Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 38, December 17, 1870.

Chapter I: Front Matter

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Vol. II. No. 38

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1870.

PUBLISHED BY THE

PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,

83 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.

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PRANG'S LATEST PUBLICATIONS: "Joy of Autumn," "Prairie Flowers," "Lake George," "West Point," "Beethoven," large and small.

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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by the PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

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MAN AND WIVES.

A TRAVESTY.

By MOSE SKINNER.

CHAPTER FIFTH.

QUEER DOINGS AT THE HALF-WAY HOUSE.

"Tell the minister," said ANN to TEDDY, "to come in. If I don't get a husband out of this _somehow_, I ain't smart. I'll just marry the man I've got here."

ARCHIBALD sank down on the sofa, bathed in a cold perspiration.

"Oh, _don't_" he groaned; "you mustn't. 'Twasn't my fault; JEFF sent me."

Her eyes flashed on him angrily.

"Yes, you helped JEFF set a trap for _me_," said she, "and you've fell into it yourself. Come, here's the minister."

But ARCHIBALD didn't come, he only turned white, and made a gurgling noise.

"There should be somebody here competent to give away the bridegroom," said the minister, with an air of annoyance.

"Sure, and it's meself as'll do that same," said TEDDY, obeying a nod from ANN.

"Away now with sich modeshty, youngster. Bear up and be a man. It'll soon be over. And if ye make a fuss," he added in a whisper, "I'll knock the head off ye. Do ye mind that?" Then, as if relating his experience to a large and sympathetic audience: "'Twas just that way I felt meself like, when the knot was tied. Wake in the knees sim'larly, and a faylin' like I was a cold dish-cloth wrung out. But Lord, he'll hold up his head agin, _I'll_ warrant ye."

"Oh, why can't you let me go?" begged ARCHIBALD, "I ain't done nothin'."

TEDDY smiled. 'Twas such a smile as a dentist gives, just before he swoops upon his prey.

"Did you iver now?" said he, appealing to the minister. "What a man it is. As bashful as a young gyrl, without a mammy to smooth it over. Steady now. There you are, as nice as a cotton hat," he continued, as he put ARCHIBALD'S arm within ANN'S. "Lean aginst me as hard as iver ye like, man. I well knows as I'll nivir git me reward in _this_ world, for all the young cooples as I've startid in life, but, thank Hevins, there's another."

The ceremony commenced.

What can one coy youth do, single-handed, against a woman who is determined to marry him? Like the beautiful young lady in the endless love-stories, who faints at the altar with her hard-hearted father, the Duke, on one side, and the relentless bridegroom, the Count, on the other, ARCHIBALD BLINKSOP was hemmed in by destiny. There was alas! no steel-clad knight with his visor down, to rush in, and shout in trumpet tones: "_Hold! I forbid the bans--_ To be continued in our next. Back numbers sent to any address." No. Steel-clad knights are, unfortunately, somewhat scarce in Indiana, and so the ceremony continued.

TEDDY was first bridesman. He not only supported ARCHIBALD, but he held his head and jerked it forward occasionally, thus assisting in the responses.

The ceremony concluded.

At its close ARCHIBALD BLINKSOP, according to the Law of Indiana, was a Man and One Wife.

At its close ANN BRUMMET, according to the same Law, was a Woman and One Husband.

The world is large. To a woman of her immense strategical resources this was but a fair beginning. Blest with a good constitution and rare matrimonial attainments, why should she falter in the good work thus begun?

They picked the new-made husband up, limp as a rag, and laid him tenderly on the sofa. TEDDY and the minister withdrew, and the Honeymoon commenced.

ARCHIBALD began to recover. "Where am I?" he moaned faintly.

"You're married," said ANN.

He groaned, and wiped the perspiration from his pallid brow.

"Can I go home?" he inquired feebly.

"Yes," replied ANN. "Go, and when I want you I'll come for you. Tell your _dear_ BELINDA that ANN BRUMMET, the poor relation, has got ahead of her on _this_ heat. She didn't think, did she, when she was courting you, that she was only just getting you ready for me?"

But before she was through, ARCHIBALD, moaning in broken accents that he wished he was dead, had rushed frantically from the house.

ANN was congratulating herself on her success, when there came another rap from TEDDY.

"Sure and it's your lawyer this time. Will I sind him away?"

"No," said ANN, "I want to see him. And bring in some oysters and sherry. I'm getting hungry."

"Well," said the lawyer, entering and taking a chair familiarly, where's your man?"

"Gone," said ANN.

"What! without the divorce? Whew! that's _too_ bad. How did it happen?"

"JEFF didn't come," replied ANN. "He sent a substitute. But I wasn't going to be fooled that way, so I just drafted _him_ instead."

"What! _married_ him?" queried the lawyer, incredulously.

"Yes, why not? DIGBY was here, you see, and I could not find it in my heart to cheat the poor man out of a job, with a large family on his hands, too." And she laughed.

"Well, that _is_ a joke," was the lawyer's reply. And he rubbed his hands appreciatively. "Who is the fellow? What's his name?"

"BLINKSOP," said ANN, "ARCHIBALD. Oh, won't there be a row," she chuckled. "He's engaged to my cousin BELINDA, you see."

At this juncture TEDDY entered with the oysters and sherry.

"Come," said ANN to the lawyer, "sit up here and have something to eat, and I'll tell you all about it. TEDDY," she continued facetiously, "will you ask a blessing?"

TEDDY closed his eyes reverentially.

"For what I'm going to resayve out of this," said he, "may I be truly thankful, and, oh Lord! I wish 'twas more." And he went out with a solemn air.

"Did I understand you to say," inquired the lawyer, after he had animated his diaphragm with two glasses of sherry, "that this BLINKSOP is engaged to your cousin?"

"Yes," replied ANN, struggling with a very large oyster. "I call her cousin, but there's no blood-relation."

"When did the engagement take place?" he inquired, hoisting another glass of sherry.

"Only yesterday; but it's pretty well known that she's been soft on him for a good while."

"Has the engagement been formally announced?" said he, holding the now empty bottle upside down, and squeezing it vigorously. "Let me fill your glass," he continued, holding the bottle to the light and examining it critically, with one eye closed.

"No, I thank you, I've got enough. Yes," she went on, "the engagement was known far and wide in less than two hours. There was a croquet party at the house yesterday, and BELINDA told 'em all. Why?"

"Because," replied the lawyer, setting his glass upside down, and rolling the empty bottle along the floor, with a dejected air, "because it may affect this marriage of yours."

"What, my marriage with BLINKSOP?"

"Yes."

"In what way?"

"It may test its legality," was the answer. "Mind, I don't say your marriage is not valid; but, in this State, if a couple solemnly engage themselves, they are, to all intents and purposes, legally married. In New England it is even more rigid. There, I understand, if a young man goes home with a young lady on a Sunday evening, it is considered as good as an engagement; and if, on the next Sunday evening, he goes home with another young lady, he is looked upon as a fickle-minded miscreant, capable of ruining a whole town. Little children avoid him, and even dogs go round the corner at his approach. Now, if this BLINKSOP chooses to contest this, marriage, I think--mind you, I only _think_--that with this previous engagement to back his unwillingness to marry you, this marriage will go for nothing."

Having delivered this legal opinion with an air of profound wisdom, and the most acute penetration, he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and regarded his empty glass as with the air of a man whose fondest hopes in that direction had been ruthlessly crushed. And ANN was walking the floor thoroughly excited.

"It's just my confounded luck," said she, angrily, "just as I was counting on galling BELINDA, too. I don't believe," she added after a pause, "that BLINKSOP'S got spunk enough to contest it."

"Perhaps not; but if he _should_----"

"Well, what shall I do?" she interrupted, impatiently.

The lawyer reached deliberately over the table, and drank the few drops of wine that remained in ANN'S glass.

"Do," said he, slowly, "just what you were going to do, in the first place."

"What! Marry JEFFRY MAULBOY?"

The lawyer nodded.

"But it's too late now. He wouldn't come."

"Try it," was the lawyer's answer. "_Urge_ him," he added, significantly.

The woman who hesitates is lost. ANN hesitated, but she wasn't lost. No; she rather thought she was found.

"I'll do it, old boy," she finally said, "if I can find him, high or low. See here, if you don't hear from me, come here day after to-morrow--will you--and bring DIGBY with you?"

The lawyer promised, and took his departure.

ANN immediately wrote a letter, sealed and directed it to JEFFRY MAULBOY, and rung for TEDDY.

"Do you know of a man named JEFFRY MAULBOY?" said she.

TEDDY opened his eyes very wide.

"What, the Prize-Fighter?" said he. "It's a jokin' ye are; fur how could ye ask that same, afther I see him giv' TIM MCGONIGLE sich an illegant knock-down with me own eyes, at the torchlight procession in the fall of the winter? And JIM, with a shlit in his ear as was bewtifool to look at, jumps up, and says he----"

He paused, for tears stood in ANN'S eyes. The reminiscence was too much for her overcharged soul.

"Yes," she murmured. "He was always just such a lovely brick, was JEFF." Then she added, with an effort: "I want you to take this letter to him the first thing in the morning. Go to Mrs. LADLE'S first, and if he ain't there--Do you know where his folks live?"

"I do that. It's a lawyer his father is, and lives at Western Bend. I'll find him, mum, sure."

"Do it," said ANN, "and I'll find _you_ for a month."

TEDDY took the letter and retired to his room.

"To JIFFRY MAULBOY the Prize-Fighter," said he, patting it lovingly. "Well-a-day! Who'd a thought it now? _Here's_ somethin to be proud of. _Here's_ somethin to boast of like, a settin' at the fireside, mebbe, with me little ansisters upon me knees. 'And it's meself, me little ducks,' I'd say, 'as carried a letther, with me _own hands_, to the great JIFFRY MAULBOY, as wiped out PATSY MCFADDEN in a fair shtand-up fight, and giv' TIM MCGONIGLE a private mark as he carried to his grave.' I wonder what's in it?" he continued, holding it up to the light. "Divil a word now can I see. That's illaygil, and shows there's mischief brewin'. Now what would an unconvarted haythen do as hadn't the moril welfare of the community a layin' close to his heart like? Carry the letther, and ax no questions. But what would an airnest Christian do, who's a bloomin' all over with religion, and looks upon the piety of the public as the apple of his eye? He'd take his pinknife, jist so, and shlip the blade under the saylin'-wax, jist so, and pacify his conscience like by raydin' the letther."

Having convinced himself that the operation, viewed in a purely religious light, was strictly mercantile, TEDDY snuffed the candle with his thumb and forefinger, and spread the letter on the table.

It ran thus:--

"HALF-WAY HOUSE, June 30th--Evening.

"JEFFRY MAULBOY:--You have gone back on your word, and made a desperate woman of me. I'll do all I threatened, and more. I have just written to Mrs. CUPID, and kept back _nothing_. If you ain't here by day after to-morrow, ready to marry me, _as you agreed to_, I'll send the letter, and go to her besides. Do as you please. I don't care for _my_ future, if you don't for _yours_. Trust the bearer.

"ANN BRUMMET."

TEDDY read it twice. Then he held up his hands, lost in admiration.

"Married to one man, and a goin' for another afore the ceremony is cold! What talints! What nupchility! Oh, what an illegant Mormyn is bein' wastid in this very house! If ye could grow a daughter like _that_, TEDDY me boy, she'd sit ye up for life." He shook his head, sighed heavily, and gazed wistfully at the letter.

"I couldn't look poshterity in the face," he continued, with a self-accusing air, "without a copy of that letther."

He went and got writing materials with evident reluctance, and after three or four trials, succeeded in producing a very good duplicate of ANN'S letter, bearing himself, throughout, like a man who sees his duty plainly before him, and does it without flinching.

He put the duplicate in the envelope, sealed it carefully, put the original in his pocket, and in ten minutes was abed and asleep.

(To be continued.)

* * * * *

PUNCHINELLO'S PLAN FOR THE PREVENTION AND DETECTION OF CRIME.

In view of the amount of crime which the detective police is apparently unable to trace to its authors, and the number of criminals who constantly elude arrest, Mr. PUNCHINELLO begs to submit an entirely new and original plan for the prevention and detection of crime, which he hopes will receive the favorable consideration of the powers that be.

In the first place, he would recommend that all Jail Birds be immediately transported to the Canary Islands.

_Second._ The entire population of the City of New York should be organized into a Vigilance Committee. This force should be employed night and day in watching the remaining inhabitants and outsiders. Any member found asleep on his (lamp) post should be drawn (by our special artist) and quartered (in a station-house for the night).

_Third._ All residents should be compelled, on pain of being instantly garroted, to surrender their valuables, and even their invaluables, to the Property Clerk, Comic Headquarters, PUNCHINELLO Office, who should be held strictly irresponsible and be well paid for it.

_Fourth._ Everybody should be instantly arrested and held to bail, as a precaution against the escape of wrong-doers. It should be made the duty of proprietors of liquor saloons to Bale out their customers when "too full."

_Fifth._ Any person found with a 'Dog' in his possession should be compelled to give a strict account of himself; the 'Dog' should be Collared, sent to the Pound, closely interrogated, and his evidence carefully Weighed. In cases of 'Barking up the Wrong Tree' the person unjustly arrested should be indemnified.

_Sixth._ The City Government should immediately offer an immense reward for the invention of a telescope of sufficient power to detect crime whenever and wherever committed within the city limits. This instrument should be placed on the summit of the dome of the New County Court House, and a competent scientific person appointed to be continually on the look-out, and his observations noted down by a Stenographer.

_Seventh._ There should be frequent balloon ascensions in various parts of the city, under the direction of distinguished aeronauts, for the purpose of watching the behavior of evil disposed persons. In order that these aerial movements may excite no suspicion in the minds of persons under surveillance, the balloons should ascend high enough to be out of sight. They will then be out of mind.

_Eighth._ A Sub-Committee should be chosen, the members of which shall hang about the various haunts of vice in back slums, and learn as much as possible of the nefarious projects of the desperate characters who frequent such dens. Each member should report daily, and if he is not familiar with the 'flash' dialect in which thieves converse (which is very improbable, if chosen as suggested), should take care to provide himself with a copy of GROSE'S Slang Dictionary or Vocabulary of Gross Language, which will the better enable him to understand it.

_Ninth._ A strict blockade of the port should be maintained, to prevent the ingress of bad characters from abroad, and especially from the now Radical State of New Jersey, with which ferry-boat communication should be immediately cut off.

_Tenth._ A Reformatory School in which the Dangerous Classes might (except during recitations) be kept under restraint would be a great public benefit. The study of metaphysics should be prohibited at such an institution. Burglars especially should not be allowed to Open Locke on the Human Understanding.

* * * * *

The Worst Kind of "Paris Green."

It is stated by observant _flĂ˘neurs_ that much _absinthe_ is consumed by ladies who frequent fashionable up-town restaurants. One lovely blonde has grown so _absinthe_-minded from the habit, that she regularly leaves the restaurant without paying for her luncheon.

* * * * *

Quarrelsome in their Cups.

Should the European Powers get into a fight over the Sublime Porte, what a strong argument it would be in favor of temperance!

* * * * *

_Mr. Bunyan (whose corns have just been subjected to severe pressure)._ "YOU OLD BEGGAR, YOU!"

_Mr. Lightfoot (who is a little hard of hearing)._ "NO APOLOGY NECESSARY, I ASSURE YOU, SIR; MATTER OF NO CONSEQUENCE WHATEVER; PRAY DON'T MENTION IT."]

* * * * *

MR. BEZZLE'S DREAM.

MR. BEZZLE was the editor and proprietor of a large and influential newspaper that sold two for a cent, and had special correspondents in every corner of the office. By honest industry and a generous disregard of what went into the newspaper, so that it paid, he had raised himself to the highest rung of fortune's ladder, and we all know what tall ringing _that_ is. He used to say that to accept one kind of advertisement and to reject another, was an injustice to the public and an outrage upon society, and that strict integrity required that he should accept, at as much as he could get a line, every advertisement sent for insertion. It would have done you good to have witnessed Mr. BEZZLE'S integrity in this respect, and the noble spirit of self-sacrifice with which he resolved that none of the public should be slighted. He used to laugh to scorn the transcendental notion about the editorial columns not being purchased, "If my opinions are worth anything," he used to exclaim, "they are worth being paid for; and if I unsay to-morrow what I said yesterday, the contradiction is only apparent, and is in accordance with the great spirit of progress and the breaking up of old institutions." The sequel to this magnanimous career may be imagined. The enterprise paid so well that old BEZZLE found it to his interest to employ a man at fifteen dollars a week to do nothing else but write notes from "Old Subscribers," informing BEZZLE that they had taken his "valuable paper" for over twenty years, that no family should be without it, and that they would rather, any morning, go without their breakfast than go without reading the _Hifalutin' Harbinger_. One day, when BEZZLE had been an editor for forty years, he fell asleep and had a dreadful dream. He thought that he rose early one morning, dressed himself in his best suit of broadcloth, which he had taken for a bad debt, walked up to the ticket office of a theatre where he was well known, and asked for a couple of seats. The gentlemanly treasurer (was there ever a treasurer that wasn't gentlemanly in a newspaper notice?) handed him two of the best seats in the house--end seats, middle aisle, six rows from the stage. Mr. BEZZLE slapped down a five-dollar bill with that air of virtue which had become a second nature to him. (Second nature, by the by, is no more like nature at first hand than second childhood is like real childhood.)

"Why, Mr. BEZZLE!" exclaimed the treasurer, "have you taken leave of your senses, sir? Put that back in your pocket;" and he pointed to the recumbent bank-note. "Who ever heard of an editor paying for two seats at the theatre since the world began? What have we ever done to offend you, Mr. BEZZLE, that you should behave thus?"

"Sir," said Mr. BEZZLE, "I once was young, but now am old. I see the error of my editorial ways, and have resolved to mend 'em. My columns are _not_ to be bought, sir. My dramatic critic is not to be suborned. I am determined to tear down the flaunting lie with which THESPIS has so long concealed her blushless face, and to show the deluded public the cothurnus bespattered, and the sock and buskin draggled in the mire. Perish my theatrical advertising columns when I cease to tell the truth! There is the sum twice told: I pays my money and I takes my choice. Never mind the change." And with these words Mr. BEZZLE stalked off, his face crimson with a rush of aesthetics to the head.

From the theatre Mr. BEZZLE went to the house of a celebrated publisher, who received him with open arms, and conducted him to a counter where all the newest and most expensive books were displayed. "We are just settled in our new quarters," explained the publisher, "and any little thing you might say about us in your valuable paper would be--I don't _ask_ it, you know--but it would be--upon my word it would. See here, Mr. BEZZLE, I want you to pick out from this counter just what you want, and--"

"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. BEZZLE, leaping at the publisher with eyes that fairly blazed with the radiance of rectitude, "who do you take me for?" If Mr. BEZZLE had been less violent he would probably have said, "_Whom_ do you take me for," and so have spared himself the ignominy of sinking to the ungrammatical level of the Common Herd. But the fact is, his proud spirit was chafed and fretted at the spectacle of sordid self-seeking that everywhere met his gaze, and excess of sentiment made him forgetful of syntax. "Mark me, my friend, I am not to be bought," he continued in unconscious blank verse. "I _shall_ take my pick, sir, and _you_ will take this check." And he handed the amazed publisher a check for five hundred dollars. "I sicken, sir," he continued, "of this qualmish air of half-truth that I have breathed so long. I am going to read these books, and say what I think of 'em, and five hundred dollars is dirt cheap for the privilege. I had sooner that every 'New Publications' ad. should die out of my newspaper than that my literary columns should be contaminated with a Lie! Never mind the change, sir. If anything is left over, send it to the proprietor of the new penny paper that is struggling to keep its head above water. Don't say that it came from me. Say that it came from a converted roper-in." And Mr. BEZZLE stalked out of the office in such a tempest of morality that the publisher felt as though a tidal wave of virtue had swept over him.

After this, Mr. BEZZLE'S dream became a trifle confused; but he thought that this noble course of conduct was greatly approved by the public, that its eminent practicability commended it to all classes of people, and that theatres, publishers, and others quadrupled their advertisements. "Ah!" sighed Mr. BEZZLE, rubbing his hands, but still asleep, "what a sweet thing virtue is! Honesty _is_ the best policy after all!"

At this moment his elbow was nudged, and opening his eyes he beheld one of the office boys, whom he had sent up to the theatre half an hour ago, to ask for six reserved seats near the stage.

"Mr. PUPPET says he's very sorry, sir," said the boy, "but the seats is all taken for to-night, and so he can't send any."

"Can't send any, can't he?" exclaimed BEZZLE, wide awake. "All right. Just go to Mr. SNAPPETY, the dramatic editor, for me, and tell him not to say one word about that theatre in his criticism to-morrow, I'll teach Mr. PUPPET," etc., etc., etc.

SPIFFKINS.

* * * * *

TURKEYS--A FANTASY.

We hear a great deal from scientific men about the influence of climate, atmosphere, and even the proximity of certain mineral substances, upon the life and welfare of man; but there is yet another vein to be worked in this region of human knowledge. Taking a chance train of ideas--an excursion-train, we may say--which came in our way on last Thanksgiving, we were brought to some interesting conclusions in regard to the influence exercised by the turkey upon human affairs. The annual happiness of how many thousands at the return of Thanksgiving Day--the unfed woes of how many thousands more--does this estimable fowl revolve within his urbane crop! Every kernel of grain which he picks from the barn-floor may represent an instant of masticatory joy held in store for some as yet unconscious maxillary; we may weigh the bird by the amount of happiness he will afford. When we go to market, to barter for our Thanksgiving turkey, we inquire substantially of the spruce vender, glistening in his white apron: "How much gustatory delight does yonder cock contain?" And he, gross slave of matter, doth respond, giving the estimate in dollars and parts of dollars!

But how inadequate is any material representative of his value to us. Indeed, it is next to impossible to conceive of the niceties involved in this question of how much we owe the turkey. For him the country air has been sweetened; the rain has fallen that he might thrive; the wheat and barley sprouted that he might be fed. A shade more of leanness in the legs, one jot less of rotundity in the breast--what misery might not these seemingly trivial incidents have created? A failure in the supply of turkeys?--it would have been a national calamity! What were life, indeed, without the turkey?

As for Thanksgiving, the turkey he is it. _Paris, c'est la France!_ Remove the turkey, and you undermine Thanksgiving. How could a conscientious man go to church on Thanksgiving morning, knowing within himself that he shall return to beef, or mutton, or veal for his dinner, as on work-days? I tell you, religion would disappear with the turkey.

Toward the close of Thanksgiving, how manifest becomes the influence of this feathered sovereign. Observe yonder jaundiced youth pacing the street moodily, his lips set in a cynic sneer. His turkey was lean. I know it. He cannot hide that turkey. The gaunt fowl obtrudes himself from every part. On the other hand, none but the primest of prime turkeys could have set in motion this brisk old gentleman with the ruddy check and hale, clear eye, whom we next pass. A most stanch and royal turkey lurks behind that portly front--a sound and fresh animal, with plenty of cranberries to boot.--What are these soldiers? Carpet-knights who have united their thanks over a grand regimental banquet. What frisky gobblers they have shared in, to be sure! They prance and amble over the pavements as if they had absorbed the very soul of Chanticleer, and fancied themselves once more princes of the barnyard. The most singular and freakish of the turkey's manifestations this, by far!

Indeed, on a review of these suggestive facts, we cannot but feel a marvellous reverence for the potent cock, established as patron of this feast. This sentiment is wide-spread among our people, and perhaps it is not too fanciful to predict that it will some day expand itself to a _cultus_ like that of the Egyptian APIS, or, more properly, the Stork of Japan. The advanced civilization of the Chinese, indeed, has already made the Chicken an object of religious veneration. In the slow march of ages we shall perhaps develop our as yet crude and imperfect religions into an exalted worship of the Turkey. Then shall the symbolic bird, trussed as for Thanksgiving, be enshrined in all our temples, and the multitudes making pilgrimage from afar to such sanctuaries shall be greeted by an inscription over the temple-gate of BRILLAT SAVARIN'S axiom:--

"Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are."

* * * * *

BOOTS.

MR. PUNCHINELLO:--Breaking in a young span of boots is ecstasy, or would be, if fitting bootmakers could be found; but there's the pinch, though they do give you fits sometimes.

Getting tailored to suit me, the next thing was to get booted, I succeeded. It cost me nineteen dollars.

I'd willingly return the compliment for nothing.

At last my boots were finished, and I went into them right and left; at least, I tried so to do.

With every nerve flashing lightning, I pulled and tugged most thrillingly, but in vain.

"There's no putting my foot in it," says I.

"Give one more try," says he.

Although almost tried out, I generously gave one more. I placed the bootmaker's awl in one strap, and his last-hook in the other, and with "two roses" mantling my cheeks, postured for the contest.

I tried the heeling process, and earnestly endeavored to toe the mark; but to successfully start the thing on foot was a bootless effort.

Then I slumberously gravitated, and dreamed thus:--

Old "LEATHERBRAINS" in SATAN'S livery, producing a hammer from a carpet-bag (he was a carpet-bagger), proceeded to shape my feet, and fill them with shoe-pegs.

My nap was ruffled, and not to be continued under those circumstances, so I wisely concluded it.

"They're on!" says the bootmaker.

And a tight on it was, excruciatingly so.

I suspected at the time that I had been put to sleep by chloroform, but I afterward remembered that a feeble youth was reading aloud from the Special Cable Dispatches of the _Tribune._

My feelings centred in those boots, tears filled my eyes, and I was dumb with emotion, but quickly reviving, I slaked the cordwainer with a flood of rabid eloquence.

The cowering wretch suggested that they would stretch. He lied, the villain, he lied, they shrank.

However, "in verdure clad," I was persuaded into wearing them, and stiffly sidled off, a badgered biped, my head swinging round the circle, and my voice hanging on the verge of profanity all the way.

As fit boots they were a most successful failure. I gave them to the office boy; but the crutches I afterward bought him cost me twenty-seven dollars.

Henceforth I shall take my cue from JOHN CHINAMAN, and encase my understanding in wood. Yours calmly,

VICTOR KING.

* * * * *

Recognized at Last.

A recent telegram from London says:--

"The Prussian hussars rode down and out to pieces a regiment of marine infantry."

Hooray! Cheer, boys, cheer! The mythical Horse-Marines are thus at last recognized as an accomplished fact.

* * * * *

"As I was going to St. Ives."

At St. Ives, Huntingdonshire, England, Lord ROBERT MONTAGU, M.P., was lately burned in effigy by some intelligent boors, because he had joined the Roman Catholic faith. That tells badly for the burners, who should not have cared an _f i g_ about the matter.

* * * * *

"Walker."

MCETTRICK, the pedestrian, was arrested at Boston, a few days since, for giving an exhibition without a license. He gave bail. Probably _leg_-bail.

* * * * *

On the Bench

When is a judge like the structures that are to support the Brooklyn Suspension-Bridge? When he's called a _caisson._

* * * * *

AN OFFICER WHO MUST ALWAYS BE OUT OF GUN-SHOT RANGE.

General FARRE.

* * * * *

THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.

By this time everybody has seen _Rip Van Winkle,_ and everybody has expressed the same unbounded admiration of Mr. JEFFERSON'S matchless genius. But the world never has been, and doubtless never will be, without the pestiferous presence of Reformers, Men of Progress, Earnest Men, who insist upon improving everything after their own fashion, and who are unhappy because they did not have the opportunity of making the solar year consist of an even number of days, and because they were not present at the building of the Ark, in order to urge upon NOAH the propriety of attaching a screw propeller to that primitive Great Eastern. These horribly energetic nuisances never find anything that precisely suits them, and are always insisting that everything stands in need of the improvements which they gratuitously suggest. Latterly they have ventured to attack _Rip Van Winkle,_--not the actor, but the play,--and to insist that the closing scene should be so modified as to make the play a temperance lecture of the most unmistakable character.

If you recollect--as of course you do--the last scene in that exquisite drama, you can still hear "RIP'S" tremulous voice as he says, "I will take my pipe and my glass, and will tell my strange story to all my friends. And I will drink _your_ good health, and your family's, and may you live long and prosper." And now come the Progressive Nuisances, and ask Mr. JEFFERSON to change this ending so that it will read as follows:--

GRETCHEN.--"Here is your glass, RIP."

RIP.--"But I swore off."

GRETCHEN.--"Bless you, my husband. Promise me never more to touch the intoxicating beer-mug."

RIP.--"I promise. Hereafter I will take my TUPPER'S Proverbial Philosophy and my glass of water, and I will daily address all my friends on the subject of total abstinence from everything that cheers, whether it inebriates or not. And I will now close this evening's lecture by an appeal to the audience now present, to take warning by me, and never drink a drop of lager-beer. Think, my friends, what would be the feelings of your respective wives, should you return home, after a drunken sleep of twenty or thirty years, and find them all married to richer husbands! Think how they would revile the weakness of the beer which could not keep you asleep forever. Think how you would complicate the real estate business, when you came to turn out the mistaken people who had occupied, improved, and sold your property during your brief absence. Think of the difficulties that would arise from the increase in the size of your families, which would probably have taken place while you were sleeping out in the open air, and for which you would have to provide, although you had not been consulted in the matter. Think, too, of the extent to which you would be interviewed by the reporters of the _Sun_, and the atrocious libels concerning yourselves and your families which that unclean sheet would publish. Think of all these things, my friends, and then step into the box-office on your way out and sign the total abstinence pledge. The ushers will now make a collection for the support of the temperance cause. Mr. MOLLENHAUER will please lead the audience in singing that beautiful temperance anthem--"

"'Cold water is the only thing
Worth loving here below;
The man who won't its praises sing,
Will straight to Hades go.'"

Now, for one, I don't like this improved version of "RIP." Of course, the Temperance Reformers will construe this expression of opinion into an admission that every man, woman, or advocate of female suffrage, who has ever written a line for PUNCHINELLO is a confirmed drunkard. In spite of this probability, I still have the courage to maintain that so long as Mr. JEFFERSON is an artist, and not a temperance lecturer, he need not mix up the drama with the Temperance Reform, or any other hobby. If he is to be compelled to deliver a temperance address every time he plays _Rip Van Winkle,_ let us compel Mr. GREELEY to play "RIP" every time he gives a temperance lecture. If the latter catastrophe were to happen, the punishment of the Reforming Nuisances would be complete.

There are, however, plays which could be changed so as to terminate much more naturally and effectively than they now do. For example, there is _Enoch Arden._ At present ENOCH, when he looks through the window and sees his wife enjoying herself with PHILIP in the dining-room, immediately lies down on the grass-plat in the back-yard, and groans in a most harrowing style,--after which he picks himself up, and, going back to his hotel, dies without so much as recognizing his old friends and congratulating them upon their prosperity. Now the way in which the play should have ended, had the dramatist wished to convince us that "ENOCH" was a reasonable being, would have been somewhat as follows:--

ENOCH (looking through the window).--"Well, here's a go. My wife has actually married PHILIP. They look pretty comfortable, too. PHILIP is evidently rich. Here's luck for me at last. I've got him where I can strike him pretty heavily." _[He enters the house,]_

PHILIP AND HIS WIFE.--"ENOCH! Can it be possible? Why, we thought you were entirely dead, and so we married. Well! well! This is a healthy state of things."

ENOCH (sternly).--"Mr. PHILIP RAY. You have had the impertinence to marry my wife. Sir! I consider that you have taken an unjustifiable liberty. Have you anything to say for yourself before I proceed to shoot you? I might mention that I once had a third cousin whose aunt by marriage was slightly insane, so you see that I can kill you with a calm certainty that the jury will acquit me, on the ground of my hereditary insanity."

PHILIP.--"Take a drink, old boy. We'll be reasonable about this matter. Don't attempt murder,--it's no longer respectable since MCFARLAND went into the business. Why can't we compromise this affair?"

ENOCH.--"It will cost you something. There are my lacerated feelings, which can't be repaired without a good deal of expense. Still I will do the fair thing by you. Give me fifty thousand dollars and I'll leave the country and say nothing more about it. You can keep my wife, if you want her. I'm sure _I_ don't."

PHILIP.--"But I've been to a good deal of expense about her. Her clothes have cost me no end of money, and there are all our new children besides. Children, let me tell you, are a great deal more expensive now than they were in your day. Now, I'll give you twenty thousand dollars, and your wife, and we'll call it square."

ENOCH.--"No, sir. I don't want the wife, and I insist on more than twenty thousand dollars. I've got you entirely in my power, and you know it. I'll come down to forty thousand dollars, but not a cent less. Draw a check on the bank, or I'll draw a revolver on you. Be quick about it, too, for my hereditary insanity may develop itself at any moment."

PHILIP.--"Well, if I must, I must. Here is your money. How did you leave things at--well, at the place you came from? Everybody well, I hope?"

ENOCH.--"There were no people, and consequently nothing to drink there. Don't speak of the wretched place. Thanks for the check. Hope you'll find your wife satisfactory. Let this be a warning to you, not to marry a widow another time, unless you have a sure thing. Don't believe her when she says her husband is dead, unless you have him dug up, and personally inspect his bones. Thank you! I _will_ take another drink since you insist upon it. Here's luck! You'll agree with me that this is the best day's work I have ever done. Good-by. I'm off to Chicago."

Now, would not that be the way in which "ENOCH" would have acted had he been a practical business man? You see the play thus altered is eminently probable, not to say realistic. I have several more improved catastrophes, which, if substituted for the present ending of some of our more recent popular plays, would render them quite perfect. _Hamlet_ especially needs changing in this respect. Some of these days I will show the readers of PUNCHINELLO how SHAKSPEARE should have ended that drama. I rather think they will agree with me, that SHAKSPEARE, clever as he doubtless was in certain respects, knew very little about writing plays that should be at once effective and probable.

MATADOR.

* * * * *

ON THE ROAD TO ROUEN.

The Prussians.

* * * * *

"AB"

Absinthe's a cunning word
Dram-drinkers to entice,
It comes from a Greek root which means
The opposite of nice.

II.

The wormwood shrub its gall
Essentially doth give
To "ab" by which so many die.
For which so many live.

III.

Its color is sea-green.
And should you enter where
The blissful stimulant is sold.
You'll see green people there.

IV.

King DEATH no longer drenches
With "coal-black wine" his throttle.
But slakes the drouth of his awful mouth
With pulls at the _absinthe_ bottle.

And why should we repine
At the poison that's in his cup,
Since the fools we can spare are everywhere
And "_ab_" will use them up?

VI.

Then heigh! for the wormwood shrub.
And ho! for the sea-green liquor
That softens the brain to sillybub
And turns the blood to ichor!

* * * * *

GRAIN ELEVATORS.

Rye cocktails.

* * * * *

ODD REQUEST.

Bishop Potter having forbidden the celebration of the Holy Communion privately at St. Sacrament Mission, when a priest is the only communicant, it seems that Father BEADLEY "has asked for the _formation of thirty persons_, one of whom shall commune with him each day."

When Father B.'s thirty communing persons are fully "formed," we should like to take a look at them. We should expect to find that a new race is started at last. This would be disagreeable news to Professor DARWIN, but there are plenty of other and rival Professors who would be delighted at the phenomenon. Twenty-nine at least of the newly-formed "persons" will always be "on view," as but one of the thirty can be engaged at a time. Doubtless they will be able to converse in the American language, and it will be _so_ interesting to hear them talk! To tell how they feel, and what they think of things!

We should look for original and piquant views of everything and everybody. If they should appeal to Nature's Standard, and pronounce Mr. PUNCHINELLO the handsomest man in New York, who could wonder? They would simply confirm the opinions of connoisseurs.

We hope they will give us a call as soon as "formed." Give us but the opportunity, and we promise to make something of these unsophisticated "persons." If we can but succeed in impressing on their plastic young minds the principles which have hitherto guided us in our own glorious path, we shall have no idle fears of their future. They will be all right from the start. Just as the twig is bent, or rather straightened, the high old tree has got to shoot up.

We look with interest for news of this unique formation.

* * * * *

Rebottling his Wrath.

BOTTLED BUTLER talks fierce against poor JOHN BULL,
All the British he'd kill at one slap,
With their bones Bully BEN a canal would fill full--
The one that he dug at Dutch Gap.

* * * * *

Con by a Switch-tender.

Why is a railway accident like a dandy? Because it's death on the Ties.

* * * * *

_John Bull._ "WELL, NOW, THIS IS TOO BAD!--HERE'S THIS ROOSHAN FELLER BEEN AND GOBBLED UP ALL THE TURKEY!"]

* * * * *

HIRAM GREEN'S FASHION REPORT.

The only Strictly Reliable Report on the Market.

A full-dressed girl of the Period, as she sails out for an afternoon airin, looks like somethin as I imagine the north pole would, with a 1/2 dozen rainbows rapt about it. She is a sorter of a flag-staff, from whose perpendicularity the ensines of all nations blows and flaps, and any man base enuff to haul down one solitary flag will be shot on the spot. _A far dixy_. Tellin the thing jest as it is, there's more flummy-diddles and mushroon attachments to a woman's toggery nowadays than there is honest men in Wall street.

Durin the past season, overskirts and p-an-ears have been looped up, makin the fair secks look as if she was gettin her garments in trim to leep over some frog-pond.

The only change in overskirts now, is that they have been let down a few pegs, giving the fair wearer an appearance of havin landed safe on tother side of the Pollywog Asilum, which she has been all summer waitin to jump over.

LONG TRAILLIN DRESSES are agin comin into fashin, to the great detriment of the legitimate okerpashon of street-sweepin.

I understand that MARK TWAIN endorses long traillin skirts, and compels his new infant to wear 'em. How schockin!

JET TRIMMINS are agin to have a run. The United States Sennit will probably _Read_ in a few black _orniments_ this winter.

SHAWL SOOTS are a pooty gay harniss, nowadays, to sling on. To make one, get an old shawl, ram your head through the middle of it, then draw it snug about the waist, with a cast-off nitecap string.

Yaller and red are becoming cullers for a broonet, says _Harper's bazar_. The 15th amendment ladies will please take notiss and cultivate yaller hair and red noses in the futer.

RED GLOVES are much worn, makin the fashinable bell's hands look like a washer-woman's thumb on a frosty mornin.

Some pooty _desines_ have appeared in EAR RINGS, but the _desines_ of a sertin strong-minded click of femails to _ring_ the _ears_ of their lords and masters hain't endorsed in this ere report.

HAIR-DRESSIN.

The more frizzled and stirred up a ladey's hair appears nowadays, the hire she stands in the eyes of the _Bon tung_. A waterfall which will go into a store door without the wearer stoopin over, hain't considered of suffishent altitood for a fashinable got-up _femme de sham_ to tug around.

Thrashin masheens are now used to get just the rite angle on the hair.

The head is inserted in the masheen, which proceeds to give the _copiliary_ attraction a wuss shampoonin than can be got in a Rale Rode smash up.

Where thrashin masheens hain't to be had, young gals sprinkle the hair with corn-meel, and then let the chickens scratch it out. This gets up a _snarl_ which a Filadephy lawyer can't ontangle.

_Chauced bolony sassiges_ are fashinable danglin from a ladey's back hair.

These are often worn dubble barrelled, remindin us of a yoke of oxen--takin a waggin view of it.

MEN'S HARNISS.

Trowsers are very narrer contracted about the walkin pins.

The only way a feller can get his _calves_ into his bifurkates, is to fill his butes with _milk_ and coax 'em through.

N.B.--The readers of this report musen't misunderstand me, and undertake to crawl head first through their garments, for I assure _him_ or _her_, that I refer to the _calves_ of their perambulaters.

Cotes are worn short waisted, short in the skirts, and short in the sleeves. I have known them _short_ in the pocket, when the taler sent in his bill.

Neckties are worn large, what would usually be alowed for a silk dress is required now for a fashenable scarf.

With the 2 long ends, which hangs danglin down over a feller's buzzum, it doesent make a bit of difference if he wears a ragged shirt, dirty shirt, or no shirt at all.

Charity covers a multitood of sins, I'm told, and so does the new stile of scarfs cover a heep of dirt and old rags.

The new stile of silk hats, worn by a femail heart destroyer, is big enuff to hitch up dubble, with the shoo, in which the old lady and her children "hung out."

Altho the wimmen fokes have got off the _steel trimmims_, I notiss the Internal Revenoo Offisers are continerly gettin in _stealin trim_.

This strictly reliable report will be isshood as often as the undersined gets any new cloze.

Any person wishin to know how to dress, can obtain the required informashen by sendin a ten cent shinny to PUNCHINELLO Pub. Co.

A well-drest man is the noblest work of his taler, likewise is a full-rigged woman the noblest work of her taleress.

Which is the opinion of the compiler of this work.

Stilishly Ewers,

HIRAM GREEN, ESQ.,

Lait Gustise of the Peece.

* * * * *

THE DREAM OF A DINER-OUT.

But yesterday night I dreamed a dream--
I forget what I'd dined on, really,--
'Twas something heavy, and then I'd read
"What I Know of Farming," by GREELEY.

Many and strange were the sights I saw
As I turned on my restless pillow,
BISMARCK and BLUCHER pitching cents
For beer, 'neath a weeping willow.

JULIUS CAESAR was turning up trumps
In a nice little game at euchre,
With a Chinese coolie, GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN,
SATAN, and old JOE HOOKER.

EARL RUSSELL the small, to make himself tall,
Close by on his dignity stood,
While LITTLE JOHN sang the "Song of the Shirt"
'Till I thought he was ROBBIN' HOOD!

BRUTUS was taking a "whiskey straight,"
Which I didn't think orthodox;
While GRANT, with his usual zeal for sport,
Seemed busy with fighting Cox!

But I woke at last with a boisterous laugh
From a dream that was simply ridiculous,
For I knew (so did you) it couldn't be true
That France had succumbed to St. NICHOLAS.

* * * * *

_Old Lady_. "SONNY, BE THEM EGGS FRESH OR STALE?"

_Boy_. "FRESH, 'M. I _buys_ MY EGGS, I DOESN'T STALE 'EM!"]

* * * * *

_Mr. Benedick._ "BY JOVE! WHAT AN AWFUL SMELL OF ASAFOETIDA THIS EGG HAS!"

_Mrs. B._ "O, HOW SHOCKING! NOW THAT I THINK OF IT, I _did_ THROW AWAY SOME ASAFOETIDA PILLS, AND I SUPPOSE THE HENS HAVE BEEN EATING THEM!"]

* * * * *

POEMS OF THE CRADLE.

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Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 38, December 17, 1870.Chapter I: Front Matter

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