Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 28, October 8, 1870

Chapter VII: Act III: Scene, a London drawing-room. Enter MAY, gorgeously

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dressed. Also her father, who has forgotten all about his wife, and also_ LIONEL _and the_ COMIC YANKEE.

COMIC YANKEE. "Let us sing."

MAY. "Come on, old hoss." (_They sing and dance for an hour, such being the pleasant custom of fashionable London society._)

MAY. "Miss CLARA! I understand you are engaged to marry LIONEL, and that if you marry anybody else you lose your dower of twenty thousand pounds. Sell LIONEL to me, and I will give you a check for the amount."

CLARA. "Thanks, noble stranger, there is the receipt. Hand over the money."

LIONEL. "Dearest MAY, as you must have a pretty large bank account, to be able to draw checks for twenty thousand pounds, I am quite sure I love you."

MAY. "Come to my arms. Now then, everybody, how is that for high!" (_Slow curtain, relieved by eccentric gymnastics by the_ COMIC YANKEE.)

BOY IN THE AUDIENCE. "Pa! isn't that splendid?"

DISCRIMINATING PARENT. "What! How! Who! Where am I? O, to be sure, I came to see _Heart's Ease_, and to take my evening nap. Did LOTTA play the banjo?"

BOY. "O didn't she just. She played and sung dead loads of times."

DISCRIMINATING PARENT. "I have had a sweet nap. My son, I think I can now risk taking you to the minstrels. If I slept through this, I could feel reasonably sure of sleeping through even the dark conundrums and sentimental colored ballads. There is only a shade of difference between the two styles of performance, and that slight shade is only burnt cork."

MATADOR.

* * * * *

Mural Decorations in Rome.

The "dead walls" of Rome, as we learn from the telegrams, were lately placarded with immense posters proclaiming the Italian Republic.

Rome being an "Eternal City," we were not previously aware that any of her walls were dead. If they are, however, it may be that the posters of the posters referred to took that method of bringing them to life again, which may be looked on as a _post mortem_ proceeding.

* * * * *

_Newly-arrived Briton._ "ENGLISH SPARROWS?--IMPOSSIBLE. WHY, THEY CHIRP THROUGH THEIR LITTLE NOSES LIKE WEGULAR YANKEES."

_Park-Keeper._ "WELL, I DON'T KNOW, BUT IT TAKES TWO MEN AND A CART, EVERY DAY TO REMOVE THE 'Hs' DROPPED BY THEM ABOUT THE PARK."]

* * * * *

OUR PORTFOLIO.

PARIS, FIRST WEEK OF THE REPUBLIC, 1870.

DEAR PUNCHINELLO: Things are becoming so mixed here that I am thinking of retiring to Tours with the other tourists. The city is all on the go--that is to say, the non-combatants are all going out of it as fast as possible.

GAMBETTA left here the early part of the week, and it was better for him that he should. I wouldn't give a _sou_ for any of these republicans if they chance to fall into the clutches of King WILLIAM. It is reported that he has issued an order for the strangulation of all French children between the ages of three and five, in reprisal for the treacherous blowing up of Germans at Laon.

BISMARCK has requested the privilege of cooking ROCHEFORT'S mutton for him, should he be taken alive when Paris falls. What he means by "cooking his mutton" has not yet transpired, but it is gloomily vaticinated that he intends to boil him down. ROCHEFORT mutton with caper sauce ought to satisfy the epicurean taste of BISMARCK, especially as ROCHEFORT would cease his caperings from that hour. Late last night there was an alarm in the city that the whole Prussian army was at Noisy-le-Sec. As you may have suspected, a noisy demonstration followed this announcement.

I got out of bed, rang the bell, and requested the _concierge_ to bring me an auger. The man looked a little astonished at what he undoubtedly considered a strange request.

For a man to get out of bed in the middle of the night and call for an auger, was indeed a trifle peculiar. When he brought it, I increased his astonishment by proceeding to bore a hole through the top of my trunk.

"_C'est un imbécile_," said the concierge, retreating a step or two.

"Not much," I retorted, boring away with renewed vigor. Presently the orifice was made. Into it I thrust an Alpen stock which had accompanied me in many a toilsome march through Switzerland, and lifting the lid, took from the cradle of the trunk a star-spangled banner made of silk, which had been presented to me by the Young Men's Christian Association of New York, prior to my departure for Europe, as a token of their esteem for my services in the capacity of a "reformed drunkard." I fastened the flag to the stock, put my boots, clothes and other valuables on top of the trunk, and in a voice intended to express my defiance of King WILLIAM and his German Lagerheads, spoke these words:

Wave fearless, there, thou standard sheet!
That Yankee trunk and all it holds
(Though Prussian hirelings throng each street)
Is safe beneath thy starry folds!

Saying which I dismissed the humiliated _concierge_, took a drink, blew out the _bougie_, and sank into the arms of "Tired nature's sweet restorer."

Instances like the above are quite common among Americans in Paris. It was only the other day at the dépôt of the _Chemin de fer du Nord_ that I saw a sick Bostonian sitting on his trunk outside the gates, waiting for a chance to get into the train, with a Skye-terrier between his legs wrapped in the American flag. You easily get accustomed to such sights, and don't think anything about them.

Yesterday I called at the office of the American Minister. I gave the porter my card, and asked if "WASH." was in. He eyed me strangely. (Most people when they first see me generally do. I have thought sometimes that a certificate of good character posted conspicuously about my person would obviate this--but as they say here, "_n' importe_.")

"I'll see," said the porter, in reply to my question. He walked off, taking with him the door mat, an umbrella that stood in the hall, four coats and three hats that hung on the rack, besides numerous other small portable articles of _vertu_ that would have come handy for a professional "lifter."

I did not consider this movement a reflection upon my character, for it seemed but appropriate that he should do it. "What," said I to myself, "are porters for, but to remove portable articles?"

"WASH" was in, and fortunately for me, too, as I obtained a bit of news that has not yet been printed in the cable dispatches from "Private Sources."

It came by letter from General FORSYTH, SHERIDAN'S aide-de-camp and Lord High Chamberlain, and was to the effect that SHERIDAN had not tasted a drop of whiskey or uttered an oath since landing in Germany. WASH, asked me to communicate the fact to you with the request that you would forward it to the "Society for the Encouragement of Practical Piety" at Boston. He also told me that, between looking after German interests in Paris and receiving ovations from enthusiastic mobs, he didn't think he could do justice to his salary.

"WASH," says I, "it isn't so much that, as it is that the salary doesn't do justice to you. If that's the case speak right out; PUNCHINELLO can fix it for you." This took WASH. so suddenly that he couldn't speak, but his eyes were running over with language. Don't move in the matter, however, till you hear from me again, when I shall have something more to tell you about the march of the Prussians to this capital, and the capital march I propose to make out of it.

Yours, in a revolutionary state, DICK TINTO.

* * * * *

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

MONSIEUR SYLVESTRE. By GEORGE SAND. Boston: ROBERTS BROTHERS.

A welcome version of one of Madame DUDEVANT'S novels, well rendered into English by Mr. F.G. SHAW. It is issued in very neat and attractive form, and is one of a series of the SAND novels, publishing by Messrs. ROBERTS.

GEO. W. WHEAT & Co, PRINTERS, No. 8 SPRUCE STREET.

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Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 28, October 8, 1870Chapter VII: Act III: Scene, a London drawing-room. Enter MAY, gorgeously

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