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* * * * *
Vol II. No. 27
PUNCHINELLO
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1870.
PUBLISHED BY THE
PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,
83 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.
* * * * *
THE MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD,
By ORPHEUS C. KERR,
Continued in this Number.
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PREFACE
"HALF a year, half a year, half a year onward," has PUNCHINELLO advanced
since he wafted his first number to the four quarters of the globe.
His road has not been a very easy one to travel.
Bad characters lurked behind the fences, from which they would sometimes
take a sneak shot at the Showman as he passed. These fellows were
awfully bad shots, though, never so much as hitting the van in which the
show travels. PUNCHINELLO'S return fire always set the scamps
a-scampering, and all they had for their pains was the loss of their
ammunition, and the discovery that the row kicked up by them had
attracted crowds of people to the spot, so that PUNCHINELLO'S show was
capitally advertised by their noise.
PUNCHINELLO'S First Volume, then, is a substantial fact. It is an
entirely new, original, and complete article, which no family should be
without.
Read what the New York _Moon that Shines for All_ says about it:
"Put a head on yourself by reading PUNCHINELLO, Vol. 1. It is by far the
best tonic bitters in the market. It cured the editor of this paper of a
very malignant attack, (made by himself on PUNCHINELLO,) after three
applications."
Several gentle critics predicted an early death for PUNCHINELLO on
account of the buff color selected by him for his full dress costume.
Ha! ha! gentlemen, many a blow falls harmless on the wearer of a
buff-jerkin. As the old poet, whose name we have forgotten, might have
said, had he been in the humor--"He who will cuff it, Eke should buff
it,"--a maxim to which PUNCHINELLO gives his cordial adhesion.
And now comes PUNCHINELLO to the beginning of his Second Volume,
encouraged by the success of his First.
If Vol. I of PUNCHINELLO was a _Chassepot_, (and it _did_ make some
havoc in the ranks of the enemy,) Vol. II is intended to be a
_mitrailleuse_. It will be so arranged as to combine total annihilation
with bewitching music. For instance, by turning one of the cranks by
which it is worked, PUNCHINELLO will be able to project a shower of such
mortiferous missiles against all abettors of crime and vice, all quacks,
political and social, all corrupt officials, all Congress, (except the
Right Party,) all torpid fogies and peddlers of red tape, all humbugs of
every size and shape, in fact, as will speedily reduce them to ashes.
Then, by skilfully manipulating the other crank, he can produce from it
strains of such mellifluous harmony that the very telegraph-poles will
throng around him, as erstwhile did the trees of the forest around
ORPHEUS, and tender their services for the transmission of his melting
music to all the beautiful places on Earth. It is hardly necessary to
say that "Hail Columbia" is the very first tune on the cylinder of
PUNCHINELLO'S musical _mitrailleuse_.
With his mind's eye, (an apparatus expressly constructed for and fitted
to his mental organization by a renowned necromancer,) PUNCHINELLO sees
his Public surging towards him, and grasping with outstretched hands at
the showers of _bon bons_ with which he plentifully supplies them from
an inexhaustible casket.
Among them are thousands of familiar forms, and these are mostly in the
front. After these come several thousands of new forms, all pressing
forward upon the heels of the others with an eagerness that augurs for
PUNCHINELLO Vol II a tremendous and unparalleled success. Each of these
good people carries four dollars ($4) in his right hand, which he waves
at PUNCHINELLO, who affably accepts the greenbacks from him when within
proper distance, and then, dipping his pen in ink without a drop of gall
in it, books the donor for a year's subscription in advance.
As for party, PUNCHINELLO knows but one party--and that is the Right
Party. Stirring times are before us. The Right Party is not going to lie
down and sleep while the times are stirring. Nor is PUNCHINELLO. When
anything that interests the Right Party has got to be stirred,
PUNCHINELLO will be on hand. He has been so long used to starring it,
that he makes light of stirring it. He can stir with a red-hot poker and
he can stir with a feather,--"You pays your money and you takes your
choice."
And now, having stirred the spirit within him to a demonstrative pitch,
PUNCHINELLO shies his cocked hat into space, and calls upon his Public
to give three rousing cheers for the
RIGHT PARTY.
* * * * *
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.
* * * * *
THE MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD.
AN ADAPTATION.
BY ORPHEUS C. KERR.
CHAPTER XX.
AN ESCAPE.
The bewildered Flowerpot had no sooner gained her own room, enjoyed her
agitated expression of face in the mirror, and tried four differently
colored ribbon-bows upon her collar in succession, than the thought of
becoming Mr. BUMSTEAD'S bride lost the charm of its first wild novelty,
and became utterly ridiculous. He was a man of commanding stature, which
his linen "duster" made appear still more long; the dark circles around
his eyes would disappear in time, and he had an abusive way of referring
to women which made him inexpressibly grand to women as a true
poet-soul; but would it be safe, would it be religiously right, for a
young girl, not yet conscious of her own full power of annual monetary
expenditure, to blindly risk her necessary expenses for life upon one
whom the cost of a single imported bonnet, in the contingency of a
General European War, might plunge into inextricable pecuniary
embarrassment? Possibly, the General European War might not occur in an
ordinary married-lifetime, as France was no longer in a condition to
menace England, Russia would be wary about provoking the new Prussian
giant, and Austria and Italy were not likely soon to forget their last
military misadventures; yet, while all the great American journals had,
for the last twenty years, published daily editorials, by young writers
from the country, to show that such a War could not possibly be averted
longer than about the day after tomorrow, would it be judicious for a
young girl to marry as though that War were absolutely impossible? No!
Her woman's heart sternly reiterated the pitilessly negative; and, as
the Ritualistic organist had plainly evinced an earnest intention to let
no foreign military complications prevent her marriage with him, she
felt that her only safety from his matrimonial violence must be sought
in flight.
With whom, though, could she take refuge? If she went to MAGNOLIA
PENDRAGON, all her dearest schoolmates would say, that they had always
loved her, despite her great faults, yet could not disguise from
themselves that she seemed at last to be fairly running after Miss
PENDRAGON'S brother. Besides, Mr. BUMSTEAD, offended by the seeming want
of confidence in him evinced by her flight, would, probably, take
measures publicly to identify MAGNOLIA'S alpaca garment with the
covering of his lost umbrella, and thus direct new suspicion against a
sister and brother already bothered almost into hysterics.
During the last few weeks, an attack of dyspepsia had laid the
foundation of a mind in the Flowerpot, as it generally does in other
young female American boarding-school thinkers, and she was now capable
of that subtle line of reasoning which is the great commendation of her
sex to a recognized perfect intellectual equality with man. Once
decided, by her apprehension of a General European War, against marriage
with J. BUMSTEAD, she took a rather irritable view of that too
attractive devotional musician, and inferred, from his not being wealthy
enough to stand the test of possible transatlantic hostilities, that he
must, himself, have killed EDWIN DROOD. His umbrella, it was well known,
had been present at that fatal Christmas dinner; and a thoughtless
insult offered to it, even by his nephew, might have made a demon of
him. Suppose that EDWIN, upon returning to the dining-room that night,
after his temporary exercise in the open air with MONTGOMERY PENDRAGON,
had found his uncle, flushed with cloves, endeavoring to force a social
glass of lemon tea upon the umbrella, under the impression that it was a
person, and had unthinkingly accused him thereat of being momentarily
unsettled in his faculties? Probably, then, hot words would have passed
between them; each telling the other that he would have a nice headache
in the morning and find it impossible not to look very sleepy even if he
fixed his hair ever so elaborately. Blows might have followed: the
uncle, in his anger, hewing the nephew limb from limb with the carving
knife from the table, and subsequently carrying away the remains to the
Pond and there casting them in. Suppose, in his natural excitement, the
uncle had hurriedly used the umbrella, opened and held downward, to
carry the remains in; and, after coming home again, and snatching a nap
under the table, had forgotten all about it, and thus been ever since
inconsolable for his alpaca loss? As the young orphan argued thus
exhaustively to herself, the extreme probability of her suppositions
made her more and more frenzied to fly instantly beyond the reach of one
who, in the event of a General European War, would not be a husband whom
her head could approve.
After penning a hasty farewell note to Miss CAROWTHERS, to the effect
that urgent military reasons obliged her to see her guardian at once,
FLORA lost no time in packing a small leather satchel for travel. Two
bottles of hair oil, a jar of glycerine, one of cold cream, two boxes of
powder, a package of extra back-hair, a phial of belladonna, a
camel's-hair brush for the eyebrows, a rouge-saucer for pinking the
nails, four flasks of perfumery, a depilatory in a small flagon, and
some tooth paste, were the only articles she could pause to collect for
her precipitate escape; and, with them in the satchel on her arm, and a
bonnet and shawl hurriedly thrown on, she stole away down-stairs, and
thus from the house.
Hastening to the Roach House, from whence started an omnibus for the
ferry, she was quickly rattling out of Bumsteadville in a vehicle
remarkable for the great number and variety of noises it could make when
maddened into motion by a span of equine rivals in an immemorial
walking-match.
"Now, BONNER," she said to the driver, taking leave of him at the
ferry-boat, "be sure and let Miss CAROWTHERS know that you saw me safely
off, and that I was not a bit more tired than if I had walked all the
way."
Blushing with pleasure at the implied compliment to his equipage from
such lips, the skilled horseman had not the heart to object to the
wildly mutilated fragment of currency with which his fare had been paid,
and went back to where his steeds were taking turns in holding each
other up, as happy a man as ever lost money by the change in woman.
Reaching the city, Miss POTTS was promptly worshiped by a hackman of
marked conversational powers, who, whip in hand, assured her that his
carriage was widely celebrated under the titles of the "Rocking Chair,"
the "Old Shoe," and the "Glider," on account of its incredible ease of
motion; and that, owing to its exquisite abbreviation of travel to the
emotions, those who rode in it had actually been known to dispute that
they had ridden even half the distance for which they were charged. Did
he know where Mr. DIBBLE, the lawyer, lived, in Nassau Street, near
Fulton? If she meant lawyer DIBBLE, near Fulton Street, in Nassau, next
door but one to the second house below, and directly opposite the
building across the way, there was just one span of buckskin horses in
the city that could take a carriage built expressly for ladies to that
place, as naturally as though it were a stable. It was a place that
he--the hackman--always associated with his own mother, because he was
so familiar with it in childhood, and had often thought of driving to it
blindfolded for a wager.
Proud to learn that her guardian was so well known in the great city,
and delighted that she had met a charioteer so minutely familiar with
his house of business, FLORA stepped readily into the providential hack,
which thereupon instantly began Rocking-Chair-ing, Old-Shoe-ing, and
Gliding. Any one of these celebrated processes, by itself, might have
been desirable; but their indiscriminate and impetuous combination in
the present case gave the Flowerpot a confused impression that her whole
ride was a startling series of incessant sharp turns around obdurate
street corners, and kept her plunging about like an early young
Protestant tossed in a Romish blanket. Instinctively holding her satchel
aloft, to save its fragile contents from fracture, she rocked, shoed and
glided all over the interior of the vehicle, without hope of gaining
breath enough for even one scream, until, nearly unconscious, and, with
her bonnet driven half-way into her chignon, she was helped out by the
hackman at her guardian's door.
"I am dying!" she groaned.
"Then please remember me in your will, to the extent of two dollars,"
returned the hackman with much humor. "You're only a little sea-sick,
miss; as often happens to people in humble circumstances when they ride
in a kerridge for the first time."
Still panting, Miss POTTS paid and discharged this friendly man, and,
weariedly entering the building, followed the signs up-stairs to her
guardian's office.
After knocking several times at the right door without reply, she turned
the knob, and entered so softly that the venerable lawyer was not
aroused from the slumber into which he had fallen in his chair by the
window. With a copy of _Putnam's Magazine_ still grasped in his honest
right hand, good Mr. DIBBLE slept like a drugged person; nor could the
young girl awaken him until, by a happy inspiration, she had snatched
away the monthly and cast it through the casement.
"Am I dreaming?" exclaimed the aged man, when thus suddenly rescued from
his deadly lethargy at last "Is that you, my dear; or are you your late
mother?"
"I am your ridiculously unhappy ward," answered the Flowerpot,
tremulously. "Oh, poor, dear, absurd EDDY!"
"And you have come here all alone?"
"Yes; and to escape being married to EDDY'S perfectly hateful uncle, who
has the same as ordered me to become his utterly disgusted bride. Oh,
why is it, why is it, that I must be thus persecuted by young men
without property! Why is it that perfectly horrid madmen on salaries are
allowed to claim me as their own!"
"My dear," cried the old lawyer, leading her to a chair, and striving to
speak soothingly, "if Mr. BUMSTEAD desires to marry you he must indeed
be insane. Such a man ought really to be confined," he continued, pacing
thoughtfully up and down the room. "This must have been the idea that
was already turning his brain when--bless my soul!--he actually
intimated, first, that I, and then, that Mr. SIMPSON, had killed his
nephew!"
"He thinks, now, that I, or MAGNOLIA PENDRAGON, may have done it,--the
hateful creature!" said FLORA, passionately.
"I see, I see," assented Mr. DIBBLE, nodding. "When he has you in his
head, my dear, he himself must clearly be out of it. You shall stay here
and take tea with me, and then I will take you to FRENCH'S Hotel for
your accommodation during the night."
It was a sight to see him tenderly help her off with her bonnet; and
suggestive to hear him say, that if a man could only take off his brains
as easily as a woman hers, what a relief it would be to him
occasionally. It was curious to see him peep into her bottle-filled
satchel, with an old man's freedom; and to hear him audibly wonder
thereat, whether, after all, men were any more addicted than women to
the social glass when they wanted to put a better face on affairs. And,
after the waiter bringing him toast and tea from a neighboring
restaurant had brought an additional slice and cup for the guest, it was
pleasant to behold him smiling across the office-table at that guest,
and encouraging her to eat as much as she would if a member of his sex
were not looking.
"It must be absurdly ridiculous to stay here all alone, as you do, sir,"
observed FLORA.
"But I am not always alone," answered Mr. DIBBLE. "My clerk, Mr.
BLADAMS, now taking a vacation in the country, is generally here though,
to be sure, I may lose him before long. He's turned literary."
"How perfectly frightful!" said Miss POTTS.
"He has set up for a genius, my child, and is now engaged upon a great
American novel. Discontented with the law, he is giving great attention
to this; but Free Trade will not, I am afraid, allow any American
publisher to bring it out."
"Free Trade?" repeated FLORA.
"Yes, my dear, Free Trade; that is, while American publishers can steal
foreign novels for nothing, they are not going to pay anything for
native fiction."
Yawning behind her hand, the Flowerpot murmured something about Free
Trade being positively absurd, and her guardian went on:
"Nevertheless, Mr. BLADAMS is going on-with his work, which he calls
'The Amateur Detective;' and if it ever does come out you shall have a
copy.--But, by the by," added the lawyer, suddenly, "you have not yet
fully described to me the interview in which poor Mr. EDWIN'S uncle
offered to become your husband."
She gave him a full history of the Ritualistic organist's handsome offer
to her of his H. and H.; adding her own final decision in the matter as
precipitated by the possibility of a General European war; and Mr.
DIBBLE heard the whole with an air of studious attention.
"Although I have certainly no particular reason for befriending Mr.
BUMSTEAD," said he, reflectively, "I shall take measures to keep him
from you. Now come with me to FRENCH'S Hotel. To-morrow I will call
there for you, you know, and then, perhaps, you may be taken to see your
friend, Miss PENDRAGON."
Having obtained for his ward a room in the hotel named, and seen her
safely to its shelter, the good old lawyer visited the bar-room of the
establishment, for the purpose of ascertaining whether any evil-disposed
person could get in through that way for the disturbance of his fair
charge. After which he departed for his home in Gowanus.
(_To be Continued.)
* * * * *
MOTTO FOR ALL GOOD CUBANS.--"The labor we delight in physics (S)pain."
* * * * *
THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.
Punctually as announced, the FIFTH AVENUE THEATRE has re-opened. It has
been improved by the addition of several private boxes that remind one
of the square pews in old-fashioned churches, (by the way, why do
Puseyites object to pews?) and by the erection of a hydrant near the
conductor's seat, so that when the audience can endure STOEPEL'S music
no longer, they can turn on the water and drown him and his long-winded
orchestra. This latter improvement meets with our hearty approval, and
we earnestly hope to see it put to the excellent use for which it is
designed without further delay. Manager DALY is now offering to his
patrons the new comedy of _Man and Wife_. The old-fashioned play of that
name, which is daily acted everywhere about us, is usually more of a
tragedy than a comedy, but Mr. DALY'S _Man and Wife_ is comedy, farce,
muscular christianity, and paralysis pleasantly mingled together. As
thus:
ACT I.--GEOFFREY DELAMAYN _and his brother are seen conversing in an
arbor. (Don't let the printer imagine that I mean Ann Arbor. It was bad
enough in_ WILKIE COLLINS _to banish his dramatis personae to Scotland;
but he was nevertheless too humane to send them to Michigan_.)
JULIUS DELAMAYN. "GEOFFREY, you really must do something. The unmannerly
people who are just coming into the theatre make such a noise that I
couldn't be heard if I took the trouble to preach to you for an hour, so
I won't attempt to make my meaning any clearer."
GEOFFREY. "I will or I won't, I forget which. However, the audience
can't hear. We've got a pretty good house here to-night I wonder if my
muscles really show to any extent. Here comes LADY LUNDIE and her
friends."
LADY LUNDIE. "I choose everybody to play croquet on my side. The rest
may play on BLANCHE'S side. Miss SYLVESTER, you look as if you could not
stand alone. Therefore I order you to play."
ANNIE SYLVESTER. "Madame, I will. GEOFFREY, meet me here in ten minutes,
or you'll be sorry for it." (Exit everybody. ANNIE and GEOFFREY
returning on tip-toe.)
ANNIE. "You must marry me this afternoon. Meet me at the inn on the
moor."
GEOFFREY. "I won't cross the moor with you. DESDEMONA foolishly crossed
the Moor, and came to grief in consequence. I take warning by her. I
hate you, but I suppose I must marry you, or you'll sell all my letters
to the _Sun_."--(_They go out to be married_.)
ARNOLD _enters and makes love to_ BLANCHE. SIR PATRICK _does the comic
business with_ LEWIS'S _usual humor_. (_What a nice man_ LEWIS _must be
for girls to quarrel with; he "makes up" so nicely--this is a joke_.)
LADY LUNDIE _enters and announces that_ ANNIE _is no longer her
governess, that misguided person having thrown up her situation, for the
irrational reason that it was an interesting one, and having fled in the
silence of the after-dinner hour. Shrieks of horror from the young
ladies, who desist from knocking their croquet-balls into the orchestra
and the proscenium boxes; and triumphant falling of a new act-drop_.
STOEPEL, _having thought of a sweet passage for the fife, in a Chinese
opera, plays it uninterruptedly for forty-five minutes. A deaf old
gentleman approvingly remarks that this is really classical music_.