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<h1>Punchinello, Vol. 1, No. 17, July 23, 1870</h1>
<pre>
Project Gutenberg's Punchinello, Vol. 1, No. 17, July 23, 1870, by Various

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Title: Punchinello, Vol. 1, No. 17, July 23, 1870

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</pre>



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<br><br><hr><br><br>
<center>
<h2>THE MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD.</h2>

<h4>
AN ADAPTATION.</h4>

<h3>
BY ORPHEUS C. KERR</h3>
</center>
<br><br>

<p>
CHAPTER XI.--(Continued.)</p>

<p>
BLADAMS ushered in two waiters--one Irish and one German--who wore that
look of blended long-suffering and extreme weariness of everything
eatable, which, in this country, seems inevitably characteristic of the
least personal agency in the serving of meals. (There may be lands in
which the not essentially revolting art of cookery can be practiced
without engendering irritable gloom in the bosoms of its practitioners,
and the spreading of tables does not necessarily entail upon the actors
therein a despondency almost sinister; but the American kitchen is the
home of beings who never laugh, save in that sardonic bitterness of
spirit which grimly mocks the climax of human endurance in the burning
of the soup; and the waiter of the American dining-room can scarcely
place a dish upon the board without making it eloquent of a blighted
existence.) Having dashed the stews upon the reading-table before the
fire, and rescued a drowning fly[1] from one of them with his least
appetizing thumb-nail, the melancholy Irish attendant polished the
spoons with his pocket-handkerchief and hurled them on either side of
the plates. Perceiving that his German associate, in listlessly throwing
the mugs of ale upon the table, had spilled some of the liquid, he
hurriedly wiped the stain away with EDWIN DROOD'S worsted muffler, and
dried the sides of the glasses upon the napkin intended for Mr. DIBBLE'S
use. There was something of the wild resources of despair, too, in this
man's frequent ghostly dispatch of the German after articles forgotten
in the first trip, such as another cracker, the cover of the
pepper-cruet, the salt, and one more pinch of butter; and so greatly did
his apparent dejection of soul increase as each supplementary luxury
arrived and was recklessly slammed into its place, that, upon finally
retiring from the room with his associate, his utter hopelessness of
aspect gave little suggestion of the future proud political preferment
to which, by virtue of his low estate and foreign birth, he was
assuredly destined.</p>

<p>[Footnote 1: In anticipation of any critical objection to the
introduction of a living <i>fly</i> in <i>December</i>, the Adapter begs leave to
suspect than an anachronism is always legitimate in a work of fiction
when a point is to be made. Thus, in Chapter VIII of the inimitable
"NICHOLAS NICKLEBY," Mr. SQUEERS tells NICHOLAS that morning has come,
"and <i>ready iced</i>, too;" and that "the pump's <i>froze</i>," while, only a
few pages later, in the same chapter, one of Mr. SQUEERS' scholars is
spoken of as "weeding the garden."]</p>

<p>The whole scene had been a reproachful commentary upon the stiff
American system of discouraging waiters from making remarks upon the
weather, inquiring the cost of one's new coat, conferring with one upon
the general prospects of his business for the season, or from indulging
in any of the various light conversational diversions whereby barbers,
Fulton street tailors, and other depressed gymnasts, are occasionally
and wholesomely relieved from the misery of brooding over <i>their</i>
equally dispiriting avocations.</p>

<p>After the departure of the future aldermen, or sheriffs, of the city,
the good old lawyer accompanied his young guest in an expeditious
assimilation of the stews; saying little, but silently regretting, for
the sake of good manners, that Mr. BLADAMS could not eat oysters without
making a noise as though they were alive in his mouth. At last, mug of
ale in hand, he turned to his clerk:</p>

<p>"BLADAMS!"</p>

<p>"Sir to you!" responded Mr. BLADAMS, hastily putting down the plate from
which he had been drinking his last drop of stew, and grasping his own
mug.</p>

<p>"Your health, BLADAMS.--Mr. EDWIN joins me, I'm sure.--And may the--may
our--that is, may your--suppose we call it Bump of Happiness--may your
Bump of Happiness increase."</p>

<p>Staring thoughtfully, Mr. BLADAMS felt for the Bump upon his head and,
having scratched what he seemed to take for it, replied: "It's a go,
sir. The Bump has increased some since KENT'S Commentaries fell on it
from that top-shelf the other day."</p>

<p>"I am going to toast my lovely ward," whispered Mr, DIBBLE to EDWIN;
"but I put BLADAMS first, because he was once a person to be respected,
and I treat him with politeness in place of a good salary."</p>

<p>"Success to the Bump," said EDWIN DROOD, rather struck by this piece of
practical economy, and newly impressed with the standard fact that
politeness costs nothing.</p>

<p>"And now," continued Mr. DIBBLE, with a wink in which his very ear
joined, "I give you the peerless Miss FLORA POTTS. BLADAMS, please
remember that there are others here to eat crackers besides yourself,
and join us in a health to Miss POTTS."</p>

<p>"Let the toast pass, drink to the lass!" cried Mr. BLADAMS, husky with
crackers. "All ale to her!"</p>

<p>"Count me in, too," assented EDWIN.</p>

<p>"Dear me!" said the old lawyer, breaking a momentary spell of terror
occasioned by Mr. BLADAMS having turned blue and nearly choked to death
in a surreptitious attempt to swallow a cracker which he had previously
concealed in one of his cheeks. "Dear me! although I am a square,
practical man, I do believe that I could draw a picture of a true
lover's state of mind to-night."</p>

<p>"A regular chromo," wheezed Mr. BLADAMS, encouragingly; pretending not
to notice that his employer was reaching an ineffectual arm after the
crackers at his own elbow.</p>

<p>"Subject to the approving, or correcting, judgment of Mr. E. DROOD, I
make bold to guess that the modern true lover's mind, such as it is, is
rendered jerky by contemplation of the lady who has made him the object
of her virgin affectations," proceeded Mr. DIBBLE, looking intently at
EDWIN, but still making farther and farther reaches toward the distant
crackers, even to the increased tilting of his chair. "I venture the
conjecture, that if he has any darling pet name for her, such as
Pinky-winky,' 'Little Fooly,' 'Chignonentily,' or 'Waxy Wobbles,' he
feels horribly ashamed if any one overhears it, and coughs violently to
make believe that be never said it."</p>

<p>It was curious to see EDWIN listening with changing color to this
truthful exposure of his young mind; the while, influenced
unconsciously, probably, by the speaker's example, he, too, had begun
reaching and chair-tilting toward the crackers across the table. What
time Mr. BLADAMS, at the opposite side of the board, had apparently sunk
into a sudden and deep slumber; although from beneath one of his folded
arms a finger dreamily rested upon the rim of the cracker-plate, and
occasionally gave it a little pull farther away from the approaching
hands.</p>

<p>"My picture," continued Mr. DIBBLE, now quite hoarse, and almost
horizontal in his reaching, to EDWIN DROOD, also nearly horizontal in
the same way--"my picture goes on to represent the true lover as ever
eager to be with his dear one, for the purpose of addressing implacable
glares at the Other Young Man with More Property, whom She says she
always loved as a Brother when they were Children Together; and of
smiling bitterly and biting off the ends of his new gloves (which is
more than he can really afford, at his salary,) when She softly tells
him that he is making a perfect fool of himself. My picture further
represents him to be continually permeated by a consciousness of such
tight boots as he ought not to wear, even for the Beloved Object, and of
such readiness to have new cloth coats spoiled, by getting hair-oil on
the left shoulder, as shall yet bring him to a scene of violence with
his distracted tailor. It shows him, likewise, as filled with exciting
doubts of his own relative worth: that is, with self-questionings as to
whether he shall ever be worth enough to buy that cantering imported
saddle horse which he has already promised; to spend every summer in a
private cottage at Newport; to fight off Western divorces, and to pay an
eloquent lawyer a few thousands for getting him clear, on the plea of
insanity, after he shall have shot the Other Young Man with More
Property for wanting his wife to be a Sister to him, again, as she was,
you know, when they were Children Together."</p>

<p>EDWIN, despite the coldness of the season, had perspired freely during
the latter part of the Picture, and sought to disguise his uneasiness at
its beautiful, yet severe truth, by a last push of his extended arm
toward the crackers. Quickly observing this, Mr. DIBBLE also made a
final desperate reach after the same object; so that both old man and
young, while pretending to heed each other's words only, were two-thirds
across the table, with their feet in the air and their chairs poised on
one leg each. At that very moment, by some unhappy chance, while nearly
the whole weight of the two was pressing upon their edge of the board,
Mr. BLADAMS abruptly awoke, and raised his elbows from his edge, to
relieve his arms by stretching. Released from his pressure, the table
flew up upon two legs with remarkable swiftness, and then turned over
upon Mr. DIBBLE and Mr. E. DROOD; bringing the two latter and their
chairs to the floor under a shower of plates and crackers, and resting
invertedly upon their prostrate forms, like some species of
four-pillared monumental temple without a roof.</p>

<p>A person less amiable than the good Mr. DIBBLE would have borrowed the
name of an appurtenance of a mill, at least once, as a suitable
expression of his feelings upon such a trying occasion; but, instead of
this, when Mr. BLADAMS, excitedly crying "fire!" lifted the overturned
table from off himself and young guest, he merely arose to a sitting
position on the littered carpet, and said to EDWIN, with a smile and a
rub: "Pray, am I at all near the mark in my picture?"</p>

<p>"I should say, sir," responded EDWIN, with a very strange expression of
countenance, also rubbing the back of his head, "that you are rather
hard upon the feelings of the unluckly lover. He may not show <i>all</i> that
he feels--"</p>

<p>There he paused so long to feel his nose and ascertain about its being
broken, that Mr. DIBBLE limped to his feet and ended that part of the
discussion by hobbling to an open iron safe across the office.</p>

<p>Taking from a private drawer in this repository a small paper parcel,
containing a pasteboard box, and opening the latter, the old lawyer
produced what looked like a long, flat white cord, with shining tips at
either end.</p>

<p>"This, Mr. EDWIN," said he, with marked emotion, "is a stay-lace, with
golden tags, which belonged to Miss FLORA'S mother. It was handed to me,
in the abstraction of his grief, by Miss FLORA'S father, on the day of
the funeral; be saying that he could never bear to look upon it again.
To you, as Miss FLORA'S future husband, I now give it."</p>

<p>"A stay-lace!" echoed EDWIN, coming forward as quickly as his lameness
would allow, and staunching his swollen upper lip with a handkerchief.</p>

<p>"Yes," was the grave response. "You have undoubtedly noticed, Mr. EDWIN,
that in every fashionable romance, the noble and grenadine heroine has a
habit of 'drawing herself up proudly' whenever any gentleman tries to
shake hands with her, or asks her how she can possibly be so majestic
with him. This lace was used by Miss FLORA'S mother to draw herself up
proudly with; and she drew herself up so much with it, that it finally
reached her heart and killed her. I here place it in your hands, that
you may ultimately give it to your young wife as a memento of a mother
who did nothing by halves but die. If you, by any chance, should not
marry the daughter, I solemnly charge you, by the memory of the living
and the dead, to bring it back to me."</p>

<p>Receiving the parcel with some awe, EDWIN placed it in one of his
pockets.</p>

<p>"BLADAMS." said Mr. DIBBLE, solemnly, "you are witness of the transfer."</p>

<p>"Deponent, being duly sworn, does swear and cuss that he saw it, to the
best of his knowledge and belief," returned the clerk, helping Mr. DROOD
to resume his overcoat.</p>

<p>When in his own room, at Gowanus, that night, Mr. DIBBLE, in his
nightcap, paused a moment before extinguishing his light, to murmur to
himself: "I wonder, now, whether poor POTTS confided his orphan child to
me because he knew that I might have been the successful suitor to the
mother if I had been worth a little more money just about then?"</p>

<p>What time, in the law-office in town, Mr. BLADAMS was upon his knees on
the floor, tossing crackers from all directions on the carpet into his
mouth, like a farinacious goblin, and nearly suffocating whenever he
glanced at the disordered table.</p>

<p>(To be Continued.)</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>THE FREE BATHS.</h2>

<table summary="">
<tr><td>

<img alt="004a.jpg (87K)" src="004a.jpg" height="593" width="406">
</td><td>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;

</td><td>
<p>PUNCHINELLO begs to congratulate the Hon. W.M. TWEED upon his
inestimable boon to the public--the Free Baths. With regard to a certain
class--and a very large class--of the public of New York City, it has
sometimes been cynically asked, "Will it wash?" Since the establishment
of Free Baths under the Department of Public Works, that question has
been satisfactorily replied to in the affirmative. Hardworked mechanics
at once recognized the chance for a wash, and went at it with a rush. It
was Coney Island come to town, with the roughs left behind, and the
extortionate bathing-dress men, and the other disagreeable features of
that lovely but desecrated isle. In recognition of the decided success
of the new baths, and of the vast benefit that must be derived from them
by a large portion of the community, PUNCHINELLO begs to invest the Hon.
W. M. TWEED with the Blue Ribbon of the O.F.B., or "Originator of the
Free Baths."</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.</h2>

<table summary="">
<tr><td>

<img alt="004b.jpg (101K)" src="004b.jpg" height="617" width="410">
</td><td>
<p>CENTRAL PARK GARDEN is the subject of this article.</p>

<p>It is all very well for the editor of PUNCHINELLO to require me to write
about the Plays and Shows, but how would he like to do it himself, with
the thermometer at 103 degrees, and the Fourth of July only just over?
And then, inasmuch as I am not a white-hatted philosopher, writing of
"What I know about Farming," how can I be expected to write of things
which have no existence? For, with the exception of the CENTRAL PARK
GARDEN, and one or two minor places of amusement, there are no plays and
shows at present in this happy city.</p>

<p>We certainly owe the managers a debt of gratitude for closing their hot
and glaring theatres during this intolerable month. Of course nobody was
obliged to attend them while they were open; but then, when people were
told that the theatres were crowded to an uncomfortable extent, they
felt an irrepressible desire to go and be uncomfortable.</p>

</td></tr>
</table>

<p>It is one of the peculiar characteristics of Man, as distinguished from
the higher animals, that he will go through fire and water to get into a
theatre which he is told is crammed to the point of suffocation, whereas
he won't deign to enter one where he is sure to find a comfortable seat.
Now the charm of the CENTRAL PARK GARDEN consists in this: that the
visitor can take his vapor bath in the Seventh Avenue cars on his way to
the Garden, and can enjoy the sweet consciousness of being jostled and
sat upon in the search for amusement, while he is still certain of
finding pure air and plenty of room at the GARDEN itself.</p>

<p>By the bye, it has just occurred to me that the Fourth of July is
properly a show. It might be called a burlesque, but for the fact that
it is unaccompanied by the luxury of legs. Indeed, after the celebration
is over, there are always fewer legs in the nation than there were at
its commencement. There is no canon of criticism which would expurgate
legs from the theatrical burlesque, but there are cannons of Fourth of
July which do their best to abolish the incautious legs of patriotic
youth. I reconsider my purpose of writing of the CENTRAL PARK GARDEN,
and will devote this column to the national show.</p>

<p>I have somewhere read--not in BANCROFT'S History, of course; no man ever
did that and lived--that the Fourth of July was established in order to
commemorate our deliverance from a government which taxed us with
stamp-duties. How happy ought we to be when we reflect that, thanks to
our noble fathers who fought and bled at Long Branch. I should say
Nahant,--well, at some watering-place, I really forget precisely
where,--we have no taxes, and know not what a revenue stamp is like!
Thank fortune, we have no share in the national debt of Great Britain,
and have no national debt of our own that is worth mention. Besides, we
are going to found the little debt that we do owe, so that nobody will
ever be bothered about it again.</p>

<p>I like this plan of funding debts; but, curiously enough, sordid
capitalists and miserly landlords don't. I offered the other day to fund
all my personal debts, in the shape of a long loan at three per cent,
but my creditors did not take kindly to the idea. Such is the sordid
meanness which is too sadly characteristic of the merely commercial
mind. But to return to our subject, which is, I believe, the CENTRAL
PARK GARDEN.</p>

<p>It is curious how critics will differ. Here is a case in point. The
other night, at the CENTRAL PARK GARDEN, I sat near a table surrounded
by five well-known musical critics. THEODORE THOMAS had just led his
orchestra through the devious ways of the <i>Tannhauser</i> overture, and I
naturally listened to hear the opinions which the critical five might
express. This is what they really did say.</p>

<p>FIRST CRITIC. "Thank heavens, the music is over for a few minutes. Now,
boys, we'll have some more beer."</p>

<p>SECOND CRITIC. "Not any for me, thank you. I'll have a Jamaica sour."</p>

<p>THIRD CRITIC. "Bring me a claret punch."</p>

<p>FOURTH CRITIC. "Whiskey cocktail"</p>

<p>FIFTH CRITIC. "Well! I'll stick to beer. It's the best thing in this
weather."</p>

<p>What ought a man to think of the <i>Tannhauser</i>, after hearing these five
contradictory opinions? For my own part I rather thought the cigars were
a trifle too strong.</p>

<p>And there is just the same difference of opinion about THEODORE THOMAS'S
merits as a conductor. On this occasion there were two aged and indigent
musicians in the audience, who knew more about orchestral music than
even the present President of the Philharmonic Society, and to each of
them did I propound the question, "Is THOMAS a good conductor?"</p>

<p>FIRST AGED PERSON. "My dear sir, he doesn't conduct at all. His
orchestra pays no attention to him, and plays in spite of the absurd and
meaningless passes which he makes with his <i>baton</i>."</p>

<p>SECOND A. P. "My dear sir, he is the best conductor of the day. He has
made his orchestra the best in the country,--in fact, the only one. No
man has done more for our musical public than has THEODORE THOMAS."</p>

<p>And as I ordered eleemosynary beer for these Aged Persons, and pondered
their slightly contradictory utterances in my mind, I heard a fair young
creature in a scarlet plimpton and a fleezy robe of Axminster remark,
"O! that dear delightful Mr. THOMAS. He is so Perfectly lovely! and his
coat fits him so divinely! He is ever so much handsomer than CARL
BERGMANN."</p>

<p>While I agree most heartily with everything that I heard at the GARDEN
on the occasion which I have mentioned, I am not quite sure that the
establishment is either a play or a show. On the whole, I don't think I
had better say anything about it. If anybody has a different opinion,
let him express himself. If he don't like to take the trouble, let him
apply to ADAMS Express Company, which will express him to the end of the
world, if he should so desire.</p>

<p>MATADOR.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>CRISPIN vs. COOLIE.</h2>

<p>For CRISPIN, old CRISPIN, patron saint of all cordwainers, Mr.
PUNCHINELLO has a profound respect. When still a young man, (A.D. 1125,)
he was well acquainted with the venerable gentleman; and the very
beautiful pair of shoes which Mr. P. wears when in full costume, (<i>vide</i>
his portrait on the title page,) were heeled and tapped for him by the
hands of CRISPIN himself. They are still in excellent order, although,
in these very shoes, Mr. P. walked his celebrated match against Time,
beating that swift old party and doing his 1000 miles in 24 h., 12 m.,
30 s. Between Mr. P. and shoes there is a well-marked resemblance. The
shoe has a sole and he has a soul; the shoe is both useful and
ornamental, and so is he; the shoe has an upper, and Mr. P.'s motto is,
"Upper and still up." In fact, he is so well satisfied with his
understanding, that he would not stand in any other man's shoes for any
consideration; and so long as the CRISPINS will make him fits which are
not convulsions, and will sew in a way which shall produce no crop of
corns, and remind him, by the neatness of their work, of Lovely PEGGY,
it is the intention of the Senor PUNCHINELLO to patronize the Native
American awl altogether.</p>

<p>For JOHN Chinaman also, the Herr VON PUNCHINELLO has a great admiration.
He never takes tea, having been advised by his physician to drink
nothing but lager-bier, with an occasional beaker of rum, gin, or
brandy, or Monongahela, or whatever may be handy on the shelf.
Nevertheless, as an admirer of the fair sex, 'Squire PUNCHINELLO
believes in Old Hyson and Hyson Jr., in Oolong and Bohea, in Souchong
and Gunpowder, in Black and Green; and if there were Scarlet or Yellow
or Blue Teas, Col. PUNCHINELLO would equally admire, steep, sweeten and
sip them. Nor is Dr. PUNCHINELLO less an admirer of the explosive
fire-cracker, sent to us by JOHN, to assist us in the preservation of
our liberties. The Hon. Mr. PUNCHINELLO declines dogs (in pies,) and
opium (in pipes,) nor can he say whether he approves of bird's nests (in
porridge,) as he has never eaten any, and never wants to; although he
is, in his way, an acknowledged Nestor. But still, Prof. PUNCHINELLO
wishes JOHN well, if for no other reason, at least out of respect for
his old friend CONFUCIUS, with whom, some years ago, he was extremely
intimate--many of the finest things in the books of that venerable sage
having been suggested to him by Don PUNCHINELLO.</p>

<p>The reader, therefore, (if he is of an acute turn of mind,) will easily
perceive that two distinct emotions fill the bosom of plain Mr. P., and
are hitting out at each other with extreme liveliness. He desires for
the Crispins all the wages they can manage to get. He desires for his
friend HI-YAH, a boundless growth of the pig-tail of prosperity; and the
only question is whether this is a vegetable, the growth of which should
be encouraged upon the Yankee Doodle soil. As probably the most profound
Political Economist of this or any other age, after a week's tremendous
thinking upon this subject, after having a thousand times resolved to
give it up, Mr. P. has received the following letter from North Adams,
Mass., which he hastens to lay before his readers:</p>


<br><br>
<center>
<img alt="005a.jpg (19K)" src="005a.jpg" height="197" width="623">
</center>
<br><br>


<p>Exactly so! Right, JOHN, perfectly right! Our views, exactly! Our mutual
friend, Prof. WHANG-HO, of the University of Pekin, couldn't have put it
more neatly. But don't you think, if you are coming to America at all,
that it would be well to come as the rest come, without selling
yourself, body, soul and pig-tail, to some shrewd Dutch driver, like
KOOPMANSCHOOP, for instance? O JOHN, my Joe JOHN! When you do come, let
it be to freeze to the American Eagle, and with a firm determination to
make him your own beloved bird! When you work, be sure that you get the
worth of your work! No chains and slavery, anything like them! And
especially no nonsense about being sent back in your coffin to the
Central Flowery Kingdom. A country which is good enough to live in, is
good enough to be buried in.</p>

<p>And what is this missive which we have received through the post, and
which we have since kept locked up in a powder-proof safe?</p>


<br><br>
<center>
<img alt="005b.jpg (24K)" src="005b.jpg" height="213" width="631">
</center>
<br><br>


<p>O ye beloved children of CRISPIN! why send to us these mysterious,
manslaughterous and mortal hieroglyphics? Of course you don't mean to
kill Mr. P., and even if you did, you couldn't do it, for the great P.
is one of the immortals. Neither, if you will but stop to think about
it, will you molest poor HI-YAH because he wears a tail and eats
dog-cutlets fried in crumb. Before you indulge in the luxury of murder,
or even the minor divertisements of mobbing, ducking, hustling, and
stoning, why not try the expedient of making it up with the Bosses?</p>

<p>Mr. PUNCHINELLO has thought of visiting North Adams, Lynn, and other
shoe-sites, for the purpose of offering the help of his eminently
judicial mind in reconciling Employer and Employé; but fearing that he
might get his nose (which is a beautiful and dignified protuberance)
most shamefully pulled for his pains, he has concluded to keep the peace
by keeping out of the scrimmage. But, as there never was a
misunderstanding yet which time and common sense could not clear up, Mr.
P. contents himself with exhorting the Bosses to be considerate, the
Crispinians to be reasonable, and JOHN Chinaman to cut off his tail,
whatever natural tears its loss may occasion.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>SEE THE POINT?</h2>

<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>

<p>  EDWIN and ANGELINA took a sail up the lovely Hudson.<br>
  As they sailed on and on, EDWIN said to his ANGELINA:<br>
  "Dearest love, don't let your cerulean eyes rest upon West Point."<br>
  "And why not, darling old tootsicums?" asked ANGELINA.<br>
  "Because they have colored pupils in them, light of my life," replied
  EDWIN.</p>

</td></tr>
</table>
</center>



<br><br><hr><br><br>



<br><br>
<center>
<img alt="006.jpg (150K)" src="006.jpg" height="698" width="755">
</center>
<br><br>



<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>FOAM;[1]</h2>

<h4>OR</h4>

<h3>HOW JENKINS WENT SUMMERING.</h3>

<h4>
A LYRICAL DRAMA.</h4>

<p>
<i>Played with immense success at the summer residence of</i> Gen. GRANT, <i>at
Long Branch, for one thousand and two nights.</i>[2]</p>

<p>ACT I.</p>

<p><i>Scene.--Bed-room in attic of seventh-class boarding-house. Furniture, a
bed, two chairs, and a table. The table is ornamented with a cup of
coffee, a loaf of bread, and a plate of hash; knife, et cetera. (Enter
from the adjoining hall,</i> MR. JENKINS CRUSOE, <i>dressed in a tattered
morning wrapper</i>.)</p>

<p>JENKINS. (<i>Loq</i>.) Phew! I can't stand this hot weather. I must go into
the country. But where shall I go?[3] (<i>Sings</i>:)</p>
<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>

<p>  If I'm any judge of the weather,<br>
    The days are refreshingly hot,<br>
  Though one place's as good as another,<br>
    I think I'll get out of this spot;<br>
          But where shall I go?<br>
          Where shall I go?<br>
          Where shall I go<br>
              For the summer?</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</center>



<p>(<i>Looks at table</i>.) Ha, ha! Ho, ho! My breakfast will be cold.
(<i>Reflectively</i>.) I guess I'll eat. (<i>Sits down and hurts the hash.)</i></p>

<p><i>(Enter washerwoman, shoemaker, servant-girl, and hatter. They dance
around the table, like English blondes.) (All sing:)</i></p>

<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>


<p>  Poor old JENKINS CRUSOE,<br>
   Why did you go for to do so?<br>
  JENKINS! JENKINS! JENKINS! JENKINS!<br>
	Poor old JENKINS CRUSOE.</p>

</td></tr>
</table>
</center>


<p>SERVANT GIRL. (<i>Sings</i>.) Pay for the floor I have scrubbed, sir.</p>

<p>WASHERWOMAN.      "      Pay for the clothes I have rubbed, sir.</p>

<p>HATTER.           "      Pay for the hats you have worn, sir.</p>

<p>SHOEMAKER.        "      Pay for the boots that are gone, sir.</p>

<p>(<i>All sing</i>:)</p>

<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>


<p>  Poor old JENKINS CRUSOE,<br>
    Why did you go for to do so?<br>
  JENKINS! JENKINS! JENKINS! JENKINS!<br>
    Poor old JENKINS CRUSOE.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</center>



<p>(JENKINS <i>rises from the table and sings</i>:)</p>

<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>


<p>  I've a castle in Spain,<br>
    Filled with ingots of gold,<br>
  I've a mine in Golconda,<br>
    Whose wealth is untold.<br>
  Then dry up your tears,<br>
    Come out of your sorrow,<br>
  I'll pay what I owe,<br>
    I'll pay you to-morrow,<br>
  I'll pay you to-morrow,<br>
    All that I owe.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</center>



<p>(<i>Servant-girl et al. dance "Shoo Fly," and sing</i>:)</p>

<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>

<p>  We feel, we feel, we feel,<br>
    We feel like a young typhoon;<br>
  We hope, we hope, we hope,<br>
    We hope you'll be paying soon.</p>


</td></tr>
</table>
</center>


<p>(<i>Exeunt Servant-girl, et al</i>.)</p>

<p>JENKINS. (<i>Loq.</i>)  Well, come soon. Now I must go. I hate to cheat the
provider of that seventh-class hash, but I must beat on somebody. Well,
let them all come, and devil take the hindmost. I'll pack my valise.
(<i>Puts things in his valise. Sings</i>:)</p>

<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>


<p>  It's rich that I am, am I not?<br>
  Just look at the fixings I've got;<br>
  Here's a brush, here's a comb,<br>
  Both are for fixing my dome,<br>
  A tooth-brush and collar, that's all,<br>
  My baggage's conveniently small.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</center>



<p>JENKINS. (<i>Loq</i>.) That valise is too thin. No landlord would take me on
that. It's consumptive-looking. I'll fill it with newspapers. Here, this
will do, this triple-sheet <i>Tribune</i>, with Mrs. MCFARLAND'S epistle.
That'll fill it. (<i>Shoves paper in valise</i>.) Now for my hat and coat.
(<i>Puts them on</i>.) Off I go. (<i>Sings</i>:)</p>

<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>


<p>  I'm off, I'm off,<br>
  I'm off for Long Branch,<br>
  I'll have a jolly old time,<br>
  I'll have a jolly old time,<br>
  I'll bathe in the surf,<br>
  I'll ride on the turf,<br>
  Dance with the girls,<br>
  Steal all their pearls,<br>
  And have a jolly old time.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</center>



<p>(<i>Exit</i> JENKINS)</p>

<p><i>Curtain</i></p>

<p>[Footnote 1: Must not be confounded with "Surf."]</p>

<p>[Footnote 2: The reader will notice that this drama was more popular
than the Arabian Nights, which only ran for one thousand and one
nights.]</p>

<p>[Footnote 3: The music of these songs can be purchased at Timbuctoo.]</p>

<p>
ACT II.</p>

<p><i>Scene.--Steamboat landing. Real steamboat, real landing, real water,
real smoke coming out of a real chimney on the steamboat. Real captain
and real passengers. (It is understood that there is to be no
make-believe about the fares.) A real chambermaid in the back cabin
would add to the effectiveness of the scene, but is not an absolute
necessity.</i></p>

<p>[The author would here say that he has a proper respect for the
auxiliaries of the stage, and, in a scene, which belongs to the stage
carpenter, the author would be cruel If he marred the effects of the
scenery by mere words. He therefore uses as little of those
superfluities as possible. In a nautical scene of course some words will
slip in, which it would be improper to print, but as that is chicken
(the polite for foul) language, the author, of course, is not
responsible for it.]</p>

<p><i>As the curtain rises, real women with real oranges parade the dock,
singing</i>:</p>

<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>



<p>  Come buy our sweet oranges, come buy!<br>
          Hark, as we holler,<br>
          Six for a dollar,<br>
  Come buy our sweet oranges, come buy!</p>

</td></tr>
</table>
</center>


<p><i>Real scream from steam whistle.</i> JENKINS <i>obeys the orange-women, and
goes By on a run. Steamboat leaves wharf-twenty-two feet out in stream,
when</i> JENKINS <i>reaches string-piece. Grand and terrific jump by</i>
JENKINS, <i>twenty-two feet in the clear. He lands on the steamer, and all
the sailors shout.</i></p>

<p><i>Curtain</i></p>

<p>[As in a realistic scene one must stick to reality, you will notice that
I made JENKINS leap twenty-two feet, which is, I am informed, the exact
space jumped over by the father of his country on a festive occasion.]</p>

<p>(I would say to the young man who objects to carpenter scenes, that he
can go out during this act and indulge in his favorite beverage--gin and
milk.)</p>

<p>
ACT III.</p>

<p><i>Scene.--Lawn in front of Continental Hotel at Long Branch. Enter</i>
JENKINS, <i>disguised in a second-hand silk hat, and a claw-hammer coat,
with a hand-organ on his back. He stops before one of the windows,
grinds the hand-organ, and sings:</i></p>
<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>


<p>  Gaily the troubadour<br>
    Touched his or-gan,<br>
  As he came staggering<br>
    Home with a can--</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</center>


<p>(<i>Numerous heads put out of numerous windows</i>.)</p>

<p>[As all the following are said at the same moment, the reader is here
requested to take a long breath.]</p>

<p><i>1st Window.</i> Stop that howling!</p>

<p><i>2d</i>   "      Dry up, you idiot!</p>

<p><i>3d</i>   "      Cork that organ!</p>

<p><i>4th</i>  "      Bust that music-box!</p>

<p>(And so on, <i>ad infinitum</i>, until all the supes are used up; the supes
can probably supply their own language of the above kind.)</p>

<p>(<i>Windows shut. Enter</i> JULIETTE, <i>from window</i>.)</p>

<p>JENKINS. Fair JULIETTE!</p>

<p>JULIETTE. Beautiful JENKINS!</p>

<p>JENKINS. Lovest thou CRUSOE? (<i>She rests on his bosom</i>.)</p>

<p>JENKINS. But SNUBS, the widower? Ha, Ha! Ho, Ho!</p>

<p>JULIETTE. (<i>Sings</i>:)</p>
<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>


<p>  I never loved him in my life,<br>
    I never loved his baby,<br>
  I'll slip out some dark night,<br>
    And marry JENKINS, maybe.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</center>


<p>JENKINS. (<i>Sings:</i>)</p>
<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>

<p>  Pretty maid, if I kiss,<br>
    Will you faint away,<br>
  Will you cry for your pa,<br>
    Pretty maiden, say?<br>
  If I press dainty lips,<br>
    Will you make a screech?<br>
  If you do, I'll away,<br>
    And you cannot peach.</p>

<p>      Pretty maid, do not faint,<br>
        Charming little belle,<br>
      Mind you now, pretty maid,<br>
        Do not kiss and tell.</p>


</td></tr>
</table>
</center>

<p>(<i>He charges upon her lips and then returns to the charge</i>.)</p>

<p>JULIETTE. (<i>Sings</i>:)</p>
<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>


<p>  You are going far away,<br>
  Far away from poor JULIETTE,<br>
  And there's no one left to love me now,<br>
  I fear you'll too forget.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</center>


<p>(<i>Just at this moment, enter Heavy Father, and kicks</i> JENKINS, <i>Heavy
Father then seizes</i> JULIETTE <i>and leads her into house</i>. JENKINS
<i>skedaddles</i>.)</p>

<p><i>Enter</i> JENKINS <i>at side, looks carefully around, and finding the coast
clear, comes in, slings the organ on his back, and sings</i>:</p>
<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>

<p>  I went, I went,<br>
  As meek as any lamb,<br>
  He took me, yes, he took me<br>
  For some other man.</p>


</td></tr>
</table>
</center>

<p><i>Curtain</i>.</p>

<p>(The manager should have the curtain in hand, because the last pathetic
song of JENKINS will no doubt be encored.)</p>

<p>Errata.--Before the word "played," in the fifth line, insert the words
"will be."</p>

<p>After the word "played," in the fifth line, insert the words, "if it is
ever played at all."</p>

<p>LOT.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>


<br><br>
<center>
<img alt="007.jpg (118K)" src="007.jpg" height="552" width="607">
</center>
<br><br>


<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>ON DORGS.</h2>
<br>

<p>Dorgs are very useful animals, especially when you have nothing handy
for dinner, and can get them to catch a rabbit for you.</p>

<p>A dorg is a very devoted animal, and should not be taxed, as its master
often is, by its various eccentricities--when it makes off with his
dinner, for instance, or leaves dental impressions on the meat in the
pantry. Indeed, its owner is sometimes tempted to imitate his <i>canis</i> in
the lifting business, and often with such success as to get board and
lodging free.</p>

<p>Dorgs are pugnacious critters. I had one that set on every fellow of its
kind he came across, and took such an affectionate grab of his foe, that
nothing would divide them till death did them part.</p>

<p>I noticed, however, that this dorg of mine was mostly fond of the
smaller fry, attacking them most vigorously, and barking from the
door-steps at the larger.</p>

<p>I once had a dorgy (diminutive of dorg, <i>alias</i> puppy,) which was very
fond of me, especially when I gave it something nice--which is nothing
but human nature in the third degree. It got knocked about a good deal,
especially its legs, so that it contracted a sort of hopping movement. I
could not get it to catch mice; it seemed to think them third cousins,
or something of the kind, and was very fond of playing with them; while,
on the other hand, I had a large dorg which we kept by us when we took
grain from the rick--I think he managed about 30 per minute. I never
could follow them down his throat, but his increased bulk was a kind of
index to the number. He generally lay by the kitchen fire twenty-four
hours after his banquet, to recover himself.</p>

<p>I once tried my small dorg at the swimming business, by throwing him
into a shallow pond. I had to go in after the beast pretty smart, boots,
trowsers, socks, and all. He and I had a roast by the fire that evening.
My trowsers, however, getting overdone in the operation, I lost $4 by
this experiment.</p>

<p>Dorgs are very fond of coat-tails and back-pockets, when some unseen
attraction lies there. They don't believe in appetite-assuagers "wasting
their fragrance on the desert air;" and will make vigorous efforts to
take possession of the hidden treasure, at any risk whatsoever.</p>

<p>As this is the time I and my dorg go visiting, I must jerk up the
machine for the present. I hope my remarks have done you some good. The
motto I always follow is, "Brevity is the soul of wit."</p>

<p>BILL BISCAY.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>INSPIRATION VS. PERSPIRATION.</h2>

<p>Flannel, being an absorbent, has usually been recommended as the best
material for under-clothing in sweltering weather, such as that of the
present summer. An ingenious gentleman of this city, however, has
discovered that a full under-suit of blotting-paper is by far more
efficacious than flannel, and he has taken out a patent for the idea.
The article will not come under the denomination of dry goods.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>THE RIGHT MAN.</h2>

<p>A Brooklyn item states as follows:</p>

<p>"Justice LYNCH is to have a new court-house in the Twenty-first Ward."</p>

<p>Why in that Ward, only? Have we not a Fourth Ward here, in New York,
and a Sixth Ward, and an Eighth Ward, and a Seventeenth Ward? Judge
LYNCH is just the man needed in each and all of these wards, and he may
be found there yet.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>STRANGELY COINCIDENTAL.</h2>

<p>The Ice Panic and the Coolie Problem.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>


<br><br>
<center>
<img alt="008.jpg (299K)" src="008.jpg" height="1141" width="709">
</center>
<br><br>


<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>OUR PORTFOLIO.</h2>

<p>It is related of the Prince of Wales, that, driving home from the late
Derby Races, he lifted his hat to a group of ladies, and by accident
dropped a glove, whereupon the fair ones dived eagerly into the dirt for
it, while his Royal Highness laughed heartily at the scramble. Young
ladies this side of the Atlantic, it may be said with justice, are quite
as practiced divers; but when the darlings duck their fingers into the
dirt before any young fellow here, it more frequently happens that they
are not after his glove, or his heart, so much as his pocketbook.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<p>The practice, quite common among rustic gentlemen, of visiting the city
for the purpose of beholding the "elephant," doubtless suggested to the
late Sir THOMAS BROWNE the following advice which he gave his son, who
was about entering upon his studies in the department of Natural
History:</p>

<p>"When you see the elephant, observe whether he bendeth his knees before
and behind forward differently from other quadrupeds, as Aristotle
observeth; and whether his belly be the softest and smoothest part."</p>

<p>It is possible that some elephants have a habit of bending at the
knee-joints differently from others. Indeed, this reflection is more
than likely when we consider how many elephants there are, and upon what
evil doings many of them are bent, but it is not so evident that a
neophyte in this branch of knowledge could derive any benefit from
following Sir THOMAS'S injunctions. PUNCHINELLO begs leave to substitute
for the above, some advice which he thinks would produce a vastly more
salutary effect, and that to keep away from elephants altogether. Men of
experience will bear out our assertion, that the much talked of "horns
of a dilemma" are nothing to the tusks of an elephant; for it is
possible for a person to hang upon the aforesaid "horns" without fatal
results, but the party who is impaled upon the tusks of an elephant is
generally ever after indifferent to the opinions of mankind.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>CRITICAL.</h2>

<p>"Where do you intend to Summer?" asked JOWLER of GROWLER, one day in the
"heated term."</p>

<p>"Summer?" retorted GROWLER--"is that what <i>you</i> call it?--<i>I</i> call it
Simmer."</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>PERSONAL.</h2>

<p>PRINCE ARTHUR has taken his departure for England. It is but just to say
that the regiment to which he belongs is not the same Rifle Brigade by
which the Coney Island boats are controlled.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>
<center>
<h2>GRANT'S BLACKBIRD PIE.</h2>

<h3>AIR: SING A SONG O' SIXPENCE.</h3>
</center>

<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>

<p>  Sing about a Treaty<br>
    Got up to supply<br>
  Half a million Black birds<br>
    For the Union Pie.<br>
  When the fact was published,<br>
    Swindlers at Sing Sing<br>
  Said the Author's one of us--<br>
    Let us call him King.</p>

<p>  FISH was at the Treasury<br>
    Clamoring for the money,<br>
  GRANT was in the "Blue-room"<br>
    Looking blithe and sunny,<br>
  MORBILL, in the Senate,<br>
    Brought things to a close--<br>
  GRANT'S half million Black birds<br>
    Vanished with the noes.</p>

</td></tr>
</table>
</center>


<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>SUGGESTED BY THE HEAT OF THE COOLIE QUESTION.</h2>

<p>Knees that the Crispins are constantly down on--Chi-nese.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>PROBABLE RESULT OF THAT "CHINESE PUZZLE."</h2>

<p>A Chinese Fizzle.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>ECLIPSE OF THE "SUN."</h2>

<p>JIMMY the bootblack, says he "shines for all--price ten cents."</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>TO U,'LYSS.</h2>

<p>ON THE REJECTION OF THE BAEZ TREATY.</p>

<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>


<p>  Behold how fickle Fortune the great ULYSSES treats,<br>
  Gives him victories in war-time, in peace heaps up defeats.<br>
  His Southern laurels linger a coronet of praise;<br>
  But a friendly Senate withers his San Domingan bays.</p>

</td></tr>
</table>
</center>


<br><br><hr><br><br>



<br><br>
<center>
<img alt="009.jpg (288K)" src="009.jpg" height="718" width="949">
</center>
<br><br>



<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>HIRAM GEEEN AT THE TOWER OF BABEL.</h2>

<h4>
HE INTERVIEWS AN OLD SETTLER.--A REMARKABLE NARRATIVE.</h4>

<p>
While in New York, a few days sints, I was standin' in the reer of the
old City haul, gazin' onto the unfinished marble bildin' which stands
there.</p>

<p>My eye gobbled up the seen afore me, like a young weesel a suckin' of
eggs,--when an old rinkled-featured--silver-haired and snowy-beerded
individual touched me on the sholder, and interogated me thuswisely:</p>

<p>"Stranger, you seem to be stuck to make out what that ere unfinished
bildin' is."</p>

<p>"Kerzaclee, old Hoss," sed I, "and I wouldent mind standin' the Lager to
find out."</p>

<p>"Come with me to yonder pile of stuns," sed the old feller, "and I will
relate a tail, which, for its mysteriousness, ukers the kemikle
analersis of a plate of bordin' house hash."</p>

<p>"Wall, old METHUSELER," sed I, as our legs was danglin' over the pile of
stuns, "onwind your yarn, but don't let your immaginashun go further
than a Bohemian's."</p>

<p>He then began the follerin' histry:</p>

<p>"In anshient times there was a Filosifer. HORRIS GREELEY was his
cognovit.</p>

<p>"He was Editor of a daily noosepaper. He took it into his nozzle one day
to rite some essays 'on what he knowed of farmin,' which he was about as
well posted on as a porpoise is about climbin' a tree.</p>

<p>"One day this <i>Jerkt</i> farmer, by brevet, writ an artikle about
irrigation.</p>

<p>"He told farmers that, in dry seasons, if they dammed the little streems
which crossed their farms, the water would set back, and overflow their
land, and keep their garden sas sozzlin' wet, and make things grow
bully.</p>

<p>"He was a great advocate of Dams.</p>

<p>"He useter become so absorbed in his favorite pastime, that a feller
man, if he irritated the Filosifer, became small streems <i>pro temper</i>,
and were dammed pooty sudden."</p>

<p>"What, you don't mean to say that an Editor swore in them days?" sed I,
interuptin' the old man.</p>

<p>"They occashunly took a hand in that ere biziness, and when they got
onto a fit, could cuss and swear ekal to the beet of us," sed he.</p>

<p>"Wall," sed I, "I thought they was all good moral men, like THEODORE
TILTON &amp; ANNER DICKINSON."</p>

<p>"Oh! no," he replide. "Editors in them days use to fat up on swearin'".</p>

<p>He then resumed, "Farmers throughout the land tride H.G.'s. dammin'
ways.</p>

<p>"They dammed all the streams, and anybody who didn't like their stile of
doin' things got sarved in the same manner. The consequents was, their
was a flood--yes sir, a flood.</p>

<p>"Brooklin, Jarsey and Hoboken ferry-botes was swamped, and the
passengers all drowned.</p>

<p>"To be a corroner them times was money in a feller's pocket, as the
inquest biziness was the best biziness agoin' outside of any
well-organized Ring.</p>

<p>"Only one bote lode was saved.</p>

<p>"JIM FISK, who was always on the look-out for a muss, was long-headed
enough to own that craft.</p>

<p>"It was run by Captin NOAH, who Know-ed what was coming. NOAH took his
family abord, and as he owned a menagerie, he took all of his wild
animals abord to, besides the members of the Press, who kept their
papers posted of the doin's abord that Ark.</p>

<p>"In about 40 days time, ev'ry dammed stream busted away, and the waters
dride up. And the boat ran ashore and got stuck fast, in one of them
new-fashioned tar pavements.</p>

<p>"The Common Counsel invited NOAH and his fokes to a Lager bier garden
and treated them to a banket, at the Sity's expense.</p>

<p>"NOAH, who liked his soothin' sirup, got drunker than a sensashun
preacher, on gin and milk, an orthodox drink them times.</p>

<p>"He finally went to sleep in the gutter, after undressin' hisself and
hangin' all his close on a lamp-post.</p>

<p>"HAM, a son of Captin NOAH'S, diskiverin' his confused parient in a soot
rather more comfortable than modest, was so mortified at his Dad's
nakedness, that the mortificashun become sot, and when NOAH awoke from
his soberin' off sleep, his son was blacker than the ace of spades.</p>

<p>"NOAH didn't like niggers.</p>

<p>"Not much he didn't.</p>

<p>"He hated 'em wusser nor a Pea cracker hates a Fenian.</p>

<p>"Seein' that his cheild had changed his political sentiments, he <i>Horris
Greelyzed</i> him in the follerin' well-known words:</p>

<p>"Cussed be Kanan.'</p>

<p>"HAM wasent to be fooled in that stile by the Govenor, so he got BUTLER,
whose surname was BENJAMIN, into whose sack was found a silver cup, and
I believe a few spoons, SICKLES, LOGAN, LONGSTREET, and a lot of other
chaps, to change their complexion. With the assistants of these men,
NOAH and his party was floored, and the 15th Amendment waxed mitey and
strong, espeshally with the mercury at one hundred degrees in the shade.</p>

<p>"Fokes was gettin' wicked and wickeder all the time.</p>

<p>"Members of Congress was drawin' the wool over the Goddess of Liberty's
eyes, and rammin' their hands way down into her purse. Cadetships were
bein' sold to the highest bidder.</p>

<p>"One day the wise men of Gotham sed one to another:</p>

<p>"'Let us bild us a tower which H.G. can't flood, if he dams from now
till dooms-day.'</p>

<p>"A big injun took the contract. As OOFTY GOOFT, a dutch German, remarkt,</p>

<p>"'He vash got Tam-many oder braves to give him a boosht.'</p>

<p>"Street pavements were laid on 5th avenoo, which the wind took up, and
the air smelt like a mixture of cold tar and Scotch snuff.</p>

<p>"Bulls and Bears of Wall street had a day of Egypshun darkness; it was
called Black Friday.</p>

<p>"'Shoo-fly' was sung in our nashunal Councils.</p>

<p>"Banks were robbed, and Judges went snucks with the robbers.</p>

<p>"Men got on fits of temper-ary insanity and clubbed their wives over the
head or popped off editors with a 6 shooter.</p>

<p>"Virtous and respectable ladies were Spencerized in the Halls of
Gustise, and the 12 temptashuns was drawin' crowded houses."</p>

<p>"See here, old man," sed I, "hain't you pilin' on the agony rather too
thick?"</p>

<p>"Facts, Squire," sed he, "trooth is stronger than frickshun."</p>

<p>"About these times," he continered, "things was becomin' slitely mixed.</p>

<p>"The different tribes cooden't suck cider through the same straw any
more.</p>

<p>"There was a confusion of tongues and a mixin' of contracts. The great
Sachem and the Young Democracy had each other by the ear, while the Big
Injun was bound to scratch his assailers bald headed.</p>

<p>"In this Reign of High Daddyism, the Young Democracy was scalpt, and
that ere bildin' afore us, the great tower of Babel, come to a dead
stand still, because the poletishuns coodent understand each other, and
fokes dident know where the money was all gone to."</p>

<p>The old man paused.</p>

<p>I sprung to my feet.</p>

<p>"And this," I exclaimed, "is the mitey Babel? Wood that I possessed some
of the fortins which has been made on thee. Wood that I was a
contracter," sed I, awed in presence of the great bildin' which caused
so many to sin.</p>

<p>In my enthusiasm I bust forth in that well-known Him:</p>
<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>


<p>  "I want to be a contracter,<br>
  And with contracters share."</p>

</td></tr>
</table>
</center>

<p>After I got cooled down I looked for the old man, and sure's your born
he had wrigged off. I took a Bee line for a naborin' Refreshment stand,
and cooled my excited brane with a fride doenut.</p>

<p>Adux, PUNCHINELLO.</p>

<p>Ewers and so 4thly,</p>

<p>HIRAM GBEEN, Esq, <i>Lait Gustise of the Peece.</i></p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>ALL STUFF!</h2>

<p>That crusty old bachelor, CUMGRUMBLE, objects to the franchise being
extended to women, on the ground that, since they have become so
accustomed to padding their persons, they would inevitably take to
"stuffing" the ballot-boxes.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>CHICAGO ECCENTRICITIES.</h2>

<p>A newspaper item tells about a horse in Chicago that chews tobacco.</p>

<p>Well, we can beat that in New York. Only a few days ago we saw Commodore
VANDERBILT driving one of his fast teams in Harlem Lane, and both the
horses were Smoking like mad.</p>

<p>But the item adds that the Chicago horse actually picks the hostler's
pocket of tobacco.</p>

<p>Well, that is just what one might expect of a Chicago horse.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>THE WATERING PLACES.</h2>

<h4>
PUNCHINELLO'S VACATIONS.</h4>

<p>
After, all there is nothing like nature, in her primevality. When man
attempts to add a finishing-touch to the loveliness of the forest, lake,
or ocean, he makes a botch of it. What would the glowing tropics be, if
Park Commissioners had charge of them? The heart, sick of the giddy
flutterings of Man, seeks the sympathy of the shadowy dell, where the
jingle of coin is heard not, and where the votaries of fashion flaunt
not their vain tissues in the ambient air.</p>

<p>So, last week, thought Mr. P., and the moment he could get away he went
on a little trip to the Dismal Swamp.</p>

<p>There he found Nature--there was primevality indeed! An instantaneous
<i>rapport</i> took place between his feelings and the scene; of which the
delicious loveliness can be imagined from this picture.</p>


<br><br>
<center>
<img alt="012a.jpg (50K)" src="012a.jpg" height="191" width="673">
</center>
<br><br>


<p>As he slowly floated along the shingle canal, from Suffolk to the
"Dismal," what raptures filled his soul! Here, in the recesses of that
solemn mixture of trees and water, which they were rapidly approaching,
he could commune with his own soul, as it were. Mr. P. had never
communed with his own soul, as it were, though he knew it must be a nice
thing, because he had read so much about it. So he determined to try it.
It was a delightful anticipation--like scenting a new fancy drink.</p>

<p>But his reflections were rudely interrupted. The men who propelled the
scow which Mr. P. had chartered, had not pushed it more than four or
five miles into the mystic recesses of the Swamp, when they suddenly
stopped with a cry of "Breakers ahead!" Mr. P. rushed to the bow, and
there he beheld two doleful heads just peering above the waters of the
narrow canal. He started back in amazement. He thought, at first, that
they were Naiads--(they could not be Dryads)--or some other watery
spirits of these wilds. But he soon saw that they were nothing of the
kind. It was only Messrs. SCHENCK, of Ohio, and KELLEY, of Pennsylvania,
and through the limpid water it was easy to see that each of them was
endeavoring to raise a sunken log from the bottom.</p>


<br><br>
<center>
<img alt="012b.jpg (105K)" src="012b.jpg" height="446" width="676">
</center>
<br><br>


<p>"Why, what in the world are you doing here?" cried Mr. P.</p>

<p>Mr. SCHENCK, of Ohio, looked up sadly, and, dropping his log upon the
bottom, stood upon it, and thus replied:</p>

<p>"You may well be surprised, Mr. PUNCHINELLO, but we are here for the
public good. We have reason to suspect, that, following the example of
the Chinese Opium-smugglers, the vile traitors who are trying to break
down our iron interests have smuggled quantities of scrap--iron into
this country, and it is our belief that these sunken logs have been
bored and are full of it."</p>

<p>At this Mr. P. laughed right out.</p>

<p>"Oh, you may laugh if you please!" cried SCHENCK, of Ohio, "and perhaps
you can tell me why these logs are so heavy--why they lie here at the
bottom instead of floating--why--" but at this instant he slipped from
the log on which he was standing, and with a splash and a bubbling, he
disappeared. The men who were pushing the scow thought this an admirable
opportunity to pass on, and shouting to KELLEY, of Pennsylvania, to bob
his head, the gallant bark floated safely over these enthusiastic
conservators of our iron interests.</p>

<p>Although diverted for a time by this incident, a shadow soon began to
spread itself gradually over the mind of Mr. P. Was there, then, no
place where the subtle influence of man did not spread itself like a
noxious gas?--Where, oh, where! could one commune with his own soul, as
it were?</p>

<p>At length they reached Lake Drummond, that placid pool in the somnolent
shades, and Mr. P. put up at the house of a melancholy man, with a fur
cap, who lived in a cabin on the edge of the lonely water.</p>

<p>For supper they had catfish, and perch, and trout, and seven-up, and
euchre, and poker, and when the meal was over Mr. P. went out for a
moonlight row upon the lake. He had to make the most of his time, for it
would take him so long to get back to Nassau street, you know. He had
not paddled his scow more than half an hour over the dark but
moon-streaked waters of the lake, when he met with the maiden who, all
night long, by her firefly lamp, doth paddle her light canoe. This
estimable female steered her bark alongside the scow, and to the
startled Mr. P. she said: "Have you my tickets?"</p>


<br><br>
<center>
<img alt="012c.jpg (96K)" src="012c.jpg" height="430" width="693">
</center>
<br><br>


<p>"Tickets!" cried Mr. P. "Me?--tickets? What tickets?"</p>

<p>"Why, one ticket, of course, on the Norfolk, Petersburg and Richmond
line; and a through ticket from Richmond to New York, by way of
Fredericksburg and Washington. What other tickets could I mean?"</p>

<p>"I know nothing about them," said Mr. P.; "and what can you possibly
want with railroad tickets?"</p>

<p>"Oh, I am going to leave here," said she.</p>

<p>"Indeed!" cried Mr. P. "Going to leave here--this lake; this swamp; this
firefly lamp? To leave this spot, rendered sacred to your woes by the
poem of the gifted MOORE--"</p>

<p>"No more!" cried she. "I'm tired of hearing everybody that comes to this
pond a-singin' that doleful song."</p>

<p>"That is to say," said Mr. P., with a smile, "if your canoe is birch,
<i>you</i> are Sycamore."</p>

<p>"That's so," she gravely grunted.</p>

<p>"But tell me," said Mr. P., "where in the world can you be going?"</p>

<p>At this the maiden took a straw, and ramming it down the chimney of her
lamp, stirred up the flies until they glittered like dollar jewelry.
Then she chanted, in plaintive, tones, the following legend:</p>
<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>

<p>  "Three women came, one moonlight night,<br>
    And tempted me away.<br>
  They said, 'No longer on this lake,<br>
    Good maiden, must you stay.</p>

<p>  We're SUSAN A. and ANNA D.,<br>
    And LUCY S. also,<br>
  And what a lone female can do<br>
    We want the world to know.</p>

<p>  No better instance can we give,<br>
    Oh, Indian maid! than you,<br>
  How woman can, year after year.<br>
    Paddle her own canoe.'"</p>

</td></tr>
</table>
</center>


<p>"Just so," said Mr. P., "but don't you think that as you are--that is to
say--that not being of corporeal substance--by which I mean having been
so long departed, as it were; or, to speak more plainly--"</p>

<p>"Oh, yes! I know.--Dead, you mean," said the maiden. "But that makes no
difference. They'll be glad enough of a ghost of an example."</p>

<p>"Yes, yes," said Mr. P. "And yet their cause is good enough. I don't see
why they should make up--"</p>

<p>He would have said more, but turning, he saw that the Indian maid,
despairing of her tickets, had gone.</p>

<p>The next day Mr. P. went home himself. He communed with his own soul, as
it were, for a little while, and has no doubt it did him a deal of good.
But it would take so long to get back to his office, you see.</p>

<p>As a cheap watering place, where there are no fancy drives or fancy
horses; no club-houses; no big hotels; no gay company; nor anything to
tempt a man to sacrifice health and money in the empty pursuit of
pleasure, Mr. P. begs to recommend the Dismal Swamp.</p>

<p>If he knew of any other watering place of which as much might be said,
he would mention it--but he don't.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>NOTES FROM CHICAGO.</h2>

<p>"In the spring a young man's fancies lightly turn to thoughts of Love,"
and Picnics--and this is the time for them; consequently, the attention
of the Western public is turned thoroughly and religiously to what may
be considered as one of the most important results of civilization and
refinement. We (the Western public) regard picnics as highly
advantageous to health and beauty, promoting social sympathy and
high-toned alimentiveness, advancing the interests of the community and
the ultimate welfare of the nation. In the first place, they are the
means, working indirectly, but surely, of encouraging the domestic
virtues and affections, the peace and harmony of families, because on
these festive occasions, the lunch is the most striking and attractive
feature, and, in order to obtain this in its highest perfection, the
culinary abilities of the lady participants are necessarily called into
action--those talents which have fallen somewhat into disrepute,
notwithstanding Professor BLOT'S magnanimous efforts to restore the
glories of the once honored culinary art. Therefore a picnic may be
considered as a great moral agency in promoting domestic happiness; for
what is so likely to touch the heart and arouse the slumbering
sensibility of a husband and father, as a roast of beef done to a charm,
or an <i>omelette soufflée</i> presenting just that sublime tint of
yellowness which can only be attained by means of the most delicate
refinement and discrimination? No other attention, however flattering,
is so soon recognised, or gratefully appreciated.</p>

<p>After one of these innocent festivals has been fully decided upon, then
we always select a day when gathering clouds predict, most
unmistakeably, a coming storm, because, what would a picnic be without
some excitement of this kind? A pudding minus the sauce, a sandwich
without the mustard, a joke without the point. What pleasure <i>could</i>
there be in a dry picnic? Ladies never appear to such excellent
advantage, never are so utterly bewitching, as when, with light summer
dresses bedraggled and dirty, they cling helplessly to their protectors,
or run in frantic haste to some place of shelter--for it is only when a
woman (or a gentle bovine) runs, that the poetry of motion is fully
realized. Then the gentlemen! Under what circumstances are they ever so
chivalric as during a pouring rain, when, wet to the skin, they assist
the faintly-shrieking beauties over the mud puddles, and hold umbrellas
tenderly above chignons and uncrimping crimps! To be sure they do not
often act as Sir WALTER RALEIGH did, but then they do not wear velvet
cloaks, and what would be the wit of throwing a piece of broadcloth or
white linen into the mud?</p>

<p>We have champagne picnics, lemonade and cold water picnics, and some,
which, although they cannot be classed under the head of hot water,
still manage, before they are through, to get all the participants into
it. We have widows' and widowers' picnics, a kind of reunion for the
encouragement of mutual consolation, where, meandering through green
fields and under nodding boughs, they can talk or muse upon the virtues
of the "dear departed," and the probable merits of the "coming man," or
woman.</p>

<p>Then the anti-matrimonials have theirs, too, always exceedingly select,
where the men look frightened, and the women indignant, and which
partakes somewhat of the character of a Methodist prayer-meeting, the
gentlemen all clinging to each other as if for protection, evidently in
bodily fear of another Sabine expedition, with the order of the
programme, however, a little reversed in regard to the two sexes. The
Sanitary department also indulges in a little treat of this kind, and in
such a case, it becomes really a duty. After guarding the city's health
for so long a time, after sternly following up Scarlet-fevers,
Small-poxes, and Ship-plagues, and driving them forth from their chosen
haunts, it certainly needs to look after its own constitution a little,
and sharpen, by country airs and odors, the powers probably deteriorated
amid the noxious vapors of city alleys and by-ways.</p>

<p>The Teachers' Institute, too, looking at the thing physiologically,
psychologically, and phrenologically, after mature deliberation,
conclude to descend to a little harmless amusement, contriving, however,
to mingle some instructive elements with the frivolous ones that less
enlightened spirits delight in. For instance, the flowers, that are
truly the "alphabet of angels" to the simple souls that love the violets
and daisies for their own sweet sakes, offer a very different alphabet
to the "Schoolma'ams" and Professors. They are no longer flowers, but
specimens, each bud and blossom pleading in vain for life, as ruthless
fingers coolly dissect them to discover whether they are poly or
mollyandria. And what an ignoramus you must be, if you do not know that
a balloon-vine is a <i>Cardiospernum Halicactum</i>. The "feast" on these
occasions is that "of reason" alone, encyclopedias and dictionaries
being all the nourishment required, although a stray bottle here and
there might hint at "the flow" of a little something beside "soul."</p>

<p>Then there are the Good Templars' picnics, where "water, cold water for
me, for me," is supposed to be the sentiment of every heart, mixing the
beverage sometimes, however, with a little innocent tea, or coffee; and
the Masonic festivals, where pretty white aprons and silver fringes,
shining amid green dells and vales, present quite a picturesque and
imposing appearance; and the Fenians, looking sometimes greener than the
haunts they are seeking.</p>

<p>Then every distinct and individual Sunday-school in the city has a
picnic, which it would be well to attend, if you are anxious to see the
diversities and eccentricities of youthful appetites fearfully
illustrated.--When the loaves and fishes were distributed, there could
not have been many growing boys present.--And beside these, the family
picnics, most cosy little affairs, represented by one big fat man, one
delicate-faced woman, one maiden-aunt, four graduated boys, and five
graduated girls, all piled into one big fat carriage, drawn by two big
fat horses. But it is the Germans who take the palm, and here language
fails, though beer doesn't.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>COMIC ZOOLOGY.</h2>

<h4>GENUS SQUALUS--THE SHARK.</h4>

<p>Linnaeus classifies the Sharks as the Squalidae family, and they are,
upon the whole, as unpleasant a family as a Squalid Castaway would
desire to meet with in a Squall. They are all carnivorous,
cartilaginous, and cantankerous. No fish culturist, from St. ANTHONY to
SETH GREEN, has thought it worth while to take them in hand, with the
view of reforming them, and their Vices are as objectionable now as they
were three thousand years ago. If a sailor falls overboard, the
Contiguous Shark considers it a <i>casus belli</i>, and immediately makes a
pitch at the tar, with the intention of putting itself outside of him.
Failing in that, it generally shears off a limb before it sheers away.
Herds of sharks instinctively follow fever-ships, and when the dead are
thrown into the sea, are seen by the seamen in the shrouds, ready to
perform the office of Undertakers. In the vicinity of the Trades, they
sometimes lie under the counters of merchantmen for days together.
Nothing comes amiss to them, from a midshipman to a marrow-bone, and it
may be interesting to politicians to know that Repeaters and Rings have
occasionally been found in the maws of these monsters. They bite readily
at "Salt horse," and, when hooked with a rattan in throat, may be yanked
on board with the bight of a hawser. An enormous specimen sometimes gets
caught in a forecastle yarn. In this case, never interfere with the
thread of the narrative by asking impertinent questions, however
difficult it may be to hoist it in.</p>

<p>Sharks abound at Newport, Long Branch, Cape May, and other
watering-places, at this season of the year, and many victims are seized
there by the Legs. The Bottle-Nose Shark is to be found in every
harbor--generally in the vicinity of the Bar. He may be known from the
other varieties by the redness of his gills. He is often seen disporting
himself among the Shallows, but is usually too Deep to be pulled up.
White Sharks are frequently observed hovering about emigrant ships in
the vicinity of the Battery, and the Blue Shark is now and then hauled
up as far North as Mulberry Street, while trying, as it were, to get on
the other side of JOURDAN. In China, nobody objects to take the fin of a
Shark, but in this country, when a Shark extends his fin to an honest
man, it is always rejected with contempt. This voracious creature is
common both in the Temperate and Torrid Zones. It has, in fact, no
particular habitat, but is found in Diver's places in almost every
latitude.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>



<br><br>
<center>
<img alt="014.jpg (232K)" src="014.jpg" height="828" width="655">
</center>
<br><br>


<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>A MOTLEY MELODY.</h2>

<h4>AIR:  OLD MOTHER HUBBARD.</h4>
<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>

<p>  Feast-loving MOTLEY<br>
  Over a bottle he<br>
  Quite overlooks Uncle SAM.<br>
  He asks not for chink,<br>
  So JOHN BULL, with a wink,<br>
  "Alabama" proclaims All a bam.</p>

</td></tr>
</table>
</center>

<center>
<table summary="">
<tr><td>


<p>  When he goes to State dinners to fill out his skin,<br>
  <i>Amor Patriae</i> leaks out as the turtle goes in.</p>

<p>  When he hob-nobs with ministers--capital sport--All<br>
  our losses at Sea he condoneth in Port.</p>

<p>  When by Britons soft-soaped, he's delighted to lave<br>
  In the lather that's only laid on for a shave.</p>

<p>  When to Downing street called, with a bow and a scrape<br>
  He accepts, in the place of hard dollars, red tape.</p>

<p>  When a guest at the table of London's Lord Mayor,<br>
  He Tables our Claim while addressing the Chair.</p>

<p>  And whenever he mingles with transmarine nobs<br>
  He is always the PRINCE OF AMERICAN SNOBS.</p>

</td></tr>
</table>
</center>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>"SWALLOW, SWALLOW," ETC.</h2>

<p>THE inevitable "enormous gooseberry" of the provincial newspaper "local"
has made its appearance. It is smaller than usual, being only three
inches in circumference; but that is a great advantage to persons
desirous of swallowing it.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>TO WHOM IT MAY BE INTERESTING.</h2>

<p>AMONG the Japanese students in Rutger's College, there is one who revels
in the very suggestive name of HASHI-GUTCHI. Keepers of cheap
boarding-houses are warned against harboring that young man.</p>

<br><br><hr><br><br>

<h2>LETTER FROM A JAPANESE STUDENT.</h2>

<p>MR. PUNCHINELLO:--I knowee you, but you no knowee me.  My name
SOOGIWOORA. I Japanee young mans friend of Tycoon, great ruler. I read
muchee your paper. Sometimes it makee me laugh--sometimes cry. We have
also much funee mans in Japan. I come here with other Japanee young mans
to your college, what you call RUTGER'S, for learn to be great
statesman, for study--how you call--logeec and diplomacee, to makee
treatee. Much I readee your treatees and your policy much astudee. How
too much I can admire your great statesmans. Your SEWARD, he great
American mans, he gainee much territoree to the United States. He also
payee much for it. No gettee much in return. No matter. Americans rich
peoples. They tella me Alaska too cold. Japanee mans no could live there
then. Much snow and ice, big rocks, and--what you call--Fur Trees. How
that? Fur no grow on tree in Japan. Strange ting. Muchee animal they
say--what you call--walrus there. Perhaps Whale. That makee me to tink
of Mr. FEESH. He is deep, that FEESH. So deep I no can understand hims.
They tella me much other peoples no can understand hims too. He makee
much policee with his Foreign Relations. I ask a much people to tella me
who are his Foreign Relations. They laugh great deal and tella me Spain
and General PRIM. No knowee Spain countree in Japan. I no tink it much
of a countree, no havee muchee--how you call--Commerce. One ting puzzle
me great deal. Here much freedom. Sometimes I tink, too much. But that
Island--how you call it--Cuba. People tella me Spain cruel to that
island. Now I read muchee in the speeches and--how you call--State
papers, of great American mans, that your government is friend of--what
you call 'ems--two awfully hard word--Inglees very hard--Stop! I go get
book--O, now I have hims--Oppressed Nationalities. Now, you lettee Spain
buy--what you call--gunboats and big guns and powder and balls for
shoot, but you no lettee Cuba buy. I ask some peoples how that is. They
tella me Nootrality. Funny ting, Nootrality. Fraid Japanee mans stoopid,
no can understand hims now. Never mind. Learn bimeby.</p>

<p>Anoder ting. I no hear any one say General GRANT great mans. Only say he
go muchee to clam bake, go fishee and much smokee. Dat's all. Why you
makee him you ruler then? Because that he so much smokee? Tings much
different here from Japan. Tycoon or Mikado no go clam bake, no go
fishee. Stay at home and govern Japanee. No time go fishee. Only smoke
opium sometimes. Why General GRANT no smokee opium too? Good ting for
Japanee trade.</p>

<p>Since that I arrivee here much peoples aska me about hari-kari. One mans
he aska me if that what Japanee mans eat. I laugh great deal, and tella
him Japanee mans much prefer bird nest soup and shark fin. Then he laugh
much great deal too. Why? The other day I tread on Professor mans foot.
He old mans, much fat, with red nose and--how you call--gout. He swear
one little swear, but no much loud, and look much 'fended. I say him,
"No be 'fended," and proposee him hari-kari for--how you
call--satisfaction. He much sprise, and say, "What hari-kari?" Then I
tella hims that he should rip him ups and then I rip me ups--so. So
Japanee mans do when not satisfy. Then he laugh much great deal, say he
no 'fended, much satisfy, and shakee hands.</p>

<p>People here much friendly. Often say "Go drinkee with me." I say them I
no go drinkee. They aska me "why not?" I say them Japanee man no want go
talkee to lamp-post, shakee hands with pump, and try for makee light him
cigar with door-key. So it make American man do. Drinkee no good for
Japanee mans. Japanee TOMMY too much fond--what you call--cobblers.
TOMMY bad boy. Got drunks. Him kill.</p>

<p>Some American mans too much questions askee. Want know too much. We have
wild animal in Japan--what you call--Boar. We much fearee him. Run away
when come. So I fearee and run away when come mans that too much
questions ask. One ting puzzle me much. For why you call your money
shinplaster? I no can tell, unless that he walk away so fast.</p>

<p>SOOGIWOORA</p>

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