“The printing House of the United States.”

GEO. F. NESBITT & CO.,

General JOB PRINTERS,
  BLANK BOOK Manufacturers,
  
STATIONERS, Wholesale and Retail,
    LITHOGRAPHIC Engravers and
Printers,
     COPPER-PLATE Engravers and Printers,
      CARD
Manufacturers,
       ENVELOPE Manufacturers,
        FINE CUT
and COLOR Printers.

163, 165, 167, and 169 PEARL ST., 73, 75, 77, and 79
PINE ST., New-York.

ADVANTAGES. All on the same premises, and under the immediate supervision
of the proprietors.

To the manufacture of these fine Watches the Company have devoted all the
science and skill in the art at their command, and confidently claim that,
for fineness and beauty, no less than for the greater excellences of
mechanical and scientific correctness of design and execution, these
watches are unsurpassed any where.

In this country the manufacture of this fine grade of Watches is not even
attempted except at Waltham.

FOR SALE BY ALL LEADING JEWELLERS.

“Of late years it has become almost impossible to get any Cod-Liver Oil
that patients can digest, owing to the objectionable mode of procuring and
preparing the livers…. Moller, of Christiana, Norway, prepares an oil
which is perfectly pure, and in every respect all that can be wished.”
—DR. L.A. SATRE, before Academy of Medicine. See Medical Record,
December, 1869, p. 447.

All sizes and styles. Prices very moderate. Samples sent to any
responsible house. Also importers of the

Equal in quality to the best of the Havana market, and from ten to twenty
per cent cheaper. Restaurant, Bar, Hotel, and Saloon trade will save money
by calling at

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

The first number of which will be issued under date of April 2, 1870, and
thereafter weekly.

PUNCHINELLO will be National, and not local; and will
endeavor to become a household word in all parts of the country; and to
that end has secured a

in various sections of the Union, while its columns will always be open to
appropriate first-class literary and artistic talent.

PUNCHINELLO will be entirely original; humorous and witty, without
vulgarity, and satirical without malice. It will be printed on a superior
tinted paper of sixteen pages, size 13 by 9, and will be for sale by all
respectable newsdealers who have the judgment to know a good thing when
they see it, or by subscription from this office.

The Artistic department will be in charge of Henry L. Stephens, whose
celebrated cartoons in VANITY FAIR placed him in the front rank of
humorous artists, assisted by leading artists in their respective
specialties.

The management of the paper will be in the hands of WILLIAM A. STEPHENS,
with whom is associated CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY, both of whom were
identified with VANITY FAIR.

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.

Rejected communications can not be returned, unless postage-stamps are
inclosed.

Terms:

One copy, per year, in advance $4.00
Single copies, ten cents.
A
specimen copy will be mailed free upon the receipt of ten cents.
One
copy, with the Riverside Magazine, or any other magazine or paper price,
$2.50, for 5.50
One copy, with any magazine or paper price, $4, for
7.00

All communications, remittances, etc., to be addressed to

P. O. Box, 2783.

This is now the largest circulating Library in America, the number of
volumes on its shelves being 114,000. About 1000 volumes are added
each month; and very large purchases are made of all new and popular
works.

Books are delivered at members’ residences for five cents each delivery.

This great combination machine is the last and greatest improvement on all
former machines, making, in addition to all the work done on best
Lock-Stitch machines, beautiful

in all fabrics.
Machine, with finely finished

complete, $75. Same machine, without the buttonhole parts, $60. This last
is beyond all question the simplest, easiest to manage and to keep in
order, of any machine in the market. Machines warranted, and full
instruction given to purchasers.

his
nice little French drama has now been running at the FIFTH AVENUE THEATRE
more than seven weeks. It is the story of a man who killed the seducer of
his wife, and then forgave and received back again the guilty woman.

The same tragic farce was played in Washington some eleven years ago. The
actor who played the part of the outraged husband made an effective hit at
the time, but he has never repeated the performance. Since then he has
become a double-star actor in a wider field, There are those who insist
that he is an ill-starred actor in a general way; but as he has left the
country, we can leave those who regard his absence as a good riddance of
bad rubbish, and those who call it a Madriddance of good rubbish, to
discuss his merits at their leisure.

After the execution of unnecessary quantities of noisy overture by the
orchestra, the play begins. Soon after, the audience arrives. It is a rule
with our play-goers never to see the first scene of any drama. This rule
originates in a benevolent wish to permit the actors to slide gradually
into a consciousness that somebody is looking at them; thus saving them
from the possibility of stage-fright. Simple folks, who do not understand
the meaning of the custom, erroneously regard it as an evidence of
vulgarity and discourtesy.

The first act is not exciting. Mr. G.H. CLARKE, in irreproachable clothes,
(the clothes of this actor’s professional life become him, if any thing,
better than his acting,) offers his hand to FROU-FROU, a small girl with a
reckless display of back-hair, and is accepted, to the evident disgust of
her sensible sister, LOUISE.

Sympathetic Young Lady who adores that dear Mr. Clarke.—”How
sweetly pretty! Do the people on the stage talk just like the real
French aristocracy?”

Travelled friend, knowing that persons in the neighborhood are
listening for his reply—”Well, yes. To a certain extent, that
is.” (It suddenly occurring to him that nobody can know any thing about
the Legitimists, he says confidently.) “They haven’t the air, you
know, of the genuine old Legitimist noblesse. As to BONAPARTE’S
nobility, I don’t know much about them.”

He flatters himself that he has said a neat thing, but is posed by an
unexpected question from the Sympathetic Young Lady, who asks—“Who
are the great Legitimist families, nowadays?”

“Well, the—the—(can’t think of any name but St. Germain,
and so says boldly,) the St. Germains, and all the rest of ’em, you
know.” (He is sorely tempted to add the St. Clouds and the Luxembourgs,
but prudently refrains.)

The second act shows the husband lavishing every sort of tenderness and
jewelry upon the wife, who is developing a strong tendency to flirt. She
insists that her sister LOUISE shall join the family and accept the
position of Acting Assistant Wife and Mother, while she herself gives her
whole mind to innocent flirtation.

Worldly-wise Matron of evident experience—”The girl’s a fool.
Catch me taking a pretty sister into my house!”

Brutal Husband of the Matron suggests—”But she might have
done so much worse, my dear. Suppose she had given her husband a
mother-in-law as a housekeeper?”

Matron, with suppressed fury—”Very well, my dear. If you
can’t refrain from insulting dear mother, I shall leave you to sit out the
play alone.”

(Sh—sh—sh! from every body. Curtain rises again.) More
attentions to pretty wife, repaid by more flirtation at her husband’s
expense. Finally FROU-FROU decides that LOUISE manages the household so
admirably that misery must be the result. As a necessary consequence of
this logical conclusion, she rushes out of the house with a gesture
borrowed from RIP VAN WINKLE, and an expressed determination to elope.

Jocular Man remarks—”Now, then, CLARKE can go to Chicago, get
a divorce, and marry LOUISE.”

This practical suggestion is warmly reprobated by the ladies who
overhear it, one of whom remarks with withering scorn—”Some
people think it so smart to ridicule every thing. To my mind there
is nothing more vulgar.”

The Jocular Man, refusing to be withered, assures the Travelled Man
confidentially that—”The play is frightful trash, and as for the
acting, why, your little milliner in the Rue de la Paix could give MISS
ETHEL any odds you please. “(Both look as though they remembered some
delightfully improper Parisian dissipation, and in consequence rise
rapidly in the estimation of the respectable ladies who are within hearing.)

After the orchestra has given specimens of every modern composer, the
fourth act begins. FROU-FROU is found living at Venice with her lover. Her
husband surprises her. He is pale and weak; but, returning her the amount
of her dower, goes out to shoot the lover.

Rural Person announces as a startling discovery—”That’s Miss
AGNES ETHEL who’s a-playin’ FROW-FROW. Well, now, she ain’t nothin’ to
LYDDY THOMPSON.”

Jocular Man says to his Travelled Friend—”The idea of Miss
ETHEL trying to act like a French-woman! Did you hear how she pronounced
Monsieur?”

Travelled Man smiles weakly, conscious of the imperfections of his own
pronunciation. To his dismay, the Sympathetic Young Lady asks—”What
does that horrid man mean? How do you pronounce the word he talks about?”

Travelled Man, with desperation—”It ought to be pronounced m—m—m—”
(ending in an inaudible murmur.)

“What? I didn’t quite hear.”

The Travelled Man will catch at a straw. He does so, and says—”Excuse
me, but the curtain is rising.”

FROU-FROU, in a dying state and a black dress, with her back-hair neatly
arranged, is brought into her husband’s house to die. He kneels at her
feet. “You must not die. I am alone at fault. Forgive me sweet angel, and
live.” With the only gleam of good sense which she has yet shown,
FROU-FROU refuses to live, and dropping her head heavily on the arm of the
sofa, with a blind confidence that the thickness of her chignon will save
her from a fractured skull, she peremptorily dies.

Subdued sobs from the audience, with the single exception of the
Jocular Man, who says—”Well, if that’s moral, I don’t know
what’s immoral; and I did think I had lived long enough in Paris to know
that.”

With which opinion we heartily coincide, adding also the seriously
critical remark that though Messrs. DAVIDGE and LEWIS play their comic
parts with honest excellence, and though Mr. CLARKE is really a good actor
in spite of his popularity with the ladies of the audience, Miss ETHEL,
upon whom the whole play depends, is so obviously incompetent to personate
a brilliant and spirituelle Parisienne that one wonders at the
popularity of FROU-FROU. The majority of the audience are ladies. Can it
be that they like the play because it teaches that the sins of a pretty
woman should be condoned by her husband, provided she looks well with her
back-hair down?

MATADOR.

The City Aldermen have called in a body to pay their respects to
PUNCHINELLO. PUNCHINELLO has not returned the compliment, since he likes
neither their looks, their diamonds, or their diamond-cut-diamond ways.
They curb streets by resolution, but they have not resolution enough to
keep the streets from curbing them. They gutter highways, but oftenest let
Low Ways gutter them. They wear fine shirt-fronts, but resort to sorry and
disreputable shifts in order to procure them. They are gorgeously and
gorged-ly badged with the City Arms in gold, but no city arms open to
badger them with golden opinions; and, altogether, the Aldermen pass so
many bad things that PUNCHINELLO can afford to let them pass like bad
dimes, before they are nailed to the counter of that Public Opinion to
which they run counter.

Do they who took up the SEWARD intend to perish by the SEWARD?

[Footer: Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by the
PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY, in the Clerk’s Office of the District
Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New-York.]

Since the first publication of the hints to economically disposed
families, PUNCHINELLO has received a great number of letters from all
parts of the country, cordially indorsing his course. One gentleman writes
that he has already saved enough money from the diminution in the cost of
his wife’s pins (in consequence of her having adopted the plan of keeping
them stuck into a stuffed bag) to warrant him in subscribing to this paper
for a year. Many of the readers of our first number write us that they now
never take a meal except from a board, or a series of boards, supported by
legs, as PUNCHINELLO recommended. Highly encouraged by this evidence of
their usefulness, PUNCHINELLO hastens to offer further advice of the same
valuable character.

It may have been frequently noticed that all families require food at
certain intervals, generally three times a day, and in the case of
children even oftener. The cost of providing this food at the butcher,
baker, and provision shops is necessarily very great, and it is well,
then, to understand how a very good substitute for store-food may be
prepared at home. In order to make this preparation, procure from your
grocer’s a quantity of flour—ordinary wheat flour—buying much
or little, according to the size of your family. This must then be placed
in a tin-pan, and mixed with water, salt, and yeast, according to taste.
If the mass is now placed by the fire, a singular phenomenon will be
observed, to which it will be well to draw the attention of the whole
family; old and young will witness it with equal surprise and delight. The
whole body of the soft mixture will gradually rise and fill (and sometimes
even overflow) the pan! When not in view by the household, it will be well
to cover the pan with a cloth, on account of dust and roaches; but it must
be observed that a soft and warm bedlike arrangement will thus be formed, and if the
family cat should choose to make it her resting-place, the mixture will
not rise.

After this substance is sufficiently light and spongy, it must be taken
out of the pan and worked up into portions weighing a few pounds each. But
it must not be eaten in this condition, for it would be neither
palatable nor wholesome. It should be put in another pan and placed in the
oven. Then (if there be a fire in the stove or range) it will be soon
hardened and dried by the action of the heat, and will be fit to be eaten—provided
the foregoing conditions have been perfectly understood. When brought to
the table, it should be cut in slices and spread with molasses, jelly,
butter, or honey, and it will be found quite adequate to the relief of
ordinary hunger. A family which has once used this preparation will never
be content without it. Some persons have it at every meal.

PUNCHINELLO has read with great pleasure a recently published book, by
CATHARINE BEECHER, and her sister Mrs. STOWE, the object of which is to
teach ingenious folks how to make ordinary articles of household furniture
in their leisure hours. One article not mentioned by these ladies is
recommended by PUNCHINELLO to the attention of all economical families. It
having been observed that it is a highly useful practice to provide for
the regular recurrence of meals, bedtime and other household epochs, an
instrument which shall indicate the hour of the day will be of the
greatest advantage. Such a one may thus be made on rainy days or in the
long winter evenings. Procure some thin boards and construct a small box.
If it can be made pointed at one end, with two little towers to it, so
much the better. Make a glass door to it, and paste upon the lower part of
this a picture representing a scene in Spanish Germany. Paint a rose just
under the scene. Then get a lot of brass cog-wheels, and put them together
inside of the box. Arrange them so that they shall fit into each other and
wrap a string around one of them, to the end of which a lump of lead or
iron should be attached. Then put a piece of tin, with the hours painted
thereon, on the upper part of the box, behind the door, and get two long
bits of thin iron, one shorter than the other, and connect them, by means
of a hole in the middle of the tin, with the cog-wheels inside. Then shut
the door, and if this apparatus has been properly made, it will tell the
time of day. Any thing more convenient cannot be imagined, and the cost of
the brass, by the pound, will not be more than fifteen cents, while the
wood, the tin, and the iron may be had for about ten cents. In the shops
the completed article would be very much more costly.

In his “Hints” PUNCHINELLO always desires to remember the peculiar needs
of the ladies, and will now tell them something that he is sure will
please them. They have all found, in the course of their shopping, that it
is exceedingly difficult to procure at the dry goods stores, any sort of
fabric which is so woven as to fit the figure, and they must have
frequently experienced the necessity of cutting their purchases into
variously-shaped pieces and fastening them together again by means of a
thread. Here is an admirable plan for accomplishing this object. Take a
piece of fine steel wire and sharpen one end of it. Now bore a hole in the
other end, in which insert the thread. If the edges of the cloth are now
placed together, and the wire is forced through them, the operator will
find, to her delight and surprise, that the thread will readily follow it.
If the wire is thus passed through the stuff, backward and forward, a
great many times, the edges will be firmly united. It will be necessary,
on the occasion of the first puncture, to form a hard convolution at the
free end of the thread, so as to prevent it passing entirely through. This
method will be found much more convenient than the plan of punching holes
in the stuff and then sticking the ends of the thread through them. In the
latter case, the thread is almost certain to curl up, and cause great
annoyance.

The Philadelphia Day, on account of the immense success of
PUNCHINELLO.

Was the fight between the “blondes” and STOREY of Chicago a Fair fight?

A convention of milk dealers met this week at Croton Falls to prevent the
adulteration of milk by City dealers.

Commissioner Piegan, of Montana, submits the outline of a treaty with the
Indians, which embraces the following provisions, (the embracing of
provisions being strictly in character:)

1. No infant under three months of age, and no old man over one hundred
and ten, to be killed by either party in battle.
All women to be
killed on sight.
Where the small-pox is raging, the field to be left
to the Small-Pox.

2. Presents to Indians to consist chiefly of arms, ammunition, and whisky.

3. Liquor-sellers and apostles to be encouraged on equal terms.

4. Amateur sportsmen to be warned against killing Indians during the
breeding season.

5. Quakers and VINCENT COLLYER to be assigned to duty at Washington.

6. Four months’ notice to be given of any intended attack on a White camp.

7. In scalping a lady, the rights of property in waterfall and switch to
be sacredly regarded.

8. Declarations of love (during a campaign) to be submitted in writing.

9. The usual atrocities to be observed by both parties.

10. Hostilities to terminate when the last Indian lays down his tomahawk,
(to take a drink,) unless sooner shot by his white brethren, or removed to
a new reservation by the small-pox.

Action on this treaty is expected to take place in about ten years.

Ardent Lover. “THEN, WHY, OH! WHY, DO YOU SCORN MY HAND?”
Young
Lady. “I HAVE NO FAULT TO FIND WITH YOUR HAND, BUT I do OBJECT
TO YOUR FEET.”

It is now settled that PIERRE BONAPARTE, who has been sentenced by the
High Court of Tours to leave France, is coming to New-York with the
intention of opening a pistol-gallery in partnership with REDDY the
Blacksmith. As the Prince is known to have “polished off” at least four
men with his revolver, his reception by the occupants of “Murderer’s
Block” and other famous localities of the city will doubtless be very
enthusiastic. A suite of apartments is now being fitted up for his
accommodation in East-Houston Street—The rooms are very tastefully
decorated with portraits of the late lamented BILLY MULLIGAN and other
celebrated knights of the trigger. The Prince, it is understood, will drop
his title on his arrival here, and enter society as plain PETER BONAPARTE—thus
Englishing PIERRE, because it is French for stone, and he thinks that his
exploits entitle him to take rank in New-York as a Brick.

HATCHET.

“CANARY laid”

DR. LORD, in a lecture lately delivered by him in Boston, on PHILIPPA, the
mother of the BLACK PRINCE, (who was a white woman,) told about JANE,
Countess of MONTFORT, (you all know who she was,) and how She once
defended a fortress and defied a phalanx with eminent success. Of her the
lecturer said,

She did that, did she, this JANE of old? Tut, sir! that’s nothing to our
modern JANES, crowds of whom are now yearning to stand “foremost in the
breeches.”

BILL TWEED.

ENGLAND has a Bleak house, but New-York has a Bleecker street.

One of the sisters of Sorosis, at the last meeting of the club, was
delivered of the following touching “Impromptu on some beautiful bouquets
of flowers:”

“With hungry eyes we glanced adown
The table nicely spread;
Our appetites were very keen,
And not one word was said,

“Till of a sudden “Ohs!” and “Ahs!”
Gave token of delight,
As,
from a magic flower-bed.
Bright buds appeared in sight.

“May this sweet thought suggest the way
In which to spend life’s
hours;
And we endeavor every day
To scatter fragrant flowers.”

The first verse reminds us not a little of several olden nursery rhymes of
a prandial and convivial character, of which the most prominent is that
relating to little JACK HORNER, who sat in a corner eating a Christmas
pie. But even he is not described as having “hungry eyes,” though there is
small doubt but that he had a good appetite, and was “hungry o’ the
stomach.” It is pleasant to know that the table was nicely spread, though
not as “keen appetites” would have demanded, with bread and butter; but,
as the subject calls for, with flowers—food of a very proper
character for hungry eyes to feed upon. Nor is it any wonder that those of
the sisterhood who went to the table expecting to find something more
substantial than flowers set before them, should at first sight have been
unable to utter one word. And only, after their first astonishment and
disappointment was over, the magical letters O’s and R’s, which, we may
presume, was a short way of calling for Old Rum, to restore their drooping
spirits, though our poetess, with a woman’s perverseness, would have us
believe they were intended as “tokens of delight.”

Of the last verse we can only say that it is an evident plagiarism of the
well-known juvenile poem, commencing,

“How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And
gather honey all the day
From every opening flower!”

We confess, though, that we are unable to discover the “sweet thought”
that is to “suggest the way”

“In which to spend life’s hours!”

Moreover, we believe it would be tiresome and monotonous to be occupied
“every day” in scattering “fragrant flowers,” even if we were certain that
the lovely members of Sorosis would regard them with “tokens of delight.”

We regard this Impromptu as a failure, and call upon ALICE, and PHEBE, and
CELIA, and other tuneful members of the Sorosis Club to come to the rescue
of their unfortunate sister—the perpetrator of the above verses.

Our sheriff’s initials—J.O.B.

Lie with your head to the (y)east.

Is the “Emerald Ring” a Fenian Circle?

It is hardly probable that General GRANT will dismiss FISH from the
Cabinet during Lent.

THE REAL ESTATE OF WOMAN.

DEAR PUNCHINELLO: We would not for the World—no, nor even for
PUNCHINELLO—cast any reproaches upon the vigorous movement made in
these latter days to find the real estate of woman; but why, tell us why,
should we find enlisted in this cause at present, as members of the
various Sorosis-ters, so many single sisters with pretensions to
youth?

We have always looked upon the champions of woman’s righteousness, those
who believe in the fee-male absolute as the real estate of woman,
as principally married women, whose housekeeping has proved a failure,
(except in the single item of hot water,) and certain ladies who have
lived to mature age without reference to men, and whom no man would take
even with the best of reference.

There surely must be something wrong, somewhere, when those in the younger
walks of age take on this armor.

Where is the need?

Why should they who have never had their young lives blighted by a husband
linger pathetically over the tyranny of the sterner sex?

Instead of shedding all these tears over other people’s husbands, they
ought rather to rejoice that they have been spared such inflictions in the
past, and give exceeding great thanks that they are beyond danger of such
in the future.

There may be other young women (if I may so speak) who are so heart-broken
because of the oppression of their sex, as wives, so disgusted with the
state matrimonial under the present constitution of society, that they
would not marry—oh! no.

Now, we all remember the cogent reason why John refused to partake of his
evening repast, and we assure these young persons that they have nothing
whatever to fear. The danger is past, and they are safe beyond the
possibility of a peradventure.

They are not the kind that men devour. And yet we can not help feeling
pity for them; their experience has been trying, but in vain; they
know what it is “to suffer and be strong”-minded; they have learned “to
labor and to wait,” and it is well; for in all probability they will wait
for some time.

It may be that the poor creatures are afflicted by the thought that perhaps
they may be called upon to make warning examples of themselves, and marry;
and that perhaps the man they marry may be a tyrant, and—but
the contingency is too remote.

Some tell us that their youthful ardor is to uphold the standard of
woman’s mission: they want to work.

Well, all we can say is—go it! for under the circumstances,
with no one to work for them, the best possible thing they can do is to
work for themselves. But couldn’t they do more, or at least as much,
without so much noise? If they only had plenty to do, and not so much
spare time to talk about what they are going to do, wouldn’t they be
better off, and poor frail man be the gainer thereby?

If they could only resolve upon such a course, and stick to it, don’t you
think they would receive more aid, material and moral?

Many would gladly contribute of their substance in such a cause, with
overflowing hearts; and the world of man will gladly guarantee to those
who avow their determination not to marry, entire immunity from any
temptation in that direction.

As to the rest—those weak creatures who will be satisfied
with good husbands and broad home-missions—they know no better; they
will continue to move in their limited spheres, benighted but happy, and
every thing will be satisfactory.

Lawyers tell us that since the statutes of 1848, a woman’s real estate
has been within her own control; we take a broader view: we think it always
has been within her own control by virtue of that old first statute given
to our gentle mother, EVE.

AN OLD BAILEY PRACTITIONER.

In England they have an institution called the Old Bailey. It dealt from
time immemorial in such queer animals as “four-footed recognizances,” and
in such strong assistance to justice as “straw bail” affords. The
court-room of the Old Bailey may be called a historical vat of crime.
Until recently, New-York was Old Bailey-less. Now detectives go about the
streets singing an air which reminds one forcibly of the tune called
“Unfortunate Miss BAILEY,” only that it is Mister BAILEY they have missed.
Old BAILEY is really like JOHN GILPIN in two respects; all rumors about
him begin by calling him “a citizen of credit and renown;” and they
generally end by referring to him as a man who was gone to “dine at—where?”

Our New-York Old BAILEY has disappeared. Either the FULLERTON earthquake
has swallowed him up, or he has gone to the unknown land to which most
Spiritual mediums migrate. There never was a greater Spiritual medium than
Old BAILEY. He has had spirits on the brain during several years past. He
throve on spirits. He had only to rap on casks of spirits, and greenbacks
would rustle therefrom like trailing garments out of the Spirit-world. He
had assistant mediums in all the Federal officers. And now the question
asked of Commissioner DELANO, (who, by the way, in this respect would
gladly become DELA-yes) is “Canst thou call ‘spirits from the vasty deep?’
and if thou canst, where is Old BAILEY?” Banker CLEWS is one of his
sureties, but he owns no Clews to his principal’s whereabouts. Do not
PUNCHINELLO’S subjects all know that whisk brooms sweep clean, and that no
broom swept cleaner the Augean stables of Federal plunderers than that
wretched Old BAILEY’S whisky broom? There is, however, an old proverb
which claims that industrious brooms soon wear out. But BAILEY is unlike a
broom, in that no one can find a handle to his whereabouts.

PUNCHINELLO has heard a great deal about the practice of the Old Bailey in
London. He thinks it likely that so long as the Administration continues
to protect Federal plunderers, and to cover their tracks by attacks
against alleged city and State abuses, these Old Bailey practices recently
introduced into the United States Courts and United States procedure,
within or without revenue offices, must soon entitle a large number of
Federal officers, all over the country, to be happily styled “Old Bailey
Practitioners.”

Thus spake the old Republican Machiavel, THURLOW WEED, a day or two since,
to W.H. SEWARD, the sly old fox with the “little bell.”

“TWEED ‘l win.”

“Tweedle-dee!” retorted SEWARD. “What d’ye mean by that?”

“I mean,” rejoined THURLOW, that his name, T. WEED, is identical with one
that erstwhile loomed largest in the sovereignty of the State of
New-York.”

SEWARD smiled.

PHILADELVINGS.

“Mother! mother!” screamed a little girl from above stairs to her maternal
parent in the parlor. “Mother, I’ve been crying ever so long, and HANNAH
won’t pacify me!” And now PUNCHINELLO notices that it is not only little
girls who act in this charming manner; for the Hon. WILLIAM D. KELLEY, of
Philadelphia, has just screamed over the Congressional banisters that he
must be pacified, or he will no longer serve the good people of the Fourth
District of Pennsylvania. Therefore some fifteen hundred of his
constituents have written him a letter, and have said to him, “Dat he
sall, de poo itty-witty darling-warling, have his placey-wacey as
longey-wongey as he wants it, and the nasty- wasty one-legged soldiers
sha’n’t trouble him for situations any more, so they sha’n’t.” So the poor
fellow straightens himself up, ceases his sobbing, and consents to.be
pacified and take his three thousand a year for a little while longer.
This may do very well for once in a while; but the Honorable WILLIAM D.
announces that, not only does he desire to be pacified in regard to the
people who expect him to get them situations, but that he wants to be with
his family for more than six months in a year, and that his property
affairs are a little mixed. Now, what if he should ask, next time, that
his family shall be assigned apartments in the Capitol, and that he shall
be put on the Grant Category, and be presented with an estate by his
grateful constituents? And suppose he should declare that he would serve
no more unless General LOGAN should be included among the number of those
from whose importunities he is to be defended? The good Irish blood of
WILLIAM D. has always boiled at the sound of the slogan, for it generally
means fight, and he wants—pacifying. PUNCHINELLO respectfully
presents his condolences to the people of the Fourth District of
Pennsylvania, and hopes that they will have a happy time of it with
WILLIAM D.

He has also noticed that the Philadelphians are having a lively and
brotherly dispute over their new public buildings; they don’t know where
to put them. Most of the citizens are very much opposed to doing any thing
on the square; that is to say, Independence Square, where the citizens
assert their freedom by treading down all the grass, and making a mud-flat
of what was intended to be a turfy lawn. Some folks want the buildings on
PENN Square—so called because it is split in the middle, and answers
its intended purposes only on paper. But the good Quakers hate to
interfere with the rights of the blacks, whether they be men or women, and
so many of the latter make this square their abiding place every summer,
that it would seem like a violation of the spirit of the Fifteenth
Amendment to disturb them. But there is no doubt that the good
Philadelphians will have their new buildings some day, for they are very
enterprising. Witness the disposition of one of their leading men,
“Slushy” SMITH by name, who wants fifty thousand dollars with which to
open an avenue from the Delaware to Sixth street, basing his claims upon
the fact that such avenue will lead to Fairmount Park! Now, as the nearest
point of the park is two miles and a half from Sixth street, the vigor of
the scheme and the foreseeing character of the projectors are worthy of a
metropolis.

PUNCHINELLO is furthermore delighted to see that a son of PENN has decided
the great question of the Pope’s infallibility, which so vexes our
OEcumenical fellow-creatures. POPE has been beheaded at Harrisburg, and of
course there is no further need to discuss his infallibility. When a man
loses his head, he is fallible. To be sure, the case was only one of a
picture of GRANT and his Generals, which hung in the State Library, and in
which POPE’S head was painted out, and Governor GEARY’S substituted; but
the act shows, on the part of the adherents of the leaden-legged governor,
a head-strong determination to proceed to extremities which has given rise
to the gravest apprehensions; but PUNCHINELLO hopes for the best. It is
expected that the Legislature will soon compel the inhabitants of the City
of Fraternites to send their children to school, whether they like it or
not. This is certainly progression, and PUNCHINELLO now looks confidently
forward to a law compelling all Philadelphians to wash their pavements
twice a day; to have white marble front-steps (without railings) to all
their houses; to build said houses entirely of red brick, with green
shutters; to make their sidewalks of similar bricks, laid unevenly, to
agitate passers-by and so prevent dyspepsia, and that each house shall
have at least one little gutter running over its pavement.

BOUCICAULT when he wrote the play.

FRIEND PUNCHINELLO:

Thee is right welcome; but thee should look upon this as a city of
Friends, and not place it in thy wicked pages, but rather in thy Good
Books—all the more since thee claims to exalt the good things
pertaining to pen and pencil, and this is the great City of Penn and
Pennsylvania.

If thee should come this way next summer, to ruralize, thee might behold
our swollen Schuylkill, and say, Enough! Thee might see our City Fathers,
and say, Good! Doubtless thee has heard of our butter? Well, thee might
then taste it, and also say, Good!—if thee likes. It is cheap. Thee
will understand me, friend, that it is cheap to say “Good” and good to say
“Cheap.”

If thee will but talk “plain language,” thee may circulate freely in our
streets, and behold our horses and dogs rubbing noses against the
fountains; nay, refreshing themselves thereat by the sight and sound of
little water!

Cruelty to Animals is Prevented—but thee knows this; for has thee
not thy BERGH? Thee does with one BERGH, but we have two—Pittsburg
and Harrisburg—and, moreover, a proverb which says, “Every man
thinketh his own goose a SWANN” If thee needs, we can spare thee
Harrisburg, and trust to the laws of Providence.

But, friend PUNCHINELLO, if thee comes here, thee must be careful what
thee does. If thee does nothing, thee may be restrained. Thrift
accords not with idleness.

We permit none but official corner loungers and “dead beats;” and, having
a very FOX for a Mayor—whose police are sharp as steel traps—thee
comes into danger, unless thee be a Repeater. True, thee might disguise
thyself in liquor and—as friend Fox taketh none—escape.

This epistle is written out of kindly regard for thee, and because the
Spirit moveth me to wish thee well and a long life; although thee may not
live long enough to behold our new Public Buildings, the site of which no
man living can foresee.

There are as good Fish in the sea as ever were caught.

The Black man in the White house.

A leather-dealer in the “Swamp” writes to us, asking whether we cannot
administer a good leathering to the prowlers who infest that district at
night. We don’t know. Had rather not interfere. Suppose the poor thieves
find good Hiding-places there. Let the leatherist guard his premises with
a good-sized Black—and tan.

The Southern papers announce that cane-planting is generally finished,
which is more than can be said in this section, where it looks as though
the cane was about to usurp the place of the pen. We are not surprised,
however, to be informed that not half as much cane has been planted in the
South this year as there was last season, owing to the fact, no doubt,
that the Government has gone into the business of “raising Cain” so
extensively in that section.

What is the difference between the leading equestrienne at the
Circus and ROSA BONHEUR?

The one is known as the “Fair Horsewoman;” the other, as the “Horse Fair
Woman.”

Any fight that gets into the illustrated papers.

It is proposed to transport passengers by means of the pneumatic tunnel.
In view of the dampness of this subterranean way, would it not be proper
to call it the Rheumatic tunnel?

It has been suggested that should a select party from the Fee-jee Islands,
who never before had wandered from their own delightful home, be thrown
into London, they might immediately erect the copper-colored flag, or
whatever their national ensign might be, and take possession of that
populous locality by right of discovery. So, in like manner, should you
leave your umbrella where it would be likely to be discovered—say in
a restaurant, or even in your own hall—the fortunate and
enterprising explorer who should happen to discover it would have in his
favor the nine points of the law that come with possession, and the
remaining points by right of discovery—a good thing for dealers in
umbrellas, but bad for that small portion of the general public not
addicted to petty larceny.

DICKENS, in one of his Christmas stories, tells us of an umbrella that a
man tried to get rid of: he gave it away; he sold it; he lost it; but it
invariably came back; despite his moat strenuous exertions, like bad incubi,
it remained upon his hands.

This strange incident does not come within our present treatise; it is of
the supernatural, and we are seeking to write the natural history of the
umbrella.

The man who, has an umbrella that has grown old in his service is a
curiosity—so is the umbrella. If a man borrow an umbrella, it is not
expected that he will ever return it; he is a polite and refined
mendicant. If a man lend an umbrella, it is understood that he has no
further use for it; he is a generous donor whose right hand knows not what
his left hand doeth—neither does his left hand.

A reform with regard to umbrellas has lately been attempted. A very
expressive and ingenious stand has been patented, in which if an umbrella
be once impaled there is no chance of its abduction except by the hands of
its rightful owner. A friend of ours, who owned such a one, placed all his
umbrellas in its charge, and went his way joyfully with the keys in his
pocket. During his absence, a facetious burglar called and removed
umbrellas, stand, and all. Our friend concludes that it is cheaper to lend
umbrellas by retail.

Despite the apparent severity of these remarks, there may be much romance
connected with the umbrella. Many a young man immersed in love has blessed
the umbrella that it has been his privilege to carry over the head of a
certain young lady caught in a shower. In such a case the umbrella may be
the means of cementing hearts. Two young hearts bound together by an
umbrella—think of it, ye dealers in poetical rhapsodies, and grieve
that the discovery was not yours!

How many agreeable chats have taken place beneath the umbrella! how many a
confessio amantis has ascended with sweet savor into the dome of
the umbrella and consecrated it for ever!

The romance alluded to may be spoiled if there be great disparity in
height. If the lady be very tall and you be very short, (so that you can’t
afford to ride in an omnibus,) you will be apt to spoil a new hat; and if,
on the other hand, the lady be very short and you be very tall, you will
probably ruin a spring bonnet and break off the match.

Again, if you should happen to carry an umbrella of the vast blue style—to
your own disgust and the amusement of the multitude—and, under such
circumstances, you meet a particular lady friend, your best course will be
to pass rapidly by, screening yourself from observation as much as
possible.

It would also be awkward should the day be windy, and, as you advance with
a winning smile to offer an asylum to the stricken dear, the
umbrella should blow inside out.

The poet has raised the umbrella still higher by making it the symbol of
the marriage tie. He says,

“Just as to a big umbrella
Is the handle when ’tis raining.
So
unto a man is woman.
Though, the handle bears the burden,
‘Tis
the top keeps all the rain off;
Though the top gets all the
wetting,
‘Tis the handle still supports it.
So the top is good
for nothing
If there isn’t any handle;
And the case holds vice
versa.”

All will appreciate the delicate pathos of the simile. Speaking of similes
reminds us that there is one on Broadway. An enterprising merchant has for
his sign an American eagle carrying an umbrella.

Imagine the American eagle carrying an umbrella! As well imagine JULIUS CæSAR
in shooting-jacket and NAPOLEON-boots. The sign was put up in war times,
and was, of course, intended as a Sign of the times, squalls being
prevalent and umbrellas needed. Now that the squalls are over, let us hope
that the umbrella may speedily come down. Just here we close ours.

ALAS! POOR CUBA!

Messrs. Fish and Sumner. “LET HER STAY OUT IN THE COLD.”

CAPTAIN EYRE’S conduct has raised the Ire of the whole civilized world.

THE Collector of the Thirty-second District is charged with having
committed larceny as Bailee.

THE DESCENT OF THE GREAT MASSACHUSETTS FROG UPON THE NEWSPAPER FLIES.

o-day I’m sixty-nine—an
Old Boy. But, bless you! I was three times as old—I thought so then—when
I entered on my nineteenth year. I tell you, boys—but perhaps you
know it already—that the oldest figure we ever reach in this world,
the point at which we can look over the head of METHUSELAH as easy as you
can squint at the pretty girls, is at eighteen and nineteen. Every body
else around about that time amounts to little, and less, and nothing at
all. What’s the “old man”—your father, at forty-five—but an
old fogy who doesn’t understand things at all? Of course not; how could he
be expected to? He didn’t have the modern advantages. He didn’t go to
school at five, the dancing academy at seven; nor did he give stunning
birthday parties at nine—not he. He didn’t wear Paris kid-gloves in
the nursery, learn to swear at the tailor at ten, smoke and “swell” at
twelve, and flirt at Long Branch, Newport, or Saratoga at thirteen. The
truth is—you think so—the Old Man was brought up “slow.” And,
to tell the truth, you had much rather not be seen with him outside the
house.

You are “one of the boys” now. I was, fifty years since. A long time ago,
that; but I’ve lived long enough to see and know that I was a great fool
then. You’ll come to that, if you don’t run to seed before. I see now that
what I then thought was smartness, was mere smoke; and it was a great deal
of smoke with the smallest quantity of fire. The people I thought amounted
to nothing, and whom I symbolized with a cipher, were merely reflections
of my own small, addled brain. I, too, thought the old man slow, passé,
stupid. I took him for a muff. He must have known I was twice that. What
does one of the boys at nineteen care for advice? I didn’t—you
don’t. It went in at the right ear and out over the left shoulder. Old
gent said he’d been there; I said I was going. I did go. So did his money.
My talent—if that’s what you call it—was centrifugal, not
centripetal. I was a radical out-and-outer, as to funds. I made lots of
friends—you should have seen them. They swarmed— when there
was any thing in my pocket. They left me alone in solitude at other times.
At twenty-nine I got pretty well along in life. But I find I did not know
so much as at nineteen. I had seen something of the world, and also
something of myself. The more I saw and studied the latter individual, the
less I thought of him. I began sincerely to believe he was a humbug. At
thirty-nine, I knew he was; or rather had been. By that time he had begun
to mend—had he? He had married, and there was call for mending,
equally as to ways, means, and garments. From that hour I cultivated in
different fields. My wild oats were all raked in. I was getting
away from nineteen very rapidly—happily receding from the boy of that
period. Mrs. BROWNGREEN beheld a man devoted to domestics and the dailies.
The clubs I left behind me—twice a week. I was at home early—in
the morning. I kept careful watch of my goings and comings—so did my
curious neighbors. I had my family around me— also sheriffs and
trades-people. I stood tolerably well in the community; for I was straight
in those times even when in straits. But there was one stand I never did
like to take—anywhere in sight of my tailors. They were ungrateful.
I gave them any amount of patronage, and they turned on me and
wanted me to pay for it. That’s the way of the world. It wants much, and
it wants it long; and when its bills come in, it is found to be the latter
dimensions with an emphasis.

Well, boys, when you get out of the nineteens, you will begin to learn
something. First of all, that you don’t know much of any thing. That’s the
beginning of wisdom, though twenty is pretty well on to begin at a good
school. You will learn that frogs are not so large as elephants, and that
a gas-bag is sure to end in a collapse. You will learn that the greatest
fool is he who thinks he sees such in everybody else. You will learn that
all women are not angels, nor all people older than yourself “old
fogies.” You will see that humanity—or its best type—is not
made of equal parts of assurance, twenty-five cent cigars, Otard punches,
swallow-tail coats, and flash jewelry; and that the chances, in the
proportion of nine to one, are that “one of the boys” at nineteen is one
of the noodlest of noodles.

              Truly,               JEREMIAH BROWNGREEN,

Indians were the first inhabitants of this country. “Lo!” was the first,
only, and original aboriginal. His statue may be seen outside of almost
any cigar-store. His descendants are still called “Low,” though often over
six feet in height. The Indian is generally red, but in time of war he
becomes a “yeller.” He lives in the forest, and is often “up a tree.”
Indians believe in ghosts, and when the Spirit moves them, they move the
Spirits. (N.B. They have no excise law.) They have an objection to crooked
paths, preferring to take every thing “straight.” Although fond of rum,
they do not possess the Spirit of the old Rum-uns. They are deficient in
all metals except brass. This they have in large quantities. The Indian is
very benevolent; and believing that “uneasy lies the head that wears a
crown,” he often scalps his friends to allow them to sleep better. This is
touching in the extreme. He is also very hospitable, often treating his
captives to a hot Stake. This is also touching—especially to the
captive. He is very ingenious in inventing new modes of locomotion. Riding
on a rail is one of these. This is done after dinner, in order to aid the
digestion, although they often “settle your hash” in a different way.
Indians are independent, and can “paddle their own canoes.” It is very
picturesque to see an Indian, who is a little elevated, in a Tight canoe
when the water is High. (No allusion to LONGFELLOW’S “Higherwater” is
intended.) Indians are pretty good shots, often shooting rapids. Their aim
is correct; but as Miss CAPULET observes, “What’s in an aim?” (Answer in
our next.) They are also skilful with the long-bow. This does not,
however, indicate that they take an arrow view of things. Not at all.
Sometimes, when reduced by famine, they live on arrow-root. Sometimes they
dip the points of their arrows in perfume, after which they (the arrows,
not the Indians) are Scent. That this fact was known to Mr. SHAKESPEARE is
shown by his line,

What is meant by the allusion to wheat is not quite clear; but it probably
refers to old Rye. An Indian may be called the Bow ideal of a man. And
then, again, he may not. It is a bad habit to call names. The Western
people have given up the Bow, but still retain the Bowie. “Hang up the
fiddle and the bow,” (BYRON.) Perhaps it is arrowing to their feelings.
Perhaps it is not. The Indian is different from the Girl of the Period. He
has “two strings to his bow,” while she has two beaux “on a string.”

When the Daily Trombone warns the POPE of Rome that his course is
prejudicial to the interests of true Catholics, the venerable prelate
doubtless adopts a new policy forthwith. When the Evening Slasher
informs NAPOLEON that unless he conciliates the people of France his
dynasty will be overthrown, the Emperor doubtless at once confers with his
Minister of State concerning the advice thus proffered. When the Morning
Pontoon warns VICTORIA that her persistent seclusion is damaging to
the cause of the throne, Her Gracious Majesty, without doubt, changes her
habits of life instanter. When the Sunday Blowpipe sagely informs
BISMARCK that he is a blunderer, the great diplomatist is probably thrown
into convulsions by the appalling intelligence. When the Weekly
Gasmeter coolly accuses the Czar of Russia of insincerity and
double-dealing, that potentate doubtless writes a private note to the
editor, defending his honor and policy. When the Gridiron advises
VICTOR EMMANUEL to be less rigid in his diplomacy, or he will regret it,
beyond question V.E., alarmed and chagrined, reverses his policy in
accordance with the advice tendered. When the Daily Pumpkin informs
GRANT that the people are disappointed in him, he simply smokes.

An English exchange speaks of the Emperor of Russia as “a queer fish.”
Must we infer from this that he is a Czar-dine?

RATHER A HARD HIT.
Emily, (in conflict with the new
Parson.) “THAT FASHIONS MAY BE CARRIED TO EXTREMES, I ADMIT; BUT
WOMEN, AT LEAST, TRY TO DISPLAY their PHRENOLOGICAL DEVELOPMENTS TO
THE BEST ADVANTAGE.”

We are frequently asked what is the difference between High Church and Low
Church?

We inquired of a Low Churchman for his definition of a High Churchman.

Well, said he, a High Churchman is a——Well, he is a——Well,
I should say he was a——Well, hang me, he is a——a
High Old Pharisee.

We next inquired of a High Churchman what made a brother Low Churchman?

Well, he is a——Well, I say he is a——Well, some
people call him a——Yes, he is a——Well, he is a
darned Low Pharisee.

We hope our efforts in getting at the truth are eminently satisfactory to
all interested, as they are to us.

One of the correspondents speaks of being ushered into the august presence
of the President. April presence would have been the more appropriate
expression—not to say First of April presence.

The Philadelphia Day.

About the first of the month look out for squalls and damp weather. The
sun’s rays may be warm, but the beefsteak will be cold. There will be more
or less cloudy days throughout the month—especially more. If the
mornings are not foggy, they will be clear—that is, if the almanacs
are not steeped to the covers in deceit. If we prophesy pleasant weather,
and it should prove stormy and disagreeable, you can have redress by
calling at the office of PUNCHINELLO.

The Tribune extenuates the defalcations of Collector BAILEY, on the
ground that “he fought the crowd” (other revenue defaulters) “zealously,
effectively, persistently,” etc. Suppose that Mr. GREELEY, while pursuing
his wild career in the dire places of the city, should fall in with a gang
of pickpockets, and get hustled. Suppose that a strong fellow came along
and drove away the thieves. Suppose that the strong fellow then “went
through” Mr. GREELEY, and eased him of his purse, watch, and magnificent
diamond jewelry. Would Mr. GREELEY extenuate the outrage because the
strong fellow had previously “fought the crowd zealously, effectively,
persistently”?

The California Bank went back on the greenbacks. Congress, being not so
green, went back on the California Bank Ring. It was not a Ring of the
true metal.

Wine merchants should never advertise. “Good Wine needs no Push.”

Comparative osteology has ever been a favorite study with PUNCHINELLO in
his lighter hours. He loves to compare a broiled bone with a devilled
bone, and thinks them both good; but he fails to hit upon an adequate
comparison for the boiled bones that poison the air of certain city
localities with their concentrated stenches. Why don’t the Health
Inspectors make a descent upon the boilers of bones, and Bone their
boilers?

That most of the so-called foreign wines sold here are made in New-Jersey,
is proved by the strong Bergen-dy flavor possessed by them.

Sutro, having bored Congress to grant him a royalty on all the ore taken
out of the Comstock lode, now proposes to bore the Nevada mountains. He
says there are loads of silver in that lode. The principal metal thus far
shown by SUTRO is native brass. SUTRUO asks only the Letter of the law—the
royal—T.

Does it follow that a FREAR charter will secure a Freer municipal
election?

BOOK NOTICES.

A BATTLE OF THE BOOKS. Edited and published by GAIL HAMILTON. New York:
HURD & HOUGHTON.

A regular equinoctial Gail goes whirling and tearing through tin leaves of
this smart book. Its aim is to riddle and rip up the system by which
certain publishing houses crush authors, and defraud them of their proper
dues. The book is written with spirit, and has been issued in a very
attractive form by the Riverside Press.

HANS BRETTMANN IN CHURCH, WITH OTHER NEW BALLADS. By CHARLES G. LELAND.
Philadelphia: T.B. PETERSON & BROTHERS.

Mr. LELAND, so well known as one of the most learned of our German
scholars, has made a specialty of the character known in this country as a
“Dutchman.” The little volume under notice, which has been very tastefully
set forth by Messrs. PETERSON, contains much amusing matter, couched in
that queer compound of German and English in the manufacture of which Mr.
LELAND excels.

We are indebted to Messrs. GURNEY & SON for a number of photographs of
public characters, executed in the best manner of the art. The “mugs”
issued by Messrs. GURNEY are quite equal, if not superior, to that most
celebrated of all mugs, the “Holy Grail.”

ction in Congress has not
been very lively of late. It is Lent; and the exhilarating sort of
entertainment provided by the “high requiem” of a SUMNER, or the wild
warbling of a DRAKE, is considered to be unseasonable. The Senate is not a
faster, though Senator SUMMER’S tongue goes faster than any body else’s in
it; nor yet a prayer, though Senator YATES is undeniably Prairie in his
oratory; but it is a humiliation. As Lord ASHBURNHAM well remarked when he
saw it in its fresh hey-day, we may repeat in its old salt-hay-day, “‘Pon
mee sole, uno, it is a pudding-headed lot of duffers.”

PUNCHINELLO finds nothing to make his weekly abstract and brief chronicle
of this asylum for elderly and uninteresting lunatics about without making
it too weakly. In the language of Bishop POTTER, when asked by the Rev.
Dr. DIX what he would do in the event of a heart turning up, “I’ll pass”
to—

which never fails to amuse and instruct. Mr. COX has been making a
shocking speech about the tariff. Mr. COX remarked that he once thought
there was nothing like it. But I have been travelling about since, he
said, with a summer-mote in my own buck eye in search of Winter Sunbeams
in my Corsican brother’s. I have been in Corsica, and of Corsican find a
parallel of the latitude of this tariff in the leg ends of the robbers, by
which I do not mean the ankles of the Forty Thieves, whom I had the
pleasure of seeing in company with my “constituents of the Sixth
Congressional District of the City of New-York. ” Well, then, there was a
robber in Corsica of the name of PELEG HIGGINS, who found that his
business in the Robbin Rednest line was suffering from the opposition of
several other robbers in the neighbor and robbin’ hood, who “went through”
his victims, to use an expressive phrase common among my constituents,
before he had his chance. PELEG thereupon went to the priest of the
parish, who assessed the sins of the robbers of that vicinity, and offered
him half the proceeds of his future crimes if he would increase his tariff
of penances on the opposition firms. The priest drew up a schedule of the
Whole Duties of Man. It was practically prohibitory on murders, and
robberies were assessed from sixty to eighty per cent ad valorem.
The other robbers remonstrated. The priest said he would protect his
parishioners. PELEG is now very much respected, and owns an iron and log
rolling establishment. The other robbers were driven out of the business.
That, Mr. COX said, was the origin of the Protective Tariff.

Mr. KELLEY wished to know how much British Gold Mr. COX had received for
his infamous harangue. As for him, he was bound to protect his
constituents (Mr. COX, “Parishioners;” and laughter on the Democratic, or
other, side of Mr. KELLEY’S mouth.) As to the charge that he was behind
the age, it was absurd. Every Philadelphian knew that nobody could be
behind the Age. He advocated the principle expressed by the Pennsylvanian
bard,

You tickle me and
I’ll tickle you.

Mr. LOGAN said the army ought to be reduced; and he treated with scorn
General SHERMAN’S intimation that it ought not to be reduced. General
SHERMAN had once told him that there was a Major-General whom the army
could spare. He (LOGAN) was a Major-General at the time. He did not know
whom General SHERMAN meant. He did not see the use of the regular army, or
of West-Point. In his State a man could get along just as well without
knowing any thing; and what was the sense of teaching officers? The more
they knew, the more they wanted to know. Give them an inch, and they would
take an ell. He didn’t know what an ell an ell was, and he didn’t want to.
He was willing to provide a staff, but not a crutch.

Mr. SLOCUM said he hoped it was not unparliamentary to observe that the
gentleman who preceded him didn’t know what he was talking about. The
French staff is larger than our staff. So is the British United Service
Club. So is the Irish shillelagh. If the reductions proposed were carried
“out,” the staff would stick at nothing. The arms of the service might get
on without a staff, but how about the legs.

Novelty and nakedness are the elements to which modern managers of plays
and shows chiefly look for success. A new song, the name if which it is
unnecessary to give, has brought fresh fame and renewed fortune to the
proprietors of a celebrated minstrel theatre. Legs have contributed their
might to fill the coffers of some of our leading theatrical managers—legs
of the feminine gender, with much display about them, but no drapery. Thus
it will be seen that New Ditty in the one case, and Nudity in the other,
have taken the great public by the forelock and led it to where the
minstrels gesticulate, and the legs and footlights quiver. And now the
“lower animals” are touched by the whim of the period, a leading
attraction on the bills of the Circus being an equestrian performance with
“four naked horses.”

A TAYLOR carried through the Mexican war; a DRAPER writes the history of
the civil war. Drapers and Taylors such as these understand how to mend
national Breaches.

“Wimming” have their rights in Wyoming; but then Wyoming can never become
“Woming” Territory. And what’s to prevent it? Y, don’t you see?—that
letter won’t let her.

Friend PIEGAN! with the war-paint on thy cheek,
I am thy friend;
pray listen, then, to me—
Nay, do not scalp me!—may a
Friend not speak?
Put up thy knife: I draw no knife on thee.

Friend PIEGAN! can thee count the forest leaves?
For every
leaf, thee counts a Pale Face too!
Full many strokes the Red Man
now receives:
But, PIEGAN friend, what can the Red Man do?

The Small-Pox and the Fever strike him down;
The White Man is
his foe: he cannot live!
For the Great Spirit tells him, with a
frown,
All men shall perish that will not forgive!

The
Pale Face has been here? thy child is killed?
But little scales are
hanging to thy belt!
Say, when thy father’s heart with wrath was
filled,
Did not thee know how thy White Brother felt?

Now, PIEGAN friend! thee has enough of war!
Bury the hatchet, and
thy arrows break;
Wait for the Happy Hunting Grounds afar—
A Reservation that they cannot take!

‘All O.K. till December.

The almost universal cry, “Down with the taxes!” is inconsistent in one
sense, because if taxes were Down, they would certainly be extremely
light.

And now MAYNE REID is announced as having a lecture on BYRON. At this rate
we shall soon have BYRON’S memory embalmed in Stowe-Reid greatness.

The Sisters of Charity.

DEAR PUNCHINELLO:

Taking my way along Chestnut Street a few days since, I found my progress
arrested at Tenth Street by a great current of humanity, that swept with
resistless force into the entrance to the Academy of Fine Arts.

I, too, entered, and, passing around the familiar group of the “Centaurs
and Lapithæ,” which stands beneath the dome, was hurried
breathlessly onward by the throng, until I found myself face to face with
that chef-d’oeuvre of modern art, T. BUCHANAN READ’S painting of
“SHERIDAN’S Ride.”

Give the reins to your imagination, now, (a little horse-talk is
appropriate here,) and behold one thousand men and women, of refined and
cultivated tastes, doing tearful homage to the genius of the great
Poetaster—pardon me, Mr. T.B.R., Poet-artist was what I meant to
have said.

From these my critical orbs now wandered to the painting; from the
painting to PUGH, (the astute “engineer” of the “show,”) and then to the
painting again. “What drawing!” remarked I. (PUGH smiled, and glanced
approvingly at the audience.) “There is much freedom and boldness in it,”
continued I. “It is very broad, rich in color, and—” “In a word,”
interrupted a friend of mine, whose grandfather was a Frenchman, “full of
chic!” (PUGH blushed.)

Admirable and truthful, indeed, is the expression imparted by the artist
to the fleet General who suddenly became famous by being Twenty Miles away
from the Post of Duty!

The flashing eye; the close-cut military style of the hair; the fierce
moustache; the row of three buttons marking exalted grade; the vigorous
yet graceful movement of the sword-arm, and the cap disappearing in the
distance, indicative of the remarkable time making by the “horsenman”—all
these are admirable points in the picture, and worthy of being closely
studied by the student of Art.

As I gazed, a shock-headed young man, with a very red nose, whom I at once
recognized as a student of the Life Class, sneeringly observed that the
“flourish of the sword smelt a little of the foot-lights.” (Artists are
ever jealous.)

It is easy to see that the clever painter of “SHERIDAN’S Ride” has meaning
in the flourish of the sabre. It indicates that his fleet hero uses the
weapon, not to “fright the souls of fearful adversaries,” but to
accelerate with frequent whacks the speed of his heroic charger. The horse
has observable points, too, and especially one that might be called by the
superficial critic “faulty drawing.” I refer to the extraordinary
fore-shortening—if the expression is in this case allowable—of
that part of the animal which extends from the saddle backward. In this,
again, there is a touch of nature that genius only can impart. For what is
more conceivable than that the hinder parts of the heroic steed might have
been cut away by an unlucky slash with the edge of the sabre? There is
precedent for this. Every schoolboy can recall a similar accident which
befell the horse of MUNCHAUSEN as he dashed beneath the descending
portcullis. And, as from that famous steed’s hind-quarters there sprang an
arborescent shelter, so, also, as a result of SHERIDAN’S “scrub race,” do
laurels shade that hero’s brows.

My views of the cause of this fore-shortening are enforced when I state
that there is a fine atmospheric effect about the horse’s tail, which
seems to indicate that it was considerably in the rear.

There can be no greater tribute to the powers of the artist, or the worth
of the heroic “horsenman,” than the crowds which daily, in these
heretofore silent and hallowed precincts, “wake the echoes with sounds of
praise.”

Yonder is “Death on the Pale Horse.” As I gazed, Death smiled with
approval at “SHERIDAN’S Ride,” and the stony figure of GERMANICUS “leant
upon his sword and wiped away a tear.”…

Suddenly a pistol-shot rang through the vaulted aisles, and, amid the
shouts of men and shrieks of affrighted women, I ascertained that a daring
rebel, (one EARLY,) moved by the wondrous fidelity of the picture, had
drawn a revolver, and fired at the “counterfeit presentment” of the man
who had humbled him at Winchester.

Amid the confusion, a manly voice shouted, “Three cheers for the Hero of
Winchester!”

“That’s Wright!” yelled the shock-headed young man with the red nose….

Then I left the scene, pondering as I went, “What manner of painter is
this, who can so deftly limn the features of a hero as to draw tears from
his worshippers and bullets from his foes?” And, as I pondered, that
abstruse conundrum of CHURCH, the artist, came to my mind: “What if, after
all, READ, your brush should steal the laurels from your pen?”

“What,” indeed?

CHARLEY, WHO HAS HAD HIS HAIR DRESSED AT THE BARBER’S, SHOWS HIS LITTLE
BROTHER, WITH THE AID OF THE CRUET-STAND, HOW IT IS DONE.

A Long Look-out.

The dome on the new court-house is expected to be completed by Domesday.

Appropriate.

Lester Wallack has his “Tayleure” travelling with him during his
“starring” trip.

“PLEASE THE PIGS.”

Foreign Pig, we observe, furnishes a topic just now for writers in the
daily papers. IRON-ically speaking, pig, in the sense referred to, means a
lump of metal; but the World of March 26th has an accidental,
though none the less curious, “cross-reading,” which brings foreign pig
directly into contact with domestic. It says, (the World, not the
pig.)

    “Protected foreign pig in New-York, $32.”

Precisely on a line with this, in the next column, appears the following.

    “What between hogs and policemen, drunken women are being rapidly
exterminated in Philadelphia.”

The World’s cross-reading is a capital one, bringing the pigs
together nicely, and suggesting the following remarks:

    “Protected foreign pig in New-York, $32,” very aptly applies to the
gangs of imported burglars and ruffians of all sorts who run riot in our
midst, and who can generally insure the “protection” of the police by a douceur
so paltry even as $32.

Such hybrids as Philadelphia drunken women, “between hogs and policemen,”
must be extremely disagreeable objects, and we are glad to learn that they
are nearly extinct. Here we are much worse off. Rowdy characters, that may
well be compared to “hogs,” but are not often to be seen “between
policemen,” are far too plentiful in New-York, and the sooner they are
“exterminated” the better.

Nassau street is in such a filthy condition as to suggest a change of its
name to Nausea Street.

To be Military Commander, and then United States Senator from Mississippi.

The two great objects of a learner’s ambition ought to be to speak a
foreign language idiomatically, and to pronounce it correctly; and these
are the objects which are most carefully provided for in the MASTERY
SYSTEM.

“The results which crowned the labor of the first week were so astonishing
that he fears to detail them fully, lest doubts should be raised as to his
credibility. But this much he does not hesitate to claim, that, after a
study of less than two weeks, he was able to sustain conversation in the
newly-acquired language a great variety of subjects.”

“The principle may be explained in a line—it is first learning the
language, and then studying the grammar, and then learning (or trying to
learn) the language.”—Morning Star.

“We know that there are some who have given Mr. Prendergast’s plan a
trial, and discovered that in a few weeks its results had surpassed all
their expectations.”—Record.

“A week’s patient trial of the French Manual has convinced us that the
method is sound.”—Papers for the Schoolmaster.

“The simplicity and naturalness of the system are obvious.”—Herald
(Birmingham.)

“We know of no other plan which will infallibly lead to the result in a
reasonable time.”—Norfolk News.

“The system is as near as can be to the one in which a child learns to
talk.”—Troy Whig.

“We would advise all who are about to begin the study of languages to give
it a trial.”—Rochester Democrat.

“For European travellers this volume is invaluable.”—Worcester
Spy.

Either of the above volumes sent by mail free to any part of the United
States on receipt of price.

RED AS A ROSE IS SHE.

Third Edition.

D. APPLETON & CO.,
90, 92, AND 94 Grand Street,

Have now ready the Third Edition of

RED AS A ROSE IS SHE.

By the Author of “Cometh up as a Flower.”

1 Vol. 8vo. Paper Covers, 60 cents.

“This is truly a charming novel; for half its contents breathe the very
odor of the flower it takes as its title.”

“The author can and does write well; the descriptions of scenery are
particularly effective, always graphic, and never overstrained.”

Either of the above sent free by mail to any address on receipt of the
price.

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