a walking match, and I've procured the club for exercise
as I go. Thus:" He twirls it high in the air, grazes Mr. SIMPSON'S
nearer ear, hits his own head accidentally, and breaks the glass in the
hat-stand.</p>
      <p>"I see! I see!" says the Gospeler, rather hurriedly. "Perhaps
you <i>had</i> better be entirely alone, and in the open country, when
you take that exercise."</p>
      <p>Rubbing his skull quite dismally, the prospective pedestrian
goes straightway to the porch of the Alms-House, and there waits until
his sister comes down in her bonnet and joins him.</p>
      <p>"MAGNOLIA," he remarks, hastening to be the first to speak, in
order to have any conversational chance at all with her, "it is not the
least mysterious part of this Mystery of ours, that keeps us all out of
doors so much in the unseasonable winter month of December,<a
 name="FNanchor1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> and now
I am peculiarly a meteorological martyr in feeling obliged to go
walking for two whole freezing weeks, or until the Holidays and
this&#8212;this marriage-business, are over. I didn't tell Mr. SIMPSON, but
my real purpose, I reckon, in having this club, is to save myself, by
violent exercise with it, from perishing of cold."</p>
      <p>"Must you do this, MONTGOMERY?" asks his colloquial sister,
thoughtfully. "Perhaps if I were to talk long enough with you&#8212;"</p>
      <p>"&#8212;You'd literally exhaust me into not going? Certainly you
would," he returns, confidently. "First, my head would ache from the
constant noise; then it would spin; then I should grow faint and hear
you less distinctly; then your voice, although you were talking-on the
same as ever, would sound like a mere steady hum to me; then I should
become unconscious, and be carried home, with you still whispering in
my ear. But do <i>not</i> talk, MAGNOLIA; for I must do the
walking-match. The prejudice here against my Southern birth makes me a
damper upon the festivities of others at this general season of
forgiveness to all mankind, and I can't stand the sight of that DROOD
and Miss POTTS together. I'd better stay away until they have gone."</p>
      <p>He pauses a moment, and adds: "I wish I were not going to this
dinner, or that I were not carrying this club there."</p>
      <p>He shakes her hand and his own head, glances up at the
storm-clouds now gathering in the sky, goes onward to Mr. BUMSTEAD'S
boarding-house, halts at the door a moment to moisten his right hand
and balance the Indian club in it, and then enters.</p>
      <p>EDWIN DROOD'S day before merry Christmas is equally hilarious.
Now that the Flowerpot is no longer on his mind, the proneness of the
masculine nature to court misfortune causes him to think seriously of
Miss PENDRAGON, and wonder whether <i>she</i> would make a wife to
ruin a man? It will be rather awkward, he thinks, to be in
Bumsteadville for a week or two after the Macassar young ladies shall
have heard of his matrimonial disengagement, as they will all be sure
to sit symmetrically at every front window in the Alms-House whenever
he tries to go by; and he resolves to escape the danger by starting for
Egypt, Illinois, immediately after he has seen Mr. DIBBLE and explained
the situation to him. Finding that his watch has run down, he steps
into a jeweler's to have it wound, and is at once subjected to
insinuating overtures by the man of genius. What does he think of this
ring, which is exactly the thing for some particular Occasions in Life?
It is made of the metal for which nearly all young couples marry
now-a-days, is as endless as their disagreements, and, by the new
process, can be stretched to fit the Second wife's hand, also. Or look
at this pearl set. Very chaste, really soothing; intended as a present
from a Husband after First Quarrel. These cameo ear-rings were never
known to fail. Judiciously presented, in a velvet case, they may be
depended upon to at once divert a young Wife from Returning to her
Mother, as she has threatened. Ah! Mr. DROOD cares for no more jewelry
than his watch, chain and seal-ring? To be sure! when Mr. BUMSTEAD was
in yesterday for the regular daily new crystal in his own watch&#8212;how <i>does</i>
he break so many!&#8212;<i>he</i> said that his beloved nephews wore only
watches and rings, or he would buy paste breastpins for them. Your
oroide is now wound up, Mr. DROOD, and set at twenty minutes past Two.</p>
      <p>"Dear old JACK!" thinks EDWIN to himself, pocketing his watch
as he walks away; "he thinks just twice as much of me as any one else
in the world, and I should feel doubly grateful."</p>
      <p>As dusk draws on, the young fellow, returning from a long
walk, espies an aged Irish lady leaning against a tree on the edge of
the turnpike, with a pipe upside-down in her mouth, and her bonnet on
wrong-side-afore.</p>
      <p>"Are you sick?" he asks kindly.</p>
      <p>"Divil a sick, gintlemen," is the answer, with a slight catch
of the voice,&#8212;"bless the two of yez!"</p>
      <p>EDWIN DROOD can scarcely avoid a start, as he thinks to
himself, "Good Heaven! how much like JACK!"</p>
      <p>"Do you eat cloves, madame?" he asks, respectfully.</p>
      <p>"Cloves is it, honey? ah, thin, I do that, whin I'm expectin'
company. Odether-nodether, but I've come here the day from New York for
nothing. Sure phat's the names of you two darlints?"</p>
      <p>"EDWIN," he answers, in some wonder, as he hands her a
currency stamp, which, on account of the large hole worn in it, he has
been repeatedly unable to pass himself.</p>
      <p>"EDDY is it? Och hone, och hone, machree!" exclaims the
venerable woman, hanging desolately around the tree by her arms while
her bonnet falls over her left ear: "I've heard that name threatened.
Och, acushla wirasthu!"</p>
      <p>Believing that the matron will be less agitated if left alone,
and, probably, able to get a little roadside sleep, EDWIN DROOD passes
onward in deep thought. The boarding-house is reached, and <i>he</i>
enters.</p>
      <p>J. BUMSTEAD'S day of the dinner is also marked by exhilarating
experiences. With one coat-tail unwittingly tucked far up his back, so
that it seems to be amputated, and his alpaca umbrella under his arm,
he enters a grocery-store of the village, and abstractedly asks how
strawberries are selling to-day? Upon being reminded that fresh fruit
is very scarce in late December, he changes his purpose, and orders two
bottles of Bourbon flavoring-extract sent to his address. And now he
wishes to know what they are charging for sponges? They tell him that
he must seek those articles at the druggist's, and he compromises by
requesting that four lemons be forwarded to his residence. Have they
any good Canton-flannel, suitable for a person of medium complexion?&#8212;
No?&#8212;Very well, then: send half a pound of cloves to his house before
night.</p>
      <p>There are Ritualistic services at Saint Cow's, and he renders
the organ-accompaniments with such unusual freedom from reminiscences
of the bacchanalian repertory, that the Gospeler is impelled to
compliment him as they leave the cathedral.</p>
      <p>"You're in fine tone to-day, BUMSTEAD. Not quite so much
volume to your playing as sometimes, but still the tune could be
recognized."</p>
      <p>"That, sir," answers the organist, explainingly, "was because
I held my right wrist firmly with my left hand, and played mostly with
only one finger. The method, I find, secures steadiness of touch and
precision in hitting the right key."</p>
      <p>"I should think it would, Mr. BUMSTEAD. You seem to be more
free than ordinarily from your occasional indisposition."</p>
      <p>"I am less nervous, Mr. SIMPSON," is the reply. "I've made up
my mind to swear off, sir.&#8212;I'll tell you what I'll do, SIMPSON,"
continues the Ritualistic organist, with sudden confidential
affability. "I'll make an agreement with you, that whichever of us
catches the other slipping-up first in the New Year, shall be entitled
to call for whatever he wants."</p>
      <p>"Bless me! I don't understand," ejaculates the Gospeler.</p>
      <p>"No matter, sir. No matter!" retorts the mystic of the
organ-loft, abruptly returning to his original gloom. "My company
awaits me, and I must go."</p>
      <p>"Excuse me," cries the Gospeler, turning back a moment; "but
what's the matter with your coat?"</p>
      <p>The other discovers the condition of his tucked-up coat-tail
with some fierceness of aspect, but immediately explains that it must
have been caused by his sitting upon a folding-chair just before
leaving home.</p>
      <p>So, humming a savage tune in make-belief of no embarrassment
at all in regard to his recently disordered garment, Mr. BUMSTEAD
reaches his boarding-house. At the door he waits long enough to examine
his umbrella, with scowling scrutiny, in every rib; and then <i>he</i>
enters.</p>
      <p>Behind the red window-curtain of the room of the dinner-party
shines the light all night, while before it a wailing December gale
rises higher and higher. Through leafless branches, under eaves and
against chimneys, the savage wings of the storm are beaten, its long
fingers caught, and its giant shoulder heaved. Still, while nothing
else seems steady, that light behind the red curtain burns
unextinguished; the reason being that the window is closed and the wind
cannot get at it.</p>
      <p>At morning comes a hush on nature; the sun arises with that
innocent expression of countenance which causes some persons to fancy
that it resembles Mr. GREELEY after shaving; and there is an evident
desire on the part of the wind to pretend that it has not been up all
night. Fallen chimnies, however, expose the airy fraud, and the clock
blown completely out of Saint Cow's steeple reveals what a high time
there has been.</p>
      <p>Christmas morning though it is, Mr. MCLAUGHLIN is summoned
from his family-circle of pigs, to mount the Ritualistic church and see
what can be done; and while a small throng of early idlers are staring
up at him from Gospeler's Gulch, Mr. BUMSTEAD, with his coat on in the
wrong way, and a wet towel on his head, comes tearing in amongst them
like a congreve rocket.</p>
      <p>"Where's them nephews?&#8212;where's MONTGOMERIES?&#8212;where's that
umbrella?" howls Mr. BUMSTEAD, catching the first man he sees by the
throat, and driving his hat over his eyes.</p>
      <p>"What's the matter, for goodness sake?" calls the Gospeler
from the window of his house. "Mr. PENDRAGON has gone away on a
walking-match. Is not Mr. DROOD at home with you?"</p>
      <p>"Norrabit'v it," pants the organist, releasing his man's
throat, but still leaning with heavy affection upon him: "m'nephews wen
'out with 'm &#8212;f'r li'lle walk&#8212;er mir'night; an' 've norseen'm&#8212;since."</p>
      <p>There is no more looking up at Saint Cow's steeple with a
MCLAUGHLIN on it now. All eyes fix upon the agitated Mr. BUMSTEAD, as
he wildly attempts to step over the tall paling of the Gospeler's fence
at a stride, and goes crashing headlong through it instead.</p>
      <p>(<i>To be Continued</i>.)</p>
      <p><a name="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor1">[1]</a></p>
      <blockquote> In the original English story there is, considering
the bitter time of year given, a truly extraordinary amount of solitary
sauntering, social strolling, confidential confabulating,
evening-rambling, and general lingering, in the open air. To "adapt"
this novel peculiarity to American practice, without some little
violation of probability, is what the present conscientious Adapter
finds almost the artistic requirement of his task. </blockquote>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>ALL HAIL!</b></p>
      <p>The most fearful weapon yet brought into the field of war&#8212;if
we are to believe newspaper correspondents&#8212;is the revolving grape-shot
gun known as the "hail-thrower," a piece of ordnance said to be in use
by the French and Prussian armies, alike. If half we hear about the
"hail-thrower" be true, 'twere better for all concerned to keep out of
hail of it. Many a hale fellow well met by that fearful hail storm must
go to grass ere the red glare of the war has passed away. "Where do you
hail from?" would be a bootless question to put when the "hail-thrower"
begins to administer throes to the breaking ranks. Worse than that; it
would probably be a headless question.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>"THE PERFECT CURE."</b></p>
      <p>A newspaper paragraph states that, in Minnesota, they have a
very summary way of restoring the consciousness of pigs that have been
smitten by the summery rays of the sun. They simply open piggy's head
with a pick-axe or other handy instrument, introduce a handful or two
of salt, close up the head again, and piggy is all right. But this,
after all, is simply a new application of the old practice of Curing
pork with salt.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>Con by a Son of a Gun.</b></p>
      <p>Why are the new breech-loaders supplied with needles?<br>
To keep their breeches in repair, of course.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>Con by a Carpet-Shaker.</b></p>
      <p>Why is a large carpet like the late rebellion?<br>
Because it took such a lot of tax to put it down.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>ADVICE TO PICNIC PARTIES.</b></p>
      <p><img src="images/05.jpg" align="left" alt="A">t this
culminating period of the summer season, it is natural that the civic
mind should turn itself to the contemplation of sweet rural things,
including shady groves, lunch-baskets, wild flowers, sandwiches, bird
songs, and bottled lager-bier.</p>
      <p>The skies are at their bluest, now; the woods and fields are
at their greenest; flowers are blooming their yellowest, and purplest,
and scarletest. All Nature is smiling, in fact, with one large,
comprehensive smile, exactly like a first-class PRANG chromo with a
fresh coat of varnish upon it.</p>
      <p>Things being thus, what can be more charming than a rural
excursion to some tangled thicket, the very brambles, and poison-ivy,
and possible copperhead snakes of which are points of unspeakable value
to a picnic party, because they are sensational, and one cannot have
them in the city without rushing into fabulous extra expense. It is
good, then, that neighbors should club together for the festive
purposes of the picnic, and a few words of advice regarding the
arrangement of such parties may be seasonable.</p>
      <p>If your excursion includes a steamboat trip, always select a
boat that is likely to be crowded to its utmost capacity, more
especially one of which a majority of the passengers are babies in
arms. There will probably be some roughs on board, who will be certain
to get up a row, in which case you can make the babies in arms very
effective as "buffers" for warding off blows, while the crowd will save
you from being knocked down.</p>
      <p>Should there be a bar on board the steamer, it will be the
duty of the gentlemen of the party to keep serving the ladies with cool
beverages from it at brief intervals during the trip. This will promote
cheerfulness, and, at the same time, save for picnic duty proper the
contents of the stone jars that are slumbering sweetly among the
pork-pies and apple-dumplings by which the lunch-baskets are occupied.</p>
      <p>Never take more than one knife and fork with you to a picnic,
no matter how large the party may be. The probability is that you may
be attacked by a gang of rowdies and it is no part of your business to
furnish them with weapons.</p>
      <p>Avoid taking up your ground near a swamp or stagnant water of
any kind. This is not so much on account of mosquitoes as because of
the small saurian reptiles that abound in such places. If your party is
a large one, there will certainly be one lady in it, at least, who has
had a lizard in her stomach for several years, and the struggles of the
confined reptile to join its congeners in the swamp might induce
convulsions, and so mar the hilarity of the party.</p>
      <p>To provide against an attack by the city brigands who are
always prowling in the vicinity of picnic parties, it will be judicious
to attend to the following rules:</p>
      <p>Select all the fat women of the party, and seat them in a ring
outside the rest of the picnickers, and with their faces toward the
centre of the circle. In the event of a discharge of missiles this will
be found a very effective <i>cordon</i>&#8212;quite as effective, in fact,
as the feather beds used in the making up of barricades.</p>
      <p>Let the babies of the party be so distributed that each, or as
many as possible of the gentlemen present, can have one at hand to
snatch up and use for a fender should an attack at close quarters be
made.</p>
      <p>If any dark, designful strangers should intrude themselves
upon the party, unbidden, the gentlemen present should by no means
exhibit the slightest disposition to resent the intrusion, or to show
fight, as the strangers are sure to be professional thieves, and, as
such, ready to commit murder, if necessary. Treat the strangers with
every consideration possible under the circumstances. Should there be
no champagne, apologize for the absence of it, and offer the next best
vintage you happen to have. Of course, having lunched, the strangers
will be eager to acquire possession of all valuables belonging to the
party. The gentlemen, therefore, will make a point of promptly handing
over to them their own watches and jewelry, as well as those of their
lady friends.</p>
      <p>Having arrived home, (we assume the possibility of this,)
refrain, carefully, from communicating with the police on the subject
of the events of the day. The publicity that would follow would render
you an object of derision, and no possible good could result to you
from disclosure of the facts. But you should at once make up your mind
never to participate in another picnic.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>A CHANCE FOR OUR ORGAN GRINDERS.</b></p>
      <p>The famous <i>mitrailleur</i>, or grape-thrower, with which
LOUIS NAPOLEON has already commenced to astonish the Prussians,
suggests congenial work for the numerous performers on the barrel-organ
with which our large cities are at all times infested. It is worked
with a crank, exactly after the manner of the too-familiar street
instrument; and might easily be fitted with a musical cylinder arranged
for the performance of the most inspiriting and patriotic French airs.
Should Italy, at present neutral, take side with France hereafter, she
should at once withdraw her wandering minstrels from all parts of the
world, and set them to work on the "double attachment" engine of L.N.
Nothing could be more appropriate for working the <i>mitrailleur</i>
than a corps of barrel-organ grinders from the land of the Grape.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>THE ORIGIN OF PUNCHINELLO.</b></p>
      <p>MR. PUNCHINELLO: Though aware that you "belong to Company G,"
and must not be bothered, I wish to ask whether you are descended from
the famous chicken-dealer of Sorrento, who sold fowls in Naples, and
was well-known in that fun-loving city for the humor of his speech and
the oddity of his form. He was called "PULCINELLA," I believe, the name
being the same as that of his wares.</p>
      <p>If not to this celebrated wag, perhaps you trace your origin
to Mr. PUCCIO D'ANELLO, who so delighted a company of actors at Aceria,
with his jokes and gibes, that they invited him to join them, and soon
discovered that they had found a Star.</p>
      <p>If neither of these classical wags was your ancestor, may I
ask, who the deuce <i>did</i> you come from? Yours, truly,</p>
      <p>CURIOSO.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>RECIPE TO BE TESTED.</b></p>
      <p>We see that they have been "firing cannon in the fields near
Paris, to bring on a rain." If there is any virtue in this recipe, they
are likely to get some moist weather to the north-eastward of Paris, to
say the least. The firing in that quarter may even lead to a Reign in
Paris such as France has not lately seen. We would not go so far as to <i>predict</i>
anything of this sort. Oh, no; for we are aware that the moment we
should do so, NAPOLEON would lick the Prussians on purpose to show the
world that we didn't hit it that time.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>THE WATERING PLACES.</b></p>
      <p>Punchinello's Vacations.</p>
      <p>When one wants to see the great people who are to be seen
nowhere else, one goes to the celebrated White Sulphur Springs of
Virginia; and, very correctly supposing that there might be persons
there who would like to see him, Mr. PUNCHINELLO took a trip to the
aforesaid springs. He found it charming there. There was such a chance
to study character. From the parlors where Chief-Justice CHASE and
General LEE were hob-nobbing over apple-toddies and "peach-and-honey,"
to the cabins where the wards of the nation were luxuriating in
picturesque ease beneath the shade of their newly-fledged angel of
liberty, everything was instructive to the well-balanced mind.</p>
      <img src="images/06a.jpg" align="right" alt="">
      <p>Here, too, in these fertile regions, were to be seen those
exquisite floral creations known as mint-juleps, the absence of which
in our Northern agricultural exhibitions can never be sufficiently
deplored.</p>
      <p>Witness the beauty of the design and the ingenious delicacy of
the execution of one of the humblest of the species.</p>
      <img src="images/06b.jpg" align="left" alt="">
      <p>From experience in the matter, Mr. P. is prepared to say, that
not only as an exponent of the beauties of nature, but as a drink, a
mint-julep is far superior to the water which gives thin resort its
celebrity. Why people persist in drinking that vilest of all water
which is found at the fashionable springs, Mr. P. cannot divine. If it
is medicine you want, you can get your drugs at any apothecary's, and
he will mix them in water for you for a very small sum extra. And the
saving in expense of travel, board and extras, will be enormous.</p>
      <p>But in spite of this fact, there were plenty of
distinguished-looking people at the White Sulphur. Mr. P. didn't know
them all, but he had no doubt that one of them was General LEE; one
PHIL. SHERIDAN; another Prof. MAURY; another GOLDWIN SMITH; and others
Governor WISE; HENRY WARD BEECHER, WADE HAMPTON, WENDELL PHILLIPS,
RAPHAEL SEMMES, and LUCRETIA MOTT. One man, an incognito, excited Mr.
P.'s curiosity. This personage was generally found in the society of
LEE, JOHNSTON, POPE, HAMPTON, GREELEY, and those other fellows who did
so much to injure the Union cause during the war. One day Mr. P.
accosted him. He was an oddity, and perhaps it would be a good idea to
put his picture in the paper.</p>
      <img src="images/06c.jpg" align="right" alt="">
      <p>"Sir!" said Mr. P., with that delicate consideration for which
he is so noted, "why do you pull your hat down over your eyes, and what
is your object in thus concealing your identity? Come sir! let us know
what it all means."</p>
      <p>The <i>incognito</i> glanced at Mr. P. with the corner of his
eye, and perceiving that he was in citizen's dress, pulled his hat
still further over his face.</p>
      <p>"My business," said he, "is my own, but since the subject has
been broached, I may as well let <i>you</i> know what it is."</p>
      <p>"You know me, then?" said Mr. P.</p>
      <p>"I do," replied the other, and proceeding with his recital, he
said, "You may have heard that a number of negro squatters were lately
ejected from a private estate in this State, after they had made the
grounds to blossom like the rose, and to bring forth like the herring."</p>
      <p>"Yes, I heard that," said Mr. P.</p>
      <p>"Well," said the other, "I happened to have some land near by,
and I invited those negroes to come and squat on my premises&#8212;"</p>
      <p>"Intending to turn them off about blossoming time?" said Mr. P.</p>
      <p>"Certainly, certainly," said the other, "and I am just waiting
about here until they put in a wheat crop on part of the land. I can
then sell that portion, right away."</p>
      <p>"Well, Mr. BEN BUTLER," said Mr. P., "all that is easily
understood, now that I know who you are; but tell me this, why are you
so careful to cover your face when in the company of civilians or
ladies, and yet go about so freely among these ex-Confederate officers?"</p>
      <p>"Oh," said the other, "you see I don't want to be known down
here, and some of the women or old men might remember my face. There's
no danger of any of the soldiers recognizing me, you know."</p>
      <p>"Oh, no," cried Mr. P. "None in the world, sir."</p>
      <p>"And besides," said the modest BUTLER, "it's too late now for
me to be spooning around among the women."</p>
      <p>"That's so," said Mr. P. "Good-bye, BENJAMIN. Any news from
Dominica?"</p>
      <p>"None at all," said the other, "and I don't care if there
never is. I am opposed to that annexation scheme now."</p>
      <p>"Sold your claims?" said Mr. P. The incognito winked and
departed.</p>
      <p>That evening at supper Mr. P. remarked that his biscuits were
rather hard, and he blandly requested a waiter to take one of them
outside and crack it. The elder PEYTON, who runs the hotel, overheard
Mr. P.'s remark, and stepping up to him, said:</p>
      <p>"Sir, you should not be so particular about your food. What
you pay me, while you stay at my place, is my charge for the water you
drink. The food and lodging I throw in, gratis."</p>
      <p>Mr. P. arose.</p>
      <p>"Mr. PEYTON," said he, "when I was quite a little boy, my
father, making the tour of America, brought me here, and I distinctly
remember your making that remark to him. Since then many of my friends
have visited the White Sulphur, and you invariably made the same remark
to them. Is there no way to escape the venerable joke?"</p>
      <p>The gentle PEYTON made no answer, but walked away, and after
supper, one of the boarders took Mr. P. aside and urged him to excuse
their host, as he was obliged to make the joke in question to every
guest. The obligation was in his lease.</p>
      <p>So the matter blew over.</p>
      <p>Reflecting, however, that if he had to pay so much for the
water, that he had better drink a little, Mr. P. went down to the
spring to see what could be done. On the way, he met Uncle AARON,
formerly one of WASHINGTON'S body-servants. The venerable patriarch
touched his hat, and Mr. P., hoping from such great age to gain a
little wisdom, propounded the following questions:</p>
      <p>"Uncle, is this water good for the bile?"</p>
      <p>"Oh, lor! no, mah'sr! Dat dar water 'ud jis spile anything you
biled in it. Make it taste of rotten eggs, for all the world, sir!
'Deed it would.'</p>
      <p>"But what I want to know," said Mr. P., "is why the people
drink it."</p>
      <p>"Lor' bless you, mah'sr! Dis here chile kin tell you dat. Ye
see de gem'men from de Norf dey drinks it bekase they eat so much cold
wheat bread. Allers makes 'em sick, sir."</p>
      <p>"And why do the Southerners drink it?"</p>
      <p>"Wal, mah'sr, you see dey eats so much hot wheat bread, and it
don't agree wid 'em, no how."</p>
      <p>"But how about the colored people? I have seen them drinking
it, frequently," said Mr. P.</p>
      <p>"Oh, lor, mah'sr, how you is a askin' questions! Don't you
know dat de colored folks hab to drink it bekase dey don't get no wheat
bread at all?"</p>
      <p>Mr. P. heard no better philosophy than this on the subject
while he remained at the White Sulphur. When he left, he brought a
couple of gallons of the water with him, and intends keeping it in the
water-cooler in his office, for loungers.</p>
      <center> <img src="images/07.jpg" alt=""> </center>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>THE POEMS OF THE CRADLE.</b></p>
      <p>CANTO III.</p>
      <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"JACK and GILL went up the bill</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">To fetch a pail of water;</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">JACK fell down and broke his
crown,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And GILL came tumbling after."</span><br>
      <p>How many persons there are who read those lines without giving
one moment's thought to their hidden beauty. Love, obedience, and
devotion unto death, are here portrayed; and yet people will repeat the
lines of the melancholy muse with a smile on their faces, and even
teach it to their young children as a sort of joyful lyric.</p>
      <p>My own infant-mind was tampered with in the same manner; and
after I had committed the poem to memory I was proudly called up by my
fond and doting parents to display my infantile acquirements before
admiring visitors. The result might have been foreknown. All my infancy
and youth passed away, and I never once perceived the hidden worth of
these lines till I had tumbled down a hill myself, cracked my crown,
and was laid up with it a week or more. During that time I had leisure
to muse on the fate of poor JACK. When my mind expanded so as to take
in all the sublimity of his devotion and death, my heart was filled
with admiration and astonishment, and I resolved I would make one
effort to rescue the memory of poor JACK and loving GILL from the
oblivion it seemed to be falling into, in the greater admiration people
gave to the musical style of the writer.</p>
      <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"JACK and GILL went up the
hill."</span><br>
      <p>Here you see the obedient, loving, long-suffering, put-upon
drudge of his brothers and sisters-we will take the liberty of giving
him a few of each as we are a little more generous than the author&#8212;who
was compelled (not the author, but JACK,) to do all the chores, fetch
and carry, 'tend and wait, bear the heat and burden of the day, and be
the JACK for all of them. He was not dignified by the respectable title
of JOHN, or JONATHAN, but was poor simple JACK.</p>
      <p>Virtue will always be rewarded, however, and even
freckle-faced, red-headed JACK had one friend, blue-eyed,
tender-hearted GILL, who, seeing the unhesitating obedience he rendered
to all, forthwith concluded that one so lone and sad could appreciate
true friendship and understand the motives that prompted her to give,
unsolicited, her gushing love. So, when the good JACK started up the
hill, loving GILL generously offered to accompany him. Probably the
other children looked out of the windows after them, and laughed, and
jeered, and wondered whither they were going; but, observing the pail,
concluded they were going</p>
      <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"To fetch a pail of water,"</span><br>
      <p>which they were willing JACK should do, as it would save them
the possibility of being ordered to do it; not that there was a
probability of such a command being given, but there was a slight
danger that the thing might happen in case JACK was occupied otherwise
when the water was needed. But now that he had gone for it, they were
all right, and rejoiced exceedingly thereat.</p>
      <p>Meanwhile the two little sympathizing companions toiled up the
steep hill, drinking in with every inhalation of the balmy air copious
draughts of the new-found elixir of life. "Soft eyes looked love to
eyes that spake again,"<a name="FNanchor2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2"><sup>[2]</sup></a>
and their hearts melted beneath each tender glance. The little chubby
hands that grasped the handle of the pail timidly crept closer
together, and by the time they had reached the rugged top, it needed
but one warm embrace to mingle the two souls into one, henceforth
forever.</p>
      <p>This was done.</p>
      <p>Tremblingly they drew back, blushing, casting modest glances
at each other; and then, to aid them in recovering from their
confusion, turned their attention to the water, which reflected back
two happy, smiling faces. Filling the pail with the dimpled liquid
mirror, they turned their steps homeward.</p>
      <p>Light at heart and intoxicated with bliss, poor JACK, ever
unfortunate, dashed his foot against a stone, and thus it was that</p>
      <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"JACK fell down and broke his
crown."</span><br>
      <p>[Oh! what a fall was there, my countrywomen!] Fearful were the
shrieks that rent the mountain air as he rolled down the hillside. The
pail they had carried so carefully was overturned and rent asunder, and
the trembling water spilled upon the smiling hill-side&#8212;fit emblem of
their vanishing hopes.</p>
      <p>Down went the roley-poley boy, like a dumpling down a
cellar-door; crashing his head against the cruel rocks that stood in
stony heartedness in his way, and dashing his brains out against their
hard sides. His loving companion, eyes and month dilated with horror,
stood still and rigid, gazing upon the fearful descent, and its tragic
ending, then throwing her arms aloft, and giving a fearful shriek of
agony that thrilled with horror the hearts of the hearers&#8212;if there were
any&#8212;cast herself down in exact imitation of the fall of her hero,
rolled over and over as he did, and ended by mingling her blood with
his upon the same stones.</p>
      <p><i>His</i> crown was broken diagonally; <i>hers</i>
slantindicularly; that was the only difference. Her suicidal act is
commemorated in the line,</p>
      <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"And GILL came tumbling after."</span><br>
      <p>The catastrophe was witnessed by the assembled family, who
hastened to the bleeding victims of parental injustice, and endeavored
to do all that was possible to restore life to the mangled forms of the
two who loved when living, and in death were not divided.</p>
      <p>But all in vain. They were dead, and not till then did the
family appreciate the beautiful, self-denying, heroic disposition of
the little martyr, JACK.</p>
      <p>The two innocent forms were buried side by side, and the whole
country round mourned the fate of the infant lovers.</p>
      <p>Painters preserved their pictures on canvas, and poets sung
them at eventide. The beauties of their life, and their tragic death,
were given by the poet-laureate of the day in the words I have just
transcribed; and such an impression did these make on the minds of the
inhabitants, that the whole population took them to heart, and, with
tears in their eyes, taught them to their children, even unto the third
and fourth generations.</p>
      <p>Alas! it was reserved for our day and generation to gabble
them over unthinking, carelessly unmindful of the fearful fate the
words describe.</p>
      <p>Repentant ones, drop to their memory a tear, even now! It is
not too late!</p>
      <p><a name="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor2">[2]</a></p>
      <blockquote> Original, by some other fellow. </blockquote>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <center> <img src="images/08.jpg" alt="">
      <p><b>WHAT WE MAY EXPECT IN OUR ARMY OF THE FUTURE.</b><br>
"NONE BUT THE BRAVE," ETC.</p>
      </center>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>LETTER FROM A CROAKER.</b></p>
      <p>MR. PUNCHINELLO: You have not, I believe, informed your
readers, one of whom I have the honor to be, as to whether you have yet
united yourself to any Designing Female. As this is a matter peculiarly
interesting to many of your readers, all of whom, I have not the least
doubt, are interested in your welfare, I would advise some statement on
your part, respecting it.</p>
      <p>I trust, my dear sir, that, if you are as yet free, you will
take the well-intended advice of a sufferer, and steer entirely clear
of the shoals and quicksands peculiar to the life of a married man, by
never embarking in the matrimonial ship.</p>
      <p>Do not misunderstand me. I lived happily, very happily, with
my sainted BELINDA&#8212;it must be confessed that she had a striking
partiality for sardines, which caused considerable of a decrease in the
profits of my wholesale and retail grocery establishment. I cherish no
resentment on that account, but, as you probably well know, one of the
discomforts of matrimonial existence is children.</p>
      <p>Sir, I have a daughter, who is considered passably
good-looking by certain appreciative individuals. Since the unfortunate
demise of my lamented wife, the profits of the mercantile establishment
of which I am proprietor have largely increased, and as REBECCA is my
only child, there is a considerable prospect of her bringing to the man
who espouses her, a comfortable dowry, and probably a share in my
business.</p>
      <p>I keep no man-servant, and after my daughter retires&#8212;generally
at the witching hour of two in the morning,&#8212;I am obliged to hobble down
stairs, extinguish the lights, cover the fire, lock up the house, and
ascertain whether it is perfectly fire and burglar-proof for the time
being.</p>
      <p>Were this, sir, the only annoyance to which I am subjected, my
wrath would probably expend itself in a little growling, but hardly
have I reposed myself upon my couch, ere my ear catches an infernal
tooting and twanging and whispering, and a broken-winded German band,
engaged by an admirer of my REBECCA, strikes up some outrageous <i>pot
pourri</i>, or something of that sort, and sleep, disgusted, flees my
pillow.</p>
      <p>Last night&#8212;or rather this morning&#8212;they came again. Their
discordant symphonies roused me to desperation. I seized a bucket of
slops, and; opening the window, dashed the contents in the direction of
the music; the full force of the deluge striking a fat, froggy-looking
little Dutchman, who was puffing and blowing at a bassoon infinitely
larger than himself. He was just launching out into a prodigious
strain, but it expired while yet in the bloom of youth. He remained for
a short time in the famous posture of the Colossus of Rhodes, vainly
endeavoring to shake off the cigar-stumps and other little <i>et
ceteras</i> which were clinging to him like cerements, uttering the
while unintelligible oaths. Then he struck for his <i>domus et placens
uxor</i> at as rapid a rate as his little dumpy legs could carry him.</p>
      <p>If they come to-night&#8212;if they dare to come&#8212;I will give them a
dose which they will remember.</p>
      <p>My dear sir, what can I do to rid myself of these annoyances?
The girl has been to boarding-school, and so can't be sent there again.
She has no friends or relations whom it would be advisable to put her
off upon. Assist me then, in this, the hour of my tribulation, and you,
my dear Mr. PUNCHINELLO, will merit the lasting gratitude of an</p>
      <p>UNHAPPY FATHER.</p>
      <p>[The best thing an "Unhappy Father" can do, under the
circumstances, is to learn to play upon the bass horn, and then, should
the brazen serenaders again make their appearance, he can give them
blow for blow.&#8212;ED. PUNCHINELLO.]</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>That Iron "Dog."</b></p>
      <p>The latest bit of intelligence given by the police regarding
the "dog" so much spoken of in connection with the Twenty-third street
murder, is that it is not, as at first stated, the kind of instrument
used by shipwrights. In other words, the police have discovered that it
is not a Water-dog, though, up to the present date, they have not been
able to prove it a Bloodhound.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>Severe Penalty.</b></p>
      <p>A newspaper gravely informs us that "the Supreme Court of
Pennsylvania has refused the Writ of Error in the case of Dr. SHOEPPE,
convicted of the murder of Mr. STEINNEKE, <i>and will be hanged</i>."</p>
      <p>Can nothing be done to save this Court? One may say they had
no business to refuse the Writ. But, at any rate, we are of opinion
that the punishment is excessive.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <center> <img src="images/09.jpg" alt="">
      <p><b>WONDERFUL TOUR DE FORCE,</b></p>
      <p>PERFORMED "ON THE BEACH AT LONG BEACH,"<br>
BY PROFESSOR JAMES FISK, JR., THE GREAT AMERICAN ATHLETE.</p>
      </center>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>HIRAM GREEN ON JERSEY MUSQUITOES.</b></p>
      <p>A Hard-fought Battle&#8212;Musquitoes have no Sting that Jersey
Lightning cannot Cure.</p>
      <p>New Jarsey is noted among her sister countries, as bein'
responsible for 2 of the most destructive things ever got up.</p>
      <p>The first is of the animal kingdom, and varyin in size from a
3 yeer old snappin' turtle, to a lode of hay.</p>
      <p>It has a bayonet its nose, in which is a skwirt gun charged
with pizen.</p>
      <p>It has no hesitation, whatsoever, of shovin' it's pitch-fork
into a human bein', and when a feller feels it, it makes him think old
SOLFERINO has come for him, and no mistake.</p>
      <p>The sirname of this sleep-distroyin' animile, is Muskeeter.
And they like their meet raw.</p>
      <p>Misery Number 2 is a beverige manufactured from the compound
extract of chain litenin on the wing, and ile of vitril. It is then
flavored with earysipelas and 7 yeer itch, when it is ready to lay out
it's man.</p>
      <p>I was on a visit to Jarsey, a short time ago, and if ever a
man was justified in cussin' the day he ever sot foot onto the classick
red shores of New Jarsey, (which soil, by the way, is so greasy that
all the red-headed New Jarsey gals use it for hair ile, while for
greasin' a pancake griddle it can't be beat,) it was the undersined.</p>
      <p>The first nite I was in that furrin climb, after hangin' my
close over a chair, and droppin' my false teeth in a tumbler of water,
I retired in a sober and morril condition.</p>
      <p>"Balmy sleep, sweet nater's hair restorer," which sentiment I
cote from Mr. DICKENS, who, I understand from the Bosting clergy, is
now sizzlin', haden't yet folded me in her embrace.</p>
      <p>Strains of melody, surpassin' by severil lengths the
melifflous discordant notes of the one-armed hand organist's most
sublimerest seemfunny, sircharged the atmosfear. Ever and anon the
red-hot breezes kissed the honest old man's innocent cheek, and
slobbered grate capsules of odoriferous moisture, which ran in little
silvery streams from his reclinin' form. Yes! verily, great pearls hung
pendant from his nasal protuberants.</p>
      <p>In other words, I hadent gone to sleep, but lay their sweatin'
like an ice waggon, while the well-known battle song of famished
Muskeeters fell onto my ear. The music seized; and a regiment of Jarsey
Muskeeters, all armed to the teeth and wearin' cowhide butes, marched
single-file into my open window.</p>
      <p>The Kernal, a gray-headed old war-worn vetenary, alited from
his hoss, and tide the animal to the bed-post.</p>
      <p>The Commander then mounted ontop of the wash-stand, and
helpin' hisself to a chaw of tobacker out of my box, which lay aside
him, the old scoundrel commenced firin' his tobacker juice in my new
white hat. "See here, Kernal," said I, somewhat riled at seein' him
make a spittoon of my best 'stove-pipe,' "if it's all the same to you,
spose'n you eject your vile secretion out of the winder."</p>
      <p>"Cork up, old man," said the impudent raskle, "or ile spit on
ye and drown you."</p>
      <p>All about the room the privates were sacreligously misusing my
property.</p>
      <p>One red-headed old Muskeeter, who was so full of somebody's
blood he couldn't hardly waddle, was seated in the rockin'-chair, and
with my specturcols on his nose, was readin' a copy of PUNCHINELLO, and
laffin' as if heed bust.</p>
      <p>Another chap had got my jack-nife, and was amusin' hisself by
slashin' holes in my bloo cotton umbreller, which two other Muskeeters
had shoved up, and was a settin' under, engaged in tyin' my panterloon
legs into hard nots.</p>
      <p>Another scallawag had jammed my coat part way into my butes,
and was pourin' water into 'em out from the wash-pitcher, and I am
sorry to say it, evry darned Muskeeter was up to some mean trick, which
would put to blush, even a member of the New Jarsey legislater.</p>
      <p>Suddenly the Kernal hollered:</p>
      <p>"To arms!"</p>
      <p>And every Muskeeter fell into line about my bedside.</p>
      <p>"Charge bagonets!" said the Kernal. At which the hul lot went
for me. Their pizened wepins entered my flesh.</p>
      <p>They charged onto my bald head. Rammed their bayonets into my
arms&#8212;my back&#8212;my side&#8212;and there wasen't a place bigger'n a cent, which
they diden't fill with pizen.</p>
      <p>There I lay, groanin' for mercy.</p>
      <p>But Jersey Muskeeters, not dealin' in that article, don't know
what it is.</p>
      <p>Like the new collecter MURFY, when choppin' off the heads of
FENTON offis holders, mercy hain't their lay, about these times.</p>
      <p>At this juncture a company of draggoons clinchin' their pesky
bills into me, dragged me off onto the floor.</p>
      <p>And then such a horrible laff they would give, when I would
strike for them and miss hittin'.</p>
      <p>There I lay on the floor, puffin' and blowin' like a steem
ingine, while the hull army was dancin' a war dance around my prostrate
figger, and the old Kernal was cuttin' down a double shuffle on the
wash-stand, which made the crockery rattle.</p>
      <p>I kicked at 'em as they would charge on my feet and l&#8212;limbs. I
grabbed at 'em, as they charged on my face&#8212;arms&#8212;and shoulders.</p>
      <p>Slap! bang! kick! sware!</p>
      <p>I couldn't stand it much longer.</p>
      <p>As a big corpulent feller, who, I should judge, was gittin'
readdy to jine a Fat mans club, went over me, I catched him by the heel.</p>
      <p>I hung on to him with my best holt</p>
      <p>He dragged me all over the floor.</p>
      <p>My head struck the bedposts, and other furniture.</p>
      <p>3 other Muskeeters got straddle of me, and as if I was a hoss,
spurred me up purty lively.</p>
      <p>All of a sudden the Muskeeter I was hangin' to give a yank,
and drew out his foot, left his bute in my hand.</p>
      <p>Brandishin' the bute about my head, I cleared at lot of
Muskeeters.</p>
      <p>Jumpin' to my feet I made things fly for a minuit, pilin' up
the killed and wounded in a promiscous heap.</p>
      <p>Seein' the Kernal settin' up there enjoyin' the fun, I let fly
the bute at him.</p>
      <p>Smash! went the lookin-glass.</p>
      <p>The venerable commanding Muskeeter had dodged, and was settin'
on the burow, with his thumb on his nose, wrigglin' his fingers at me
in a very ongentlemanly manner.</p>
      <p>There I was again unarmed, dancin' about, swelled up like a
base ball player on match day.</p>
      <p>"Blood IARGO!" was the cry.</p>
      <p>I tride to make a masked battery with a piller. It was no
protection again Jarsey Muskeeters.</p>
      <p>As RACHEL mourned for her step-mother, I sighed for me home.</p>
      <p>"Why, oh why," I cride, "did I leave old Skeensboro?"</p>
      <p>A widder wearin' a borrowed suit of mornin'&#8212;eleven children
cryin' because the governor had been chawed up by Muskeeters crowded
into my thoughts.</p>
      <p>The army was gettin' reddy to charge onto me agin, and avenge
their fallen comrags.</p>
      <p>Suddenly a brite thought struck me.</p>
      <p>I ceased a sheet and waved it for a flag of truce.</p>
      <p>The order wasen't given.</p>
      <p>"Kernal," said I, "before we continue this fite, let's take a
drink all around, and I'll stand treat."</p>
      <p>"Done," said he, "trot out your benzine."</p>
      <p>I opened the burow drawer, and took out a black bottle.</p>
      <p>I pulled the cork and filled all the glasses, then poured a
lot into the wash-bowl, when I handed the bottle to the Kernal.</p>
      <p>"Make ready! Take aim! Drink!" Down went the licker.</p>
      <p>I laffed a revengeful laff, as every condemned Muskeeter
turned up their heels and cride:</p>
      <p>"Water&#8212;send my bones back to Chiny&#8212;mother dear, I'm comein',
300,000 strong&#8212;we die&#8212;by the hand&#8212;of Jarsey&#8212;lite&#8212;"</p>
      <p>And Jarsey litenin', more powerful than the chassepo gun of
France or the needle-gun of Prushy, had done its work, and the old man
was saved to the world!</p>
      <p>It was 3 days before any close would again fit me.</p>
      <p>I looked more like a big balloon than a human bein', I was
swelled up so with the pizen.</p>
      <p>My blessin's on the head of the individual who invented Jarsey
litenin'. Nothin else would have saved the Lait Gustise's valuable life.</p>
      <p>Ever of thow,</p>
      <p>HIRAM GREEN, Esq.,</p>
      <p><i>Lait Gustise of the Peece.</i></p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>From our own Correspondent.</b></p>
      <p>Rumors of war from Europe must always be expected, for how can
we get Pacific news by Atlantic Telegraph?</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <center> <img src="images/12.jpg" alt="">
      <p><b>"WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS," ETC,</b></p>
      <p><i>First Small Bather</i>. "WOULDN'T OUR MAMS GIVE US FITS IF
THEY CAUGHT US SWIMMIN'?"</p>
      <p><i>Second Ditto</i>. "I'LL BET YER!"</p>
      <p>(<i>But neither of the happy little truants knows that a thief
is running off with their clothes</i>.)</p>
      </center>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>REFORM IN JUVENILE LITERATURE.</b></p>
      <p>Since the thrilling moment when GUTTENBURG made his celebrated
discovery, numbers of persons have tried their hands&#8212;and undoubtedly
their heads also&#8212;at Books for the Young. Hitherto, many of them have
evinced a sad lack of judgment in respect of matter.</p>
      <p>Would you believe it, in this highly moral and virtuous age?
they have actually written stories!&#8212;stories that were not true! They
haven't seemed to care a button whether they told the truth or not!
Where can they have contracted the deadly heresy that imagination,
feeling, and affection, are good things, deserving encouragement? Mark
the effect of these pernicious teachings! Hundreds and thousands&#8212;nay,
fellow mortal, <i>millions</i> of children,&#8212;now walk the earth,
believing in fairies, giants, ogres, and such-like unreal personages,
and yet unable (we blush to say it!) to tell why the globe we live on
is flattened at the poles! Is it not a serious question whether
children who persistently ignore what is true and important, but
cherish fondly these abominable fables, may not ultimately be lost?</p>
      <p>But, thanks to the recent growth of practical sense&#8212;or the
decline of the inventive faculty&#8212;in writers for the young, a better day
is dawning, and there is still some hope for the world. Men of sense
and morality are coming forward: they dedicate their minds to this
service&#8212;those practical minds whence will be extracted the only true
pabulum for the growing intellect. It is to minds of this stamp&#8212;so
truly the antipodes of all that is youthful, spontaneous, and
child-like, (in a word: frivolous,) that we must look for those solid
works which, in the Millennium that is coming, will perfectly supplant
what may be termed, without levity, the "Cock and Bull" system of
juvenile entertainment. Worldly people may consider this stuff graceful
and touching, sweet and loveable; but it is nevertheless clearly
mischievous, else pious and proper persons wouldn't have said so, time
and again.</p>
      <p>For our part, we may as well confess that our sympathies go
out undividedly toward that important class who are averse to
Nonsense,&#8212;more particularly <i>book</i>-nonsense,&#8212;which they can't
stand, and won't stand, and there's an end of it. There is something
exceedingly winning, to us, in that sturdy sense, that thirst for
mathematical precision, that impatience of theory, that positive and
self-reliant&#8212;we don't mind saying, somewhat dogmatical&#8212;air, that
sternness of feature, thinness of lip, and coldness of eye, which
belong to the best examples. We respect even the humbler ones; for they
at least hate sentiment, they do not comprehend or approve of humor,
and they never relish wit. What does a taste for these qualities
indicate, but an idle and frivolous mind, devoted to trifles: and how
fatal is such a taste, in the pursuit of wealth and respectability!</p>
      <p>Fantastic people have much to say of the "affections," the
"graces and amenities of life," "soul-culture," and the like. We cannot
too deeply deplore their fatuity, in giving prominence to such
abstractions. As for children, the most we can concede is, that they
have a natural&#8212;though, of course, depraved&#8212;taste for stories: yes, we
will say that this fondness is irrepressible. But, what we really must
insist on, is, that in gratifying that fondness, you give them <i>true</i>
stories. Where is the carefully trained and upright soul that would not
reject "JACK, the Giant-killer," or "Goody Two-shoes," if it could
substitute (say, from "New and True Stories for Children,") a tale as
thrilling as this:</p>
      <p><span style="margin-left: 4em;">"When I was a boy, I said to
my uncle one day, 'How did you</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">get your finger cut off?' and he
said, 'I was chopping a</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">stick one evening, and the
hatchet cut off my finger.'"</span></p>
      <p>Blessings, blessings on the man who thus embalmed this
touching incident! Who does not see that the reign of fiction is over!</p>
      <p>That the parental portion of the public may judge what the
future has in store for their little ones (who, we hope, will be men
and women far sooner than their ancestors were,) we present them with a
fragrant nosegay (pshaw! we mean, a shovel-full) of samples, commending
them, should they wish for more, to the nearest Sabbath-school library.</p>
      <p>Ah, it is a touching thing, to see some great philanthropist
come forward, at the call of Duty and his Publisher (perhaps also
quickened by the hollow sound emitted by his treasure-box), and
compress himself into the absurdly small compass of a few pages 18mo.,
in order to afford himself the exalted pleasure of holding simple and
godly converse with children at large!</p>
      <p>"All truth&#8212;no fiction." What further guarantee would you have?
How replete with useful matter must not a book with <i>that</i>
assurance be! Let us read:</p>
      <p><span style="margin-left: 4em;">"The Indians cannot build a
ship. They do not Know how to get</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">iron from the mines, <i>and they
do not know enough.</i></span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Besides, they do not like to
work, and like to fight</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>better</i> than to work.</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">"When they want to sail, they
burn off a log of wood, and</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">make it hollow by burning and
scraping it with sharp stones."</span></p>
      <p>Now we ask, does not this satisfy your ideal of food for the
youthful mind? Observe that it is simple, direct, graphic, satisfying.
It cannot enfeeble the intellect. It will be useful. There is something
tangible about it. The child at once perceives that if the Indians knew
how to "get iron from the mines," and "knew enough" in general, they
would build ships, in spite of their distaste for work. There can be no
doubt that this is "all truth&#8212;no fiction," for Indians are sadly in
want of ships. They like to sail; for we learn that "when they want to
sail" they are so wild for it, that they even go to the length of
"burning off a log of wood, and making it hollow by burning and
scraping it with sharp stones." We thus perceive the significance of
the apothegm, "Truth is stranger than fiction." The day is not far
distant when children will think as much of the new literature as they
formerly did of certain worm-lozenges, for which they were said to
"cry."</p>
      <p>And where everything has been inspired by the love of Truth,
even the cuts may teach something. If "a canoe," contrary to the
general impression, is at least as long as "a ship," it is very
important that children should so understand it; and if "a pin-fish" is
really as big as "a shark," no mistaken deference to the feelings of
the latter should make us hesitate to say so.</p>
      <p>No child, we are convinced, is too young to get ideas of
science. In one of the model books we are pleased to find this great
truth distinctly recognized:</p>
      <p><span style="margin-left: 4em;">"'Is there anything like a
lever about a wheelbarrow?' said</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">his father. 'O yes, sir,' said
JAMES. 'The axle; and the</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">wheel is the prop, the load is
the weight, and the power is</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">your hand.'"</span></p>
      <p>This, we should say, speaks for itself.</p>
      <p>Nor is a child ever too young to get ideas of thrift. One of
our writers for infants observes, after explaining that the Dutch
reclaimed the whole of Holland from the sea by means of dykes, "they
worked hard, saved their money, and so grew rich." Any child can take
such hints.</p>
      <p>Neither is it wholly amiss to demonstrate that a child can't
put a clock in his pocket. For it is plain that he would else be trying
to do so sometime.</p>
      <p>Now, where in the "Arabian Nights" do you find anything like
this?&#8212;We answer, triumphantly, Nowhere!</p>
      <p><span style="margin-left: 4em;">"'JAMES,' said his father, 'do
not shut up hot water too</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">tight, and take care when it is
over the fire.'</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">"'A lady was boiling coffee one
day, and kept the cover on</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">the coffee-pot too long. When she
took it off, the water</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">turned to steam, and flew up in
her face, and took the skin off.</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">"'Do you know how they make the
wheels of a steamboat move?</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">They shut up water tight in a
great kettle and heat it. Then</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">they open a hole which has a
heavy iron bar in it, the steam</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">lifts it, in trying to get out.
That bar moves a lever, and</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">the lever moves the wheels.</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 4em;">"'Machines are wonderful things.'"</span></p>
      <p>This fact the reader must distinctly realize. And doesn't he
realize that the days of JACK, the Giant-killer, and Little Red Riding
Hood, are about over? We want truth. The only question is, (as FESTUS
observed), What is Truth?</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <center> <img src="images/13.jpg"
 alt="PUNCHINELLO CORRESPONDENCE"> </center>
      <p><b>ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.</b></p>
      <p><i>Derrick</i>.&#8212;There is a superstition afloat that, if you
see a ladder hoisted against a house, and, instead of passing outside
the ladder you pass under it, some accident or affliction will befall
you. What about this?<br>
      <i>Answer.</i>.&#8212;It all depends upon circumstances. If, while
passing under the ladder, a hod of bricks should fall through it and
strike you on the head, then an "accident or affliction" shall have
befallen you: otherwise not.</p>
      <p><i>Nincompoop</i>.&#8212;I hear a great deal about the "log" of the <i>Cambria.</i>
Can you tell me how it is likely to be disposed of?<br>
      <i>Answer</i>.&#8212;It is to be manufactured into snuff-boxes for the
officers and crew of the <i>Dauntless</i>, as a delicate admission
that they are up to snuff and not to be sneezed at.</p>
      <p><i>Nick of the Pick</i>.&#8212;What is the best way of securing
one's self from the bodily damages to which all persons who attend
pic-nic parties now seem to be liable?<br>
      <i>Answer</i>.&#8212;Don't go to pic-nic parties. Rough it at home.</p>
      <p><i>John Brown</i>.&#8212;We cannot insert jokes on the number of
SMITHS in the world&#8212;except as advertisements. For lowest rates see
terms on the cover.</p>
      <p><i>Hircus</i>.&#8212;We are sorry to say that your remarks on Baby
Farming are not based upon facts. In nine cases out of ten it has
nothing whatever to do with Husbandry.</p>
      <p><i>Acorn</i>.&#8212;As this is the seventh time you have written to
us, asking whether corns can be cured by cutting, so it must be the
last. The thing palls, and we must now try whether ACORN cannot be got
rid of by cutting.</p>
      <p><i>Horseman</i>.&#8212;No; we never remember to have met a man who
did not "know all about a horse." If such a man can be found, his
fortune and that of the finder are assured.</p>
      <p><i>Seeker</i>.&#8212;It may be true that man changes once in every
seven years but that will hardly excuse you from paying your tailor's
bill contracted in 1862, on the ground that you are not the same man.</p>
      <p><i>Fond Mother</i>.&#8212;None but a brutal bachelor would object to
a "sweet little baby," merely because it was bald-headed.</p>
      <p><i>Sempronius</i>.&#8212;Would you advise me to commit suicide by
hanging?<br>
      <i>Answer</i>.&#8212;No. If you are really bound to hang, we would
advise you to hang about some nice young female person's neck instead
of by your own: it's pleasanter.</p>
      <p><i>Wacks</i>.&#8212;Yes, the Alaska seal contracts will undoubtedly
include the great Seal of the United States.</p>
      <p><i>"Talented" Author</i>.&#8212;We do not pay for rejected
communications.</p>
      <p><i>Many Inquiriers</i>.&#8212;We can furnish back numbers to a
limited extent; future ones by the cargo, or steamboat.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>FINANCIAL.</b></p>
      <p>WALL STREET, AUGUST 2ND.</p>
      <p>Respected Sir: Acting upon your suggestion that, despite the
repugnance with which the truly artistic mind must ever view it,
Commerce was a rising institution, and that amongst the thousands of
the refined and haughty who read PUNCHINELLO with feelings of
astonishment and awe, there were some misguided men whose energies had
been perverted to the pursuit of filthy lucre, your contributor
yesterday descended into the purlieus of the city in quest of
information wherewith to pander to the tastes of the debased few.</p>
      <p>It would be useless to point out to you that 10 A.M. is not
the hour at which it is the custom of Y.C. to tear himself from his
luxurious conch. His conception of the exalted has always been
associated with late breakfasts. On this memorable occasion, however,
duty and a bell-boy called him; and at the extraordinary hour to which
he has referred he arose and set about his investigations.</p>
      <p>A party of distinguished and sorrowing friends accompanied him
as far as BANG'S. The regard which he cherishes for poetry and art had
hitherto marked out this pleasant hostelrie as the utmost limit of his
down-town perambulations. The conversation of his distinguished friends
was elevating: the potations in which they drank their good wishes were
equally, if not more so. Having deposited $2.35 for safe-keeping with a
trusted friend, your contributor hailed a Wall Street stage and sped
fearlessly to his destination. He has gone through the ordeal safely.
Annexed are the result of his labors, in the shape of bulletins which
were forwarded to but never acknowledged by a frivolous and unfeeling
editor.</p>
      <p>WALL STREET, 10-1/2 A.M.&#8212;The market opened briskly with a
tendency towards DELMONICO'S for early refreshments. Eye-openers in
active demand. Brokers have undergone an improvement.</p>
      <p>11 A.M.&#8212;On the strength of a rumor that a gold dollar had been
seen in an up-town jewelry store, gold declined 1.105.</p>
      <p>11.15 A.M.&#8212;In consequence of a report that Col. JAS. FISK,
JR., has secured a lease of Plymouth Church, and is already engaged in
negotiations with several popular preachers, Eries advanced one-half
per cent.</p>
      <p>HALF-PAST ELEVEN A.M.&#8212;A reaction has commenced in Eries, it
being given out that Madame KATHI LANNER had sustained an injury which
would necessitate her withdrawal from the Grand Opera House.</p>
      <p>TWELVE O'CLOCK.&#8212;Just heard some fellow saying, "St. Paul
preferred." Couldn't catch the rest. It seems important. What did St.
Paul prefer. Look it up, and send me word.</p>
      <p>HALF-PAST TWELVE.&#8212;Market excited over a dog-fight. How about
St. Paul?</p>
      <p>ONE.&#8212;Police on the scene. Market relapsed. Anything of St.
Paul yet? Send me what's-his-name's Commentaries on the Scriptures.</p>
      <p>HALF-PAST ONE.&#8212;News has been received here that Commodore
VANDERBILT was recently seen in the neighborhood of the Croton
reservoir. In view of the anticipated watering process, N.Y.C.
securities are buoyant. Many, however, would prefer their stock
straight. But what was it St. Paul preferred? Do tell.</p>
      <p>TWO O'CLOCK.&#8212;Immense excitement has been created on 'Change by
a report that JAY GOULD had been observed discussing Corn with a
prominent Government official. A second panic is predicted.</p>
      <p>QUARTER PAST TWO.&#8212;Later advices confirm the above report. The
place of their meeting is said to have been the Erie Restaurant. Great
anxiety is felt among heavy speculators.</p>
      <p>HALT-PAST TWO.&#8212;It is now ascertained that the Corn they were
discussing was Hot Corn at lunch. A feeling of greater security
prevails.</p>
      <p>THREE O'CLOCK.&#8212;Intelligence has just reached here that a
dime-piece was received in change this morning at a Broadway drinking
saloon. Gold has receded one per cent, in consequence. Eries quiet,
Judge BARNARD being out of town.</p>
      <p>P.S. I haven't found out what St. Paul preferred.
What's-his-name don't mention it in his Commentaries.</p>
      <p>HALF-PAST THREE.&#8212;Sudden demand for New York Amusement Co.'s
Stock. HARRY PALMER to reopen Tammany with a grand scalping scene in
which the TWEED tribe of Indians will appear in aboriginal costume.
NORTON, GENET, and <i>confr&egrave;res</i> have kindly consented to
perform their original <i>r&ocirc;les</i> of <i>The Victims</i>.</p>
      <p>P.S. Unless I receive some definite information concerning
that preference of St. Paul's, I shall feel it incumbent on me to
vacate my post of Financial Editor.</p>
      <p>FOUR O'CLOCK.&#8212;On receipt of reassuring news from Europe, the
market has advanced to DELMONICO'S, where wet goods are quoted from 10
cents upwards. Champagne brisk, with large sales. Counter-sales
(sandwiches, etc.,) extensive. Change in greenbacks greasy.</p>
      <p>P.S. Asked a fellow what St. Paul preferred. He said, "St.
Paul Preferred Dividends, you Know." Perhaps St. Paul did. A great many
stockholders do. But what stock did St. Paul hold? Was it Mariposa
or&#8212;"Only just taken one, but, as you observe, the weather <i>is</i>
confounded hot&#8212;so I don't mind if I&#8212;"</p>
      <p>GREENBAYS.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <center> <img src="images/14.jpg" alt="">
      <p><b>THE DOG IN THE MANGER.</b><br>
Crispin won't do the work himself, and won't let John Chinaman do it.</p>
      </center>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      <p><b>OUR PORTFOLIO.</b></p>
      <p>We have just received from "DICK TINTO," our special
correspondent at the seat of war, the following metrical production
said to have been written by HENRI ROCHEFORT in prison, but suppressed
in obedience to orders from the Emperor. PUNCHINELLO felicitates his
readers upon the enterprise which enables him to lay it before them,
and flatters himself that the enormous trouble and expense involved in
hauling it to this side of the Atlantic, will not prevent him from
doing it again&#8212;if necessary.</p>
      <p>AU PRINCE IMPERIAL.</p>
      <p>SCENE.&#8212;<i>A square fronting the Bureau of the chemin de fer
for Chalons and Metz. Time, Midi.</i></p>
      <p>The Prince Imperial, en route for the seat of war, is seated
upon a milk-white steed. Beneath his left arm he convulsively carries a
struggling game-cock, with gigantic gaffs, while his right hand feebly
clutches a lance, the napping of whose pennant in his face appears to
give him great annoyance and suggests the services of a "Shoo-fly."
Around him throng the ladies of the Imperial bed-chamber and a cohort
of nurses, who cover his legs with kisses, and then dart furtively
between his horse's <i>jambes</i> as if to escape the pressure of the
crowd. Just beyond these a throng of hucksters, market-women, butchers,
bakers, etc., vociferously urge him to accept their votive offerings of
garden truck, carrots, cabbages, parsnips, haunches of beef, baskets of
French rolls and the like, all of which the Prince proudly declines,
whereupon the vast concourse breaks forth into this wild chant to the
air of</p>
BINGEN ON THE RHINE.<br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">From fountains bright at fair
Versailles,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And gardens of St. Cloud&#8212;</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With a rooster of the Gallic
breed</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">To cock-a-doodle-do&#8212;</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Behold! our Prince Imperial
comes,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And in his hands a lance,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That erst he'll cross with
German spears</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">For glory and for France.</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">They've ta'en his bib and
tucker off,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And set him on a steed;</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That he may ride where soldiers
ride,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And bleed where soldiers bleed.</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">They've cut his curls of jetty
hair,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And armed him <i>cap &agrave; pie</i>,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Until he looks as fair a knight</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">As France could wish to see.</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ho! ladies of the chamber,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ho! nurses, gather near;</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Your <i>charge</i> upon a <i>charger</i>
waits</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">To shed the parting tear.</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Come! kiss him for his mother,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Et pour sa Majest&eacute;,</i></span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And twine his brow with
garlands of</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The fadeless <i>fleurs de lis.</i></span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Voila!</i> who but a few
moons gone</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of babies held the van,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Now wears his spurs and draws
his blade</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like any other man!</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Then come, ye courtly dames of
France,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh! take him to your heart,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And cheer as only woman can</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our beardless BONAPARTE;</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For ere another sun shall set,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Those lips cannot be kissed;</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And through the grove and in
the court</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their prattling will be missed.</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The light that from those soft
blue eyes</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now kindly answers thine,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Will flash where mighty armies
tread,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Upon the banks of Rhine.</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Yea, hide from him, as best you
can,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">All womanly alarms,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Nor smile with those who
mocking cry,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Behold! A <i>babe-in-arms!</i>"</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A babe indeed! Oh! sland'rous
tongues,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">A Prince fresh from his smock,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Shows <i>manly</i> proof if he
can stand</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The battle shout and shock.</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And this is one on whom the gods</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have put their stamp divine:</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The latest, and perchance the
last</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of Corsica's dread line.</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Then for the Prince Imperial</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Citoyens</i> loudly cheer:</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That his right arm may often
bring</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Some German to his <i>bier</i>;</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That distant Rhineland,
trembling,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">May hear his battle-cry,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And neutral nations wondering
ask,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 2em;">"<i>Oh! how is this far high?</i>"</span><br>
      <p>Our private dispatches from the seat of war in Europe are very
confusing. The "Seat" appears to be considerably excited, but the "War"
takes things easily, and seems to have "switched off" for an indefinite
time. It is observed by many that there never was a war precisely like
this war, and if it hadn't been for a Dutch female, the Duchess of
Flanders, it is fair to suppose that PUNCHINELLO wouldn't have been out
of pocket so much for cablegrams. The Duchess took it into her head
(and her head appears to have had room for it,) that her blood
relative, LEOPOLD, couldn't get his blood up to accept the Spanish
Crown. Well, as it turned out, the Duchess was right. Anyhow, she went
for L., (a letter by the way, which few Englishman can pronounce in
polite society,) and told him that there was</p>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"* * * a tide in the affairs of
men,</span><br>
      <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Which, taken at the flood,
leads on to fortune."</span><br>
      <p>LEOPOLD said he had heard of that tide; but he didn't believe
in always "follerin' on it," no matter what betided. Then the Duchess
got up her Dutch spunk, and spoke out pretty freely, saying as much as
if LEOPOLD were a tame sort of poodle, and that <i>she</i> ought to
have been born to wear breeches, just to show him how a man should act
in a great crisis like the present.</p>
      <p>"Just so," says LEOPOLD, "but you see the 'crisis' is what's
the matter. If it wasn't for the 'crisis,' I'd go in for ISABELLA'S old
armchair faster than a hungry pig could root up potatoes." FLANDERS saw
at a glance how the goose hung, and that her bread would all be dough
if something wasn't done, and that quickly. She knew LEOPOLD'S weakness
for Schnapps, when he was a boy at Schiedam, and, producing a bottle of
the Aromatic elixir, with which she had previously armed herself in
expectation of his obstinacy, poured out a glassful and requested him
to clear his voice with it. Fifteen minutes after his vocal organs had
been thus renewed, LEOPOLD was in a condition to see things in an
entirely new light, and hesitated no longer to write the following note
to General PRIM:</p>
      <p>Dear PRIM: The thing has been satisfactorily explained to me,
and I accept. Enclosed find a bottle of Schnapps. You never tasted
Schnapps like this. The Duchess says she don't care a cuss for NAP, and
that I mustn't neither.</p>
      <p>&#8212;LEOPOLD, SIGMARINGEN-HOHENZOLLERN.</p>
      <p>This is a veritable account of the origin of the European
"unpleasantness," and can be certified to any one who will call upon us
and examine the original dispatches.</p>
      <br>
      <hr style="width: 45%;"> <br>
      </td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>
<table
 style="width: 800px; text-align: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"
 border="1" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0">
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td style="text-align: center; width: 30%;">
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"><big><big>A.T. Stewart &amp; Co.</big></big></p>
      <p><small>Are offering at the following</small></p>
      <p>EXTREMELY LOW PRICES,</p>
      <p><small>Notwithstanding the large advance in gold,</small></p>
      <p>TWO CASES EXTRA QUALITY</p>
      <p><span style="font-weight: bold;">JAPANESE POPLINS</span><br>
&nbsp;In Silver-Grey and Ashes of Roses,</p>
      <p><small>75 cts. per yard, formerly $1.25 per yard.</small></p>
      <p><span style="font-weight: bold;">REAL GAZE DE CHAMBRAY,</span>
Best quality, 75 cts. per yard,<small><br>
formerly $1.80 per yard.</small></p>
      <p><span style="font-weight: bold;">A LARGE ASSORTMENT OF SUMMER
SILKS<br>
      </span> <small>For Young Ladies, in Stripes and Checks, $1 per
yard, recently sold at $1.50 and $1.75 per yard.</small></p>
      <p>HEAVY GROS GRAIN<br>
      <small>Black and White Silks, $1 per yard.</small></p>
      <p><span style="font-weight: bold;">STRIPED MONGOLIAN SILKS, FOR
COSTUMES,</span><br>
      <small>$1 per yard. 100 Pieces in "American" Black Silks.
(Guaranteed for Durability,)<br>
$2 per yard.</small></p>
      <p><span style="font-weight: bold;">A COMPLETE ASSORTMENT</span><br>
      <small>of Trimming Silks and Satins. Cut Either Straight or Bias,
for $1.25 per yard.</small></p>
      <p><span style="font-weight: bold;">A CHOICE AND SELECTED</span>
STOCK OF Colored Gros Grain Silks, At $2.60 and $2.75 per yard.</p>
      <p>CREPE DE CHINES, 56 Inchs wide, IN EVERY REQUISITE COLOR.</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">BROADWAY,</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">4th Avenue, 9th and 10th Streets.</p>
      </td>
      <td style="text-align: left;" rowspan="4">
      <div style="text-align: center;"> <big><big><big><big>PUNCHINELLO.<br>
      <br>
      </big></big></big></big><br>
The first number of this Illustrated Humorous and Satirical Weekly
Paper was issued under date of April 2, 1870. The Press and the Public
in every State and Territory of the Union endorse it as the best paper
of the kind ever published in America. </div>
      <br>
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">CONTENTS ENTIRELY ORIGINAL.</span><br>
      <br>
Subscription for one year, (with $2.00 premium,) ............... $4.00<br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 0.25em;">" " six months, (without
premium,) .....................................&nbsp;&nbsp;2.00</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="margin-left: 0.25em;">" " three months,
"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.............................................&nbsp;&nbsp;1.00</span><br>
      <br>
Single copies mailed free, for
............................................... .10<br>
      <br>
We offer the following elegant premiums of L. PRANG &amp; CO'S<br>
CHROMOS for subscriptions as follows:<br>
      <br>
A copy of paper for one year, and<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><b
 style="font-weight: bold;">The Awakening</b><span
 style="font-weight: bold;">,"</span></big></big> (a Litter of
Puppies.) Half chromo.<br>
Size 8-3/8 by 11-1/8 ($2.00 picture,) for ...................... $4.00<br>
      <br>
      <br>
A copy of paper for one year and either of the following $3.00 chromos:<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wild Roses.</span></big></big>
12-1/8 x 9.<br>
      <big><big><b>Dead Game</b>.</big></big> 11-1/8 x 8-3/8.<br>
      <big><big><b>Easter Morning</b>.</big></big> 6-3/4 x 10-1/4&#8212;for
..................... $5.00<br>
      <br>
      <br>
A copy of paper for one year and either of the following $5.00 chromos:<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>Group of Chickens;<br>
Group of Ducklings;<br>
Group of Quails</b>.</big></big><br>
Each 10 x 12-1/8.<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>The Poultry Yard</b>.</big></big> 10-1/8 x 14<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>The Barefoot Boy;<br>
Wild Fruit</b>.</big></big> Each 9-3/4 x 13.<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>Pointer and Quail;<br>
Spaniel and Woodcock</b>.</big></big> 10 x 12&#8212;for ... $6.50<br>
      <br>
      <br>
A copy of paper for one year and either of the following $6.00 chromos:<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>The Baby in Trouble;<br>
The Unconscious Sleeper;<br>
The Two Friends</b>. (Dog and Child.)</big></big><br>
Each 13 x 16-1/4.<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>Spring;<br>
Summer;<br>
Autumn;</b><br>
      </big></big> 12-7/8 x 16-1/8.<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>The Kid's Play Ground</b>.</big></big><br>
11 x 17-1/2&#8212;for ................. $7.00<br>
      <br>
      <br>
A copy of paper for one year and either of the following $7.50 chromos:<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>Strawberries and Baskets</b>.</big></big><br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b style="font-weight: bold;">Cherries and Baskets</b><span
 style="font-weight: bold;">.</span></big></big><br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>Currants</b>.</big></big> Each 13 x 18.<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>Horses in a Storm</b>.</big></big> 22-1/4 x 15-1/4.<br>
      <br>
      <big style="font-weight: bold;"><big>Six Central Park Views. (A
set.)</big></big><br>
9-1/8 x 4-1/2&#8212;for ........... $8.00<br>
      <br>
      <br>
A copy of paper for one year and<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>Six American Landscapes</b>. (A set.)</big></big><br>
4-3/8 x 9, price $9.00&#8212;for
.............................................. $9.00<br>
      <br>
      <br>
A copy of paper for one year and either of the<br>
following $10 chromos:<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>Sunset in California</b>.</big></big> (Bierstadt)
18-1/2 x 12<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>Easter Morning</b>.</big></big> 14 x 21.<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>Corregio's Magdalen</b>.</big></big> 12-1/4 x 16-3/8.<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><b>Summer Fruit, and Autumn Fruit</b>.</big></big>
(Half chromos,)<br>
15-1/2 x 10-1/2, (companions, price $10.00 for the two), for $10.00<br>
      <br>
Remittances should be made in P.O. Orders, Drafts, or Bank Checks on
New York, or Registered letters. The paper will be sent from the first
number, (April 2d, 1870,) when not otherwise ordered.<br>
      <br>
Postage of paper is payable at the office where received, twenty cents
per year, or five cents per quarter, in advance; the CHROMOS will be <i>mailed
free</i> on receipt of money.<br>
      <br>
CANVASSERS WANTED, to whom liberal commissions will be given. For
special terms address the Company.<br>
      <br>
The first ten numbers will be sent to any one desirous of seeing the
paper before subscribing, for SIXTY CENTS. A specimen copy sent to any
one desirous of canvassing or getting up a club, on receipt of postage
stamp.<br>
      <br>
Address,<br>
      <br>
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING CO.,</span><br>
      <br>
P.O. Box 2783. No. 83 Nassau Street, New York.<br>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td align="center">
      <p><big><big><b>A. T. Stewart &amp; Co.</b></big></big></p>
      <p>Are closing out their stock of</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">FRENCH, ENGLISH, AND DOMESTIC</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"> <big><big><big>CARPETS,</big></big></big></p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">Oil Cloths, Rugs, Mats, Cocoa and
Canton Mattings, &amp;c., &amp;c.</p>
      <p>At a Great</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">REDUCTION IN PRICES,</p>
      <p>Notwithstanding the unexpected extraordinary rise in gold.</p>
      <p><i>Customers and Strangers are Respectfully</i></p>
      <p>INVITED TO EXAMINE.</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">BROADWAY,</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">4th Avenue, 9th and 10th Streets.</p>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td align="center">
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"><big><big>A.T. STEWART &amp; Co.</big></big></p>
      <p><small>Are Closing out all their Popular Stocks of Summer
Dress Goods,</small></p>
      <p>AT PRICES LOWER THAN EVER.</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">BROADWAY,</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">4th Avenue, 9th and 10th Streets.</p>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td align="center">
      <p><big>Extraordinay Bargains</big></p>
      <p><small>IN</small></p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">LADIES' PARIS AND<br>
DOMESTIC READY-MADE</p>
      <p>Suits, Robes, Reception Dresses, &amp;c.,</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">Some less than half their cost.</p>
      <p>AND WE WILL DAILY OFFER NOVELTIES IN</p>
      <p>Plain and Braided Victoria Lawn, Linen and Piquet Traveling</p>
      <p>SUITS.</p>
      <p><span style="font-weight: bold;">CHILDREN'S BRAIDED LINEN</span></p>
      <p>AND</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">Pique Garments,</p>
      <p><small>SIZES FROM 2 YEARS TO 10 YEARS OLD.</small></p>
      <p><big>PANIER BEDUOIN MANTLES, IN CHOICE COLORS,</big></p>
      <p><small>From $3.50 to $7 each.</small></p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">Richly Embroidered Cashmere and
Cloth Breakfast Jackets,</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"><big>PARIS MADE,</big></p>
      <p><small>$8 each and upward.</small></p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"><big><big>A. T. Steward &amp; Co.</big></big></p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">BROADWAY,</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">4TH AVE., 9TH AND 10TH STREETS</p>
      </td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>
<table width="800" align="center" border="1" cellpadding="2"
 cellspacing="0">
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td rowspan="2" width="66%">
      <center> <img src="images/16.jpg" alt=""><br>
      <p><b>A PASSAGE FROM CENTRAL PARK.</b></p>
      <p><i>Whittier's Barefoot Boy</i>. "O GOLLY! WHAT A SHAME FOR
THAT OLD CUSS TO CHUCK THE STUMP OF HIS CIGAR INTO THE LAKE, 'STEAD OF
DROPPING IT WHERE A FELLOW COULD PICK IT UP!"</p>
      </center>
      </td>
      <td align="center"> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Tourists
and leisure Travelers</span><br>
      <small>will be glad to learn that the Erie Railway Company has
prepared</small><br>
      <br>
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">COMBINATION EXCURSION</span><br>
      <small><small>OR</small></small><br>
      <big><span style="font-weight: bold;">Round Trip Tickets,</span></big><br>
      <p><small>Valid during the entire season, and embracing Ithaca&#8212;
headwaters of Cayuga Lake&#8212;Niagara Falls, Lake Ontario, the River St.
Lawrence, Montreal, Quebec, Lake Champlain, Lake George, Saratoga, the
White Mountains and all principal points of interest in Northern New
York, the Canadas, and New England. Also similar Tickets at reduced
rates, through Lake Superior, enabling travelers to visit the
celebrated Iron Mountains and Copper Mines of that region. By applying
at the Offices of the Erie Railway Co., Nos. 241, 529 and 957 Broadway;
205 Chambers St.; 38 Greenwich St.; cor. 125th St. and Third Avenue,
Harlem; 338 Fulton St., Brooklyn; Depots foot of Chambers Street, and
foot of 23rd St., New York; No. 3 Exchange Place, and Long Dock Depot,
Jersey City, and the Agents at the principal hotels, travelers can
obtain just the Ticket they desire, as well as all the necessary
information.</small></p>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td align="center">"The Printing-House of the United States."<br>
      <br>
      <big><big><span style="font-weight: bold;">GEO.F.NESBITT &amp;
CO.,</span></big></big><br>
      <br>
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">General JOB PRINTERS,</span><br>
      <br>
BLANK BOOK Manufacturers,<br>
STATIONERS, Wholesale and Retail,<br>
LITHOGRAPHIC Engravers and Printers.<br>
COPPER-PLATE Engravers and Printers,<br>
CARD Manufacturers,<br>
ENVELOPE Manufacturers.<br>
FINE CUT and COLOR Printers.<br>
      <br>
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">163, 165, 167, and 169 PEARL ST.,</span><br
 style="font-weight: bold;">
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">73, 75, 77, and 79 PINE ST., New
York.</span><br>
      <br>
      <small>ADVANTAGES. All on the same premises, and under immediate
supervision of the proprietors.</small><br>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td colspan="2">
      <center>
      <p><small>PRANG'S LATEST PUBLICATIONS: "Wild Flowers,"
"Water-Lilies," "Chas. Dickens."<br>
PRANG'S CHROMOS sold in all Art and Bookstores throughout the world.<br>
PRANG'S ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE sent free on receipt of stamp.</small></p>
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">L. PRANG &amp; CO., Boston.</span>
      </center>
      </td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>
<table
 style="width: 800px; text-align: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"
 border="1" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0">
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td style="width: 50%;">
      <div style="text-align: center;"> <big><big><big><span
 style="font-weight: bold;">PUNCHINELLO.</span></big></big></big><br>
      <br>
      <small>With a large and varied experience in the management and
publication of a paper of the class herewith submitted, and with the
still more positive advantage of an Ample Capital to justify the
undertaking, the</small><br>
      <br>
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING CO</span>.<br>
      <br>
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK,</span><br>
      <br>
Presents to the public for approval, the new<br>
      <br>
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">ILLUSTRATED HUMOROUS AND
SATIRICAL</span><br>
      <br>
      <small><span style="font-weight: bold;">WEEKLY PAPER,</span></small><br>
      <br>
      <big><big><span style="font-weight: bold;">PUNCHINELLO,</span></big></big><br>
      <br>
The first number of which was issued under<br>
date of April 2.<br>
      <br>
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">ORIGINAL ARTICLES,</span><br>
      <br>
      <div style="text-align: center;"> Suitable for the paper, and
Original Designs,, or suggestive ideas or sketches for illustrations,
upon the topics of the day, are always acceptable and will be paid for
liberally.<br>
      <br>
Rejected communications cannot be returned, unless postage stamps are
inclosed. </div>
      </div>
      <div style="text-align: center;"> <br>
TERMS:<br>
      <br>
One copy, per year, in advance ....................... $4.00<br>
      <br>
Single copies .......................................... .10<br>
      <br>
A specimen copy will be mailed free upon the receipt of ten cents.<br>
      <br>
One copy, with the Riverside Magazine, or any other<br>
magazine or paper, price, $2.50, for ................. 5.50<br>
      <br>
One copy, with any magazine or paper, price, $4, for.. 7.00 </div>
      <br>
      <div style="text-align: center;"> All communications,
remittances, etc., to be addressed to<br>
      <br>
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING CO.,</span><br>
      <br>
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">No 83 Nassau Street,</span><br
 style="font-weight: bold;">
      <br style="font-weight: bold;">
      <span style="font-weight: bold;">P. O. Box, 2783. NEW YORK.</span>
      </div>
      </td>
      <td style="text-align: center;">
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"><big><big>THE MYSTERY OF MR. E.
DROOD.</big></big></p>
      <p style="font-style: italic;">The New Burlesque Serial,</p>
      <p><big>Written expressly for PUNCHINELLO,</big></p>
      <p><small>BY</small></p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"><big>ORPHEUS C. KERR,</big></p>
      <p><small>Commenced in No. 11. will be continued weekly
throughout the year.</small></p>
      <p><small>A sketch of the eminent author, written by his bosom
friend, with superb illustrations of</small></p>
      <p>1ST. THE AUTHOR'S PALATIAL RESIDENCE AT BEGAD'S HILL,
TICKNOR'S FIELDS, NEW JERSEY.</p>
      <p>2ND. THE AUTHOR AT THE DOOR OF SAID PALATIAL RESIDENCE taken
as he appears "Every Saturday." will also be found in the same number.</p>
      <br>
      <p>Single Copies, for sale by all newsmen,<br>
(or mailed from this office, free,) Ten Cents.</p>
      <p>Subscription for One Year, one copy,<br>
with $2 Chromo Premium. $4.</p>
      <p><small>Those desirous of receiving the paper containing this
new serial, which promises to be the best ever written by ORPHEUS C.
KERR, should subscribe now, to insure its regular receipt weekly.</small></p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;"><small>We will send the first Ten
Numbers of PUNCHINELLO to<br>
any one who wishes to see them, in view of subscribing, on<br>
the receipt of SIXTY CENTS.</small></p>
      <p>Address,</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">P. O. Box 2783.</p>
      <p style="font-weight: bold;">83 Nassau St., New York.</p>
      </td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>
<br>
<center> GEO. W, WHEAT &amp; Co, PRINTER, NO. 8 SPRUCE STREET. </center>
<br>
<br>







<pre>





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1870, by Various

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