Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Steve Schulze
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
NEARLY READY.
ALASKA and its RESOURCES.
By W. H. DALL,
Director of the Scientific Corps of the Western Union Telegraph
Expedition.
Full Octavo, with nearly One Hundred Elegant Illustrations, engraved by
the late JOHN ANDREW, from drawings by the Author. This volume contains
not only the record of a THREE YEARS residence in Alaska—made under the
most favorable circumstances for explorations—but a complete history of
the country gathered from every available source. It is very full in
details of Productions, Climate, Soil, Temperature, Language, the
Manners and Customs of its peoples, etc., etc.; and is the most
valuable, as well as the most authentic, addition to the history of
Alaska. And is one of the most elegant books issued in America.
LEE & SHEPARD, Boston.
TO NEWS-DEALERS.
PUNCHINELLO'S MONTHLY.
THE FIVE NUMBERS FOR APRIL,
Bound in a Handsome Cover,
Will be ready May 2d. Price, Fifty Cents.
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[Illustration: Vol. 1. No. 6.]
PUNCHINELLO
Vol. I. No. 6.
SATURDAY, MAY 7, 1870.
PUBLISHED BY THE
PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,
83 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.
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With Reminiscenses of the Trotting Turf. A handsome 12mo, with a
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The New-York Tribune says: _"This is a Masterly Treatise by the Master
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Machine, with finely finished
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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.
Notice to Ladies.
DIBBLEE,
Of 854 Broadway,
Has just received a large assortment of all the latest styles of
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FROM PARIS,
Comprising the following beautiful varieties:
La Coquette, La Plenitude,
Le Bouquet,
La Sirene, L'Imperatrice, etc.,
At prices varying from $2 upward.
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Illustration: YE YONGE MANNE OF MANHATTAN
Ye Yonge Manne is born, and his parents hasten with him to ye abode of
ye BROWN, praying that he may be christened among ye upper tenne.
And when ye Yonge Manne takes a daughter of ye upper tenne to wife, ye
BROWN sees that he is married in ye BROWN his church.
Ye BROWN demands if ye parents put in their coal in ye Summer time;
and, being told that they do, he has ye Yonge Manne christened in his
church, and when he grows up ye BROWN introduces him into Society.
And when ye Yonge Manne he dies, ye BROWN arranges with all ye
gardeners and black-goods men. And so, ye Yonge Manne, he is done
entirely BROWN.
THE BACHELOR'S MOVING-DAY.
AHA!
A mere half-hour's bother!
Suppose I were a father—
A luckless wight, called "Pa"!
I'd say,
"Now curse the restless rover
That first (despising clover!)
Invented Moving-day!"
O yes!
Especially, if moving
Was likely to be proving
(As usual) a mess!
Why, look!
You've got no end of articles.
Sure to be smashed to particles,
Or "snaked off" with a "hook"!
You've got
Chairs, bedsteads, tables, crockery—
(Recital seems a mockery!)
You've got—what have you not?
What's worse,
Your things won't fit new places,
Your wife won't like new faces—
Your very maid will curse!
Your hat
And other things _do_ fall so!
And children they _do_ bawl so!
Good heavens! think of that,
And think
Of possible colds and fevers—
Cartmen that prove deceivers—
Nothing to eat or drink!
Small bliss
For bachelors so lonely—.
Tired of one thing only:
But they escape all this!
And pray,
What man with sons and daughters
Don't sigh for bachelor quarters
About the First of May?
Printed, 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.
THE DELIGHTS OF DOUGHERTY.
At the Banquet of the Army of the Potomac in Philadelphia, Mr.
DANIEL
DOUGHERTY made one of the most extraordinary speeches on record, if we
except certain forensic efforts of Mr. PUNCHINELLO delivered during the
earlier stages of his career from his box. Mr. DOUGHERTY is a Soarer,
and a Spreader, and a Screamer. Speaking metaphorically, be goes
higher,
measures more from the tip of one wing to the other, and is more
suggestive of the warbling of a locomotive in his speech than any other
Eagle in Philadelphia, which is saying a great deal. DANIEL is a Giant
of Rhetoric, and would remind us of the Big Gentleman from Cardiff,
only
that mysterious personage is too heavy to Soar; for which reason he
usually occupies the ground floor, which Mr. DOUGHERTY does not do by
any manner of means.
It was this extraordinary capacity of Mr. DOUGHERTY for
Soaring which
caused him to be called upon by the Army of the Potomac for a speech.
The great D. begins by declaring that he would rather speak for his
country than for Pennsylvania, which, considering that he also declared
that he came "as a modest spectator," does not strike us as the depth
of
humility. However, "my bosom," said Mr. D., "is not confined to any
locality;" and we believe that Mr. PECKSNIFF said something like this
of
his own frontal linen. Yet, we should like to know what Mr. DOUGHERTY
does for a chest when his own has gone upon its extensive journeys;
something temporary is done, we suppose, with a pad. But the Bosom was
at the Banquet, and the proprietor was there to thump it, until it must
have sounded and reverberated; and if Mr. DOUGHERTY had also thumped
his
head, there would have been equal evidence of hollowness within. "May
my
tongue never prove a traitor!" cried the orator. Mr. PUNCHINELLO
hastens
to reassure him. The tongue is well enough, and is likely to be. It's
something a little higher up that is likely to give out.
If the applause of the brave men before him was what Mr.
DOUGHERTY
wanted, (besides his dinner,) then of applause he got the Stomach under
his Bosom full. The speech was received, according to the reporters,
with a roaring which has not been equalled since the Lions in the Den
roared at the other DANIEL, until they found that the good man was
neither to be roared or sneezed at with impunity. The cheering was
"tremendous." The cheering was "terrific." The cheering was
"prolonged."
And there stood "the Bosom not confined to any locality," but just then
swelling, and expanding, and dilating—shall we for once be fine, and
say like an Ocean Billow? Voices which shouted at Gettysburg now hailed
Mr. DANIEL DOUGHERTY as a Conquering Hero—the conqueror of their cars!
Once in a while there was "great laughter" when Mr. D.D. hadn't said
any
thing specially funny—that is, if Mr. PUNCHINELLO is a judge of fun;
and if he isn't, who in all the world is? There are two kinds of
laughter—the laughing at and the laughing with; and we have known
"tremendous" and even "vociferous" applause to be very suspicious.
It must be a source of calm satisfaction to General GRANT to
know that
he is considered the "great and glorious GRANT" by Mr. DANIEL
DOUGHERTY;
although DANIEL once considered Mr. BUCHANAN, poor man! to be equally
"great and glorious." So DANIEL also considers SHERMAN to be
"immortal,"
and SHERIDAN "unconquerable," and MEADE "glorious." Adjectives are
cheap, you know; and D.D., Esq., has evidently a great stock of them in
his Wandering Bosom. Only, great soldiers, who know the precise value
of
Mr. DOUGHERTY'S military opinions, might not care to have them laid on
too thickly.
Mr. PUNCHINELLO has written to Mr. DOUGHERTY'S Family Doctor
to inquire
into the state of Mr. D's health after this tremendous effort, and he
sends us a bulletin that Mr. D. is "as well as could be expected." We
do
not know what he means by this; it seems to us to lack scientific
precision. The point upon which we wished to be informed was, whether
Mr. D. did or did not break any thing—not the tumblers on the table,
for that we should expect; but any thing in the way of blood-vessels.
Not to put too fine a point upon it, How's the Bosom?
AMERICAN CUTLERY IN FRANCE.
The great pride, the _dulce decus_ of Americans, has
long been in their
pocket hardware, and the skill with which they use it. But we must
henceforth look to our laurels. France is competing alarmingly with us
in the use of the revolver. They were always a revolutionary people,
were the French, and revolving seems, therefore, to suit their temper
to
a T, (Gunpowder T, of course.) Since the slaying of NOIR by BONAPARTE,
the affectation of readiness with the pistol has become quite the thing
in Paris. New-York and Paris will soon be exactly alike in the bullet
business—especially Paris. PAUL DE CASSAGNAC, it seems, has been
invited by some anonymous person to meet him at a certain hour in front
of the _mairie_ of the Seventeenth _arrondissement_, for
the purpose of
having his brains removed with a revolver. PAUL declined to go,
however.
The _Mairie_ mentioned in the cartel was not the one for PAUL.
Probably
he would have gone to VIRGINIA, had he been invited to do so; but never
a MAIRIE for the faithful PAUL. And might have come by way of New-York,
where he would soon have grown so used to having his brains removed
with
a revolver that the process would have become a pleasure to him.
PHILADELVINGS.
PUNCHINELLO cannot help liking Philadelphia, and always feels a pang of
sympathy whenever any thing happens to that plain old city. One reason
for this is, (and he is not ashamed of the weakness,) that Philadelphia
likes PUNCHINELLO and takes, weekly, he would not be vain enough to say
how many hundred copies of his journal. And now Philamaclink, as her
natives love to call her, is afflicted with a terrible disease—a
fearful attack of chronic Legislature. Even when the active symptoms of
this dread malady have subsided, the effects linger, and the consequent
suffering is excruciating. One of the direst of the effects of the last
attack is a dreadful bill—not a bile—which has caused a utilization
sewage company to appear upon her body corporate. It is almost
impossible for sister cities to understand the torments of such an
affliction. Nobody can now clear away their own dirt—Councils, Board of
Health, or any body else. If rooms are swept, the sewage company must
take up the dust; if a pig-pen or a stable needs cleaning, the company
must do it; if the lady of a house throws the slops out of her
breakfast cups, the company must carry them away; if a man knocks the
ashes from his cigar, he must save them for the company; if, anywhere
in the city, a foul word is spoken, the company must have the benefit
of it. Even the birds in the squares must not cleanse their nests
without a printed permit from the company. If a bedstead is cleaned,
the company must have the bugs. Only one dirty thing is safe from this
all-powerful corporation, and that is the legisiative delegation from
the city. If the refuse matter were taken from that, there would be
nothing left. It has been proposed that the Legislature itself should
be purified; but this idea is Utopian, PUNCHINELLO fears. If Niagara
were squirted through its halls, the water would be dirtied, but the
halls would not be cleansed. Alas, poor city! Trampled under the heels
of the aristocratic HONG and PENNY BUNN, what is there to hope for it?
But all has not been told. There are about eight hundred thousand
inhabitants in the place. Some twenty thousand of these owe small sums
for unpaid taxes, averaging about nine and a quarter cents to a man. To
collect these sums, an army of seventy-two thousand able-bodied men, at
salaries of one thousand dollars per annum, has been commissioned by
the PENNY BUNN Legislature.
Alas, poor city! But all has not been told. A private firm has
prevailed upon the imbecile old farmers from the western and interior
counties to give them the right to build a private freight railroad
through many of the principal streets of the Quaker City. This road
will run through several school-house yards, and the time-tables are to
be so arranged that trains shall always be due at those points at
recess time. Every fiftieth private house along the lines is to have a
road-station and freight-depot in its front-parlor, and all male
residents on said routes are to serve in turn, without pay, as
brakesmen and switch-tenders. The owners of all vehicles injured by the
trains are to be heavily fined, and the families of individuals
allowing themselves to be killed are to be mulcted in heavy damages.
Alas, poor city! But all has not yet been told. A counterfeit tax-bill
has been passed by the Legislature. All the sums handed in to the State
Treasury by the tax collectors have been found to be "bogus" money.
This action has been indorsed by the Legislature, and the action of
that body is hereafter to be of the same character as the funds paid in
by its creatures.
Alas, poor city! But all has not yet been told. Colonel FORNEY intends
resuming his "Occasional" letters in the _Press!_
Enough! Humanity can bear no more.
Query by a Constitutional Student.
When the Governor or President V-toes a bill, is he supposed
to put his foot on it?
THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.
SPECTACLES are proverbially fit for old eyes. Probably that is the
reason why the spectacle of the _Twelve Temptations_ is so dear to the
aged eyes of the gray-haired old gentlemen who occupy the front seats
at the Grand Opera House. It is certainly a brilliant spectacle,
though, like the ideal scene to which Mrs. NICKLEBY's eccentric and
vegetarian lover once referred, it consists principally of "gas and
gaiters." Not that it is exclusively an Old Folks' entertainment; for,
as the critics say of portentously dull juvenile books, "it will be
found as interesting to the young as to the old." Though the dullest of
dramas, it is so brightened by brilliant legs that it dazzles every
beholder. Why, then, should the stern advocate of the legitimate drama
refuse to acknowledge that the _Twelve Temptations_ has its redeeming
legs? How runs the ancient proverb, "Singed milk is better than it
looks;" or that equally ancient philosophical maxim, "There is no use
in crying over spilt cats"? The stupid story of ULRIC'S folly is made
more attractive than one would suppose that it could be, and we need
not weep over the fact that it is a spectacle, and not a SHAKESPEAREAN
tragedy.
The bold explorers who have reached the remote Opera House, fought
their way past the misanthropic door-keeper, and gained their seats,
are first reduced to a state of mental chaos by the performance of a
maddening overture, and are then fitted to appreciate the play, which
proceeds after the following pattern:
_Act 1. Curtain rises upon a score of Unintelligible Demons_,
who sing
this impressive chorus:
"Oh! um um um um
For um um um um
And um um um um
To um um um um."
_Exeunt Demons. Enter_ RUDOLPH THE TEMPTER. _He
remarks to the
surrounding scenery_—"ULLERIC'S soul must be mine, or else the dark
abodes of torment await me. I will tempt him. Great Master, appear."
_The Great Master—a major-general of fiends—appears, and,
approving
of_ RUDOLPH'S _virtuous resolve, they descend to—well, they
descend
below the Erie Building, to drink to his success. Scene changes to_
ULRIC'S _home. Enter_ ULRIC _and family, including Aged
Mother, Virtuous
Heroine, Hated Rival, and Demoniac Servant._
ULRIC. "Motherr, this slife is intollerrabble; I will do any
thing to
escape frrrom it."
_Enter_ RUDOLPH _and Unintelligible Demons
(disguised.) They sing as
before._
"Oh! um um um um," etc.
ULRIC. "The song says terruly. I will go with you, though you
were the
fiend himself."
_Consternation on the part of every one. Demoniac Servant
remarks, "Ha!
ha!"_ ULRIC _and the Demons sink through the floor. Scene changes
to the
Studio of Eblis._
RUDOLPH. "Take this collar. Behold these stripes painted upon
it.
Whatever you wish you shall have at the price of five years of your
life. A stripe will vanish each time your wish is gratified. (_Aside._)
The stripes are only cloth, you know, and you can pull 'em off when
your
back is turned to the audience. Is it a bargain?"
ULRIC. "It 'er is." (_Malignant crash from the orchestra._)
RUDOLPH. "ULLERIC, 'tis well. Now thou shall behold our
sports."
_Enter ballet girls, dressed in red gaiters and torches.
They dance the
Demon Cancan, waving their torches and scattering the flames. Old
Gentleman, in the front row hears such charming little asides as, "Drat
you,_ MARY SMITH, _you've burnt my hand." "I'll slap your face,
Miss, if
you step on my foot again." "O_ NELLY! _my hair's a-coming down."_
Curtain finally falls upon a blaze of light and a bewildering
wealth of
legs.
_Old Gentleman, in front row._ "Well, he! he! that's pretty
good; he! he!
Devilish pretty girls some of 'em; he! he!"
_Virtuous Matron._ "My dear, isn't it shameful. I never
saw any thing so
disgusting."
_Sceptical Husband._ "Then perhaps we'd better go at
once."
_Virtuous Matron._ "N—no. I'll sit through one more act,
and see if it
gets any worse."
_Fast Young Man._ "They're all padded, you know. You
can't feel sure
about one of 'em. There were gals in the _Crook_ who used to pad
their's
from here to here"—(_adds explanatory pantomime._)
_Travelled Man, who has been to Paris._ "These girls
can't dance, I
assure you. Now, at the Châtelet they do these things
differently."
_Admiring Friend to Travelled Man._ "What spectacles did
you see at the
Châtelet?"
_Travelled Man,_ (who was in Paris only two days, and
never saw even the
outside of the theatre.) "It was—let me see—Oh! _Moses in Egypt_
was
the name of the piece. It was gorgeous; full of Egyptian scenery, and
Egyptian dancing girls and things."
_Admiring Friend, (with aggravating persistence.)_ "Do
you mean
Rossini's _Moses_?"
_Travelled Man, (quite desperate.)_ "Of course! He's the
rival of
OFFENBACH, you know. But come, let's go and take something."
(_They go, the faith of the Admiring Friend in the Travelled
Man's
veracity being, however, perceptibly shaken._)
Three more acts follow. ULRIC makes a dozen wishes, all of which are
gratified, and all of which have the inevitable effect of transporting
him into scenes pervaded by the female leg to an extent that easily
reconciles him to the successive loss of five years of his life. He
finally becomes King of Egypt, and, after having fought against the
Crusaders in defence of those well-known Mohammedan gods, ISIS and
OSIRIS, is carried down a trap by exulting demons. An Intolerable Comic
Man opens up hitherto unknown wastes of dreariness, and sings a comic
song that is positively more tedious than an article from the _Nation_.
The Demoniac Servant is continually shot up through spring traps, in
order to remark, "Ha! ha!" and to immediately disappear again. The Aged
Mother travels from Flanders to Egypt without changing her dress or
combing her back hair, for the vain purpose of begging "ULLERIC" to
repent. Consumptive Knights fight terrific broad-sword duels with a
thirst for combat that beer alone is subsequently able to allay. The
Virtuous HEROINE displays a very neat pair of ankles, but without
winning "ULLERIC" from the devil of his ways. Half a dozen ballets are
successively introduced, in which the skirts of the dancers are seen to
decrease as rapidly and steadily as the stripes on ULRIC'S magic
collar.
Finally, a grand Transformation Scene, which has nothing whatever to do
with the play, exhibits the best legs of the company in the most
favorable attitudes, and the green baize curtain falls upon the great
spectacle of the day.
_Virtuous Matron._ "Well, I never! It's positively
indecent. I'd like to
take a whip to those shameless hussies."
_Sceptical Husband._ "PAGE offered me a proscenium box
the other day.
Suppose we take it to-morrow night?"
_Virtuous Matron._ "I'll go to please you, my dear. And
really the
scenery is pretty."
_Wretched Man, who is shameless enough to admit that he likes it._ "I
like it. The ballet's good, the scenery is splendid, and the music
might be worse. Why don't these ladies, who come here and sit it
through, have the honesty to admit that they come because they like it?
But no; they go away, and at the next party, where they wear dresses
lower in the neck than any I've seen on the stage to night, they'll
abuse the poor girls who have danced here for their amusement. Their
malignant modesty does not deserve the respect of an intelligent
_figurante_. If they are sincere, why do they come here?"
Which question still puzzles the perturbed mind of _MATADOR_.
Give 'em Rope.
We clip the following from the _Express_:
"There seem to be more legal loopholes for convicted murderers
to escape through than for any other class of criminals."
That is too true, by a great deal. There should be but one
"legal loophole" for a convicted murderer, and the authorities should
not let him escape through the loop of it—they should Knot.
[Illustration: A MOVING INCIDENT.
_Pat, (to Bridget.)_ “TAKE YOUR MASTHER’S TRUNK TO THE RAILROAD, IS
IT? OCH! BOTHER—DON’T YOU SEE I’M MOVIN’ A FAMILY?”]
THE "TOBACCO PARLIAMENT" OF OHIO.
For genial law-making in America commend us to the Ohio House
of
Representatives. While we haven't learned that the legislation of this
august body has been particularly hazy of late, we think it must have
been wholesome, for we are assured that much of it has been thoroughly
"fumigated" through the exertions of the majority of its members, who
perform their functions with pipes in their mouths, while drawn up in
semi-circle around a couple of fire-places built expressly for their
accommodation—"one on each side of the speaker's desk," Who _wouldn't_
legislate, (and early, too,) if he could do it with his feet on the
fender, his well-flavored Havana or best Virginia leaf in his mouth,
and
the privilege of cracking jokes and telling naughty stories _ad
interim?_ Go it, ye Buckeye lawmakers! Shall we hear of any sympathy
for
Cuba in that quarter?
A "Woman's Physic."
(MRS. C—N TO MRS. MCF—D.)
"My Darling, I have found a panacea for all woes, In Man:
_When one man will not suit
or stay,__
Then get another, right away."_
CABLE NEWS.
[EXCLUSIVELY FOR PUNCHINELLO.]
GREAT BRITAIN.
The Great PUNCHINELLO dinner has come off! JENKINS was there,
and was to
have telegraphed an account. But he was not so well as usual the next
day, the Thames water having got into his head. JENKINS never _could_
take much water. So your correspondent is obliged to trust to his
memory—unaffected by the water, which he did not take.
Old London Tavern was the scene of this banquet, given by the _literati_
of England in honor of the long-wished-for coming of PUNCHINELLO. The
dining-hall was decorated for the occasion with appropriate portraits.
There were HOGARTH, CERVANTES, ADDISON, MOLIÈRE, SWIFT, STERNE,
GOLDSMITH, TOM HOOD, IRVING, THACKERAY, DICKENS, and ARTEMUS WARD. A
number of the waiters were costumed in character. From my seat, I
recognized SAM WELLER, (right behind me;) the Fat Boy of _Pickwick;_
SANCHO PANZA, and JEAMES YELLOWPLUSH.
Mr. PUNCH was represented at the head of the table so well
that you
could know him at once from his weekly frontispiece. On one side of him
sat CHARLES DICKENS; on the other, your humble ambassador. It would be
rather invidious to name the other hundred guests; not to be there was
to be nowhere in literature. Near me there sat Lord LYTTON, TOM HUGHES,
PRÉVOST PARADOL, EDMOND ABOUT, CHARLES KINGSLEY, PAUL
FÉVAL, and the
Rev. JOHN CUMMING.
Asking, in a whisper, of Mr. PUNCH how the latter very staid
individual
came to be there, I understood that, of all the absurd men of this
century, he was selected as the most representatively preposterous. The
PRINCE OF WALES was not asked, lest his morals might be hurt by
something that was said. And it is so important, you know, for the
British nation—(for the rest, see the _Saturday Review_.) And
then
Madame GEORGE SAND was to be there, who sometimes wears trowsers.
MATTHEW ARNOLD was spoken to about it; but he replied gruffly,
"PUNCHINELLO is Goliath of the Philistines!" and declined.
JOHN STUART MILL was too busy over his next book, which is to
be "On the
Subjection of Horses." But every body else was there, so we did not
miss
these grave and reverend seigniors.
How the twenty-five courses came on and went off, from the
ox-tail soup
and salmon to the dessert, it would need the tongue or pen of SOYER or
PIERRE BLOT to narrate; as it needed the capacity of a FALSTAFF to do
justice to them. And then, when the cover was removed, came the time of
trial to your correspondent. "The Queen" and "the President" were drunk
with all the honors. Then Mr. PUNCH called out, through his magnificent
old nose, so that you might have heard him across the Channel, "Health
and long life to PUNCHINELLO!"
Now, your correspondent had remembered Mr. HAWTHORNE'S
experience at a
Lord Mayor's dinner, and had begged Mr. PUNCH by all means to let him
off without a speech. But, more worldly-wise than HAWTHORNE, he didn't
believe that Mr. PUNCH would keep his promise; so he had prepared a
speech, beginning, "Not anticipating any occasion to open my lips in
this illustrious company, you must allow me to speak altogether on the
impulse of the moment." (Hear, hear.) So this had to be delivered; but
for the rest of it, and of the dinner, you must wait for my next
telegram. Mr. PUNCH is going to have the speech published in pamphlet
form, for distribution among his numerous constituents. So, now for the
rest of my _news_.
FRANCE.
The PRINCE OF MONACO has declared war against France. OLLIVIER
proposes
to send the PRINCE IMPERIAL to extinguish him with a corps of infantry,
armed with popguns; no one to be admitted to the corps who is more than
four years old. MONACO aspires to be a sort of LOPEZ.
TURKEY.
Sultan ABDUL AZIZ has just had a visit from a friend of JOHN
BRIGHT'S.
To the surprise of every body, even his most intimate friends, the
Sultan immediately made up his mind to turn Quaker! He came down
stairs,
and went into mosque, the other day, with a broad-brimmed hat, straight
coat, and drab trowsers; and insisted on all the ladies of his _hareem_
putting on plain bonnets, and holding a "silent meeting" in the
Seraglio! How it bothered them to do that last thing you may well
suppose! More anon, from PRIME.
A Bit of Fish.
SECRETARY FISH is said to preserve a decidedly spruce
appearance
at the State Dinners. Fish is nothing if not Fin-ical.
FISH SAUCE.
The sight of a thick, four-pound steak, just cut from a halibut that
must have weighed, (the idea of a fish wading!) some two hundred
pounds, reminds us that trout-fishing is just now in full operation.
What a strange, weird mystery there is about mental associations! Long,
long ago, we possessed a favorite trout-rod fitted with a Hollow Butt,
and so it is that whenever we see a Halibut, trouting comes to our
mind.
Yesterday, frogs were croaking, and insects all in green livery, with
gilt buttons, contributed to Nature's Great Boston Jubilee of music
with their hum. How ridiculous it seems that insects should have a
hum!—and yet the Bee has its Hum in its hive.
It is at this season that enthusiastic anglers always get water on the
brain. Their dreams are of gurgling brooks. They have visions of
mill-ponds, with beautiful little cascades sluicing into them over
dams. They stand, in imagination, on bridges, in the eddies beneath
which they discern the wagging of silvery tails and rosy fins; and a
very common form of nightmare with them is to fancy that the reel of
the fishing-rod won't work, just as they are going to wind up a
four-pound trout.
Now, also, is the time when friend gives much advice to friend on the
subject of the "gentle art." (A trout's opinion on this branch of art,
by the by, would be worth having. Perhaps he might not consider it so
gentle.)
One student of the angle will say to another, "Always fish up the
stream. Fish lie with their heads to the current and their tails in the
opposite direction: therefore, by casting up-stream, you run the less
chance of being seen by them."
Another says, "Be sure you make your casts down-stream; your bob-flies
like it better, as you can see by the way they dance on the ripples."
Quoth another, "Always soak your casting-lines with water before you
start for the river-side;" while a fourth instructs you never to
straighten your lines with water, but by passing them through a piece
of India rubber doubled between the finger and thumb.
_Our_ advice is, Never cast against the wind. In fact, you can't do it;
and if you try it, you run the risk of getting _strabismus_—that is,
the Cast in your eye. Artificial flies, like artificial flowers, never
should follow nature. Manufacturers of both articles perfectly
understand this; and hence the superiority of their productions to the
mere realities that flutter and bloom for their brief hour, and then
die. There is nothing in entomology so beautiful as a well-busked trout
or salmon fly. And then it is comparatively indestructible. Take a
natural May Fly and squeeze it in your hand. It is reduced to a pulp.
Try the same experiment with an artificial one, and its plumage remains
unruffled—which is more than you do, since the chance is that you will
have to employ a surgeon to extract the hook from the ball of your
thumb.
[Illustration: "SHOO! FLY."]
We are assured by a broker, who, in Spring-time, always becomes a
brooker, that by far the surest lure for a large trout is the Greenback
Fly. He is acquainted with a man who, whenever he goes a-fishing,
always has a four-pound trout to pack in ice and send up to a friend in
the city. By post, a letter is dispatched to the same quarter,
containing a warm description of the playing and landing of that noble
fish. The sender usually states that he captured it with the famous fly
known to anglers as the Green Drake. Facts are against him, though; and
it is well understood by his friends that the fish was first taken by
some poaching rascal with a scoop-net, and subsequently hooked by the
angler with a five-dollar Greenback Fly.
Nothing in life is more beautiful than a five-dollar Greenback
Fly—except, of course, a ten-dollar one, or one of indefinitely larger
denomination.
Provided with this most charming and effective of lures, the angler is
always sure to fill his creel. He incurs no fatigue in doing so,
either, for all the boys of the village become his humble servants to
command; and if there be a four-pound trout in the miller's pond, he is
sure to hook it with the Greenback Fly, while the boys generally "hook
it" also, lest the miller should catch them at their tricks.
_How to make the Greenback Fly_—Give it to your wife. Much has been
said concerning the efficacy of the Water Fly as a lure. For our own
part, we have not tried it. We know rather less about it than we do
about the Water Cure; but we cheerfully print the following directions
on the subject, taken from the fly-leaf of an old book.
_How to make the Water Fly_: Fall into it.
HALL AND HAYES.
The friends of Dr. HAYKS and those of Captain HALL are engaged in a
heated discussion as to which of the two ought to be sent by Congress
in search of the North Pole. As the public does not know who is right
and who is wrong, we present our readers with the arguments of each
party; so that they can decide which explorer is the man for the
post—we should say, pole.
WHAT THE HAYES PARTY SAYS.
1. The Pole being surrounded by water, must be reached by boats. HAYES
is a sailor and HALL is not. Therefore HAYES is the man to sail to the
Pole.
2. HAYES is a Bostonian; HALL is a Western man. Bostonians are famed
for their skill in prying into every thing; while Western men stupidly
mind their own business. Therefore HAYES is naturally fitted to become
an explorer.
3. HALL spent his time while in the Arctic Region in the society of
Esquimaux. HAYES attended to his ship, and lived on pork and beef like
a Christian. Therefore HAYES is the better man.
4. HAYES understands the use of instruments, and can take observations
of the temperature of hot springs, if any are found. HALL knows nothing
about instruments, and could not tell the time by a barometer if his
life depended upon it. Therefore HAYES should be the Congressional
favorite.
5. HALL is hot-tempered and once killed one of his crew. HAYES is a
cool man and never killed any body, except as a medical practitioner.
Cool men are at home in the Arctic Region. Therefore send HAYES.
WHAT THE HALL PARTY SAYS.
1. If the Pole is surrounded by water, it must be a visible point of
land. HALL is a landsman, and therefore the proper man to send in
search of land. To send a sailor like HAYES in quest of land would be
absurd. Therefore HALL is the right man.
2. HALL is a steady, hardworking, energetic Western man. HAYES is a
meddling Yankee. Of course HALL is the better man for carrying out a
difficult enterprise.
3. HALL has lived in the Arctic land as the Arctic people do; while
HAYES knows nothing of the people of that region. Therefore HALL is by
far the best man to send.
4. HAYES can have no use for his instruments in a place where there is
nothing but ice. HAYES would, therefore, only add to the cost of the
expedition. HALL can take all necessary observations with his eyes,
which cost Congress nothing and are easily carried. Therefore HALL is
by all odds the man for the expedition.
5. If HALL is hot-tempered, so much the better. He will keep warm with
less consumption of fuel. That he killed a mutineer is proof of his
resolute adherence to discipline. HAYES would never enforce discipline
if he dared to inflict no more punishment for mutiny than a draught of
Epsom salts. Therefore HALL is plainly the man to command an exploring
party.
Here we have the arguments which both sides advance, and our readers
can easily make up their minds. As for ourselves, the true course for
Congress to pursue seems so plainly evident that if we were asked which
is the best man, the Doctor or the Captain, we should unhesitatingly
answer in the negative.
[Illustration: CINCINNATUS SWEENY.]
CINCINNATUS SWEENY
(Adapted from AUTHOR'S Classical Dictionary, p. 351.)
"CINCINNATUS had retired to his patrimony, aloof from popular tumults.
The successes of the Equi, (young Democracy,) however, rendered the
appointment of a Dictator necessary, and CINCINNATUS was chosen to that
high office. He laid aside his rural habiliments, assumed the ensigns
of absolute power, levied a new army, marched all night to bring the
necessary succor to the Consul MINCIUS, (W. M. TWEED,) who was
surrounded by the enemy and blockaded in his camp, (Albany,) and before
morning surrounded the enemy's army, and reduced it to a condition
exactly similar to that in which the Romans had been placed. The
baffled Equi were glad to submit to the victor's terms, and
CINCINNATUS, returning in, triumph to Rome, (New-York,) laid down his
dictatorial power after having held it only fourteen days, and returned
to his farm" (Central Park.)
SPRING FEVER,
In such a joyous way?
If it were as you say,
Wouldn't _I_ know it, who know every thing!
"Ethereal mildness!" Pshaw! what nonsense, man!
Pooh! "Gentle spring," indeed!
It makes my liver bleed
To hear you talk as only idiots can.
But you're no idiot, THOMSON; _that_ I'll say!
I'll yield another bit:
I'm ready to admit
The Seasons may have altered since your day.
At any rate, JAMES, in the windy West
(Which wasn't in your eye—
At least, not frequently)
Your boasted Spring is _not_ a gentle guest.
My patience, no! She's the reverse of that!
Ah! hear her savage roar;
(So often heard before!)
And there (confound it!) goes my new Spring hat.
Alas! what means this stupid somnolence?
Why do my pulses go
So "melancholy slow"?
Why can't I think? why always "on the fence"?
O dews and fogs! O rain and snow and slush!
O various other things!
My soul! what need of wings:
Yes, "Spring's delights" are coming with a rush!
But stay, friend THOMSON—what you say is true:
Here _is_ a nice warm day!
The breezes softly play—
Then why, oh! _why_ then, do I feel so blue?
One "would not die in Spring-time," certainly—
Nor any other season,
For the same reason—
But if one can't eat dinner, why _not_ die?
Is there no panacea for such ills?
Oh! yes, a jolly one:
I find it in the dun!
In landlords', butchers', grocers', tailors' bills!
The Difference.
GOLDEN calves were worshipped by men of old. Modern men prefer
to worship saw-dust calves.
Dramatic Query.
Is Canada to be the Theatre of a Fenian War? It seems that the Canadian
Volunteers think so; and, to do justice to the performance, they have
taken possession of the whole Front-tier.
The Original Bow.
The EL-bow.
[Illustration: THE SICK EAGLE
COLUMBIA. “DO LET THE POOR BIRD OUT, MR. B.; HE DROOPS SADLY.”
Mr. BOOTWELL. “REALLY I DON’T SEE ANY THING THE MATTER WITH HIM,
MA’AM. HIS CAGE IS ALL GOLD, AND HE SURELY OUGHT TO BE CONTENTED.”]
AN EXCELLENT OLD SONG MADE NEW.
BY A DEFAULTER.
Is there for his dishonesty
Who hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
And dare to steal for a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
Our grabs and games, and a'
that,
Our business is to make a pile
And swindle SAM, and a' that.
What though the people curse and swear
At losing gold, and a' that?
Their fiercest wrath we'll proudly bear,
And cash is cash for a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
Their lawyers, courts, and a'
that.
The lucky rogue who wins his pile
Is king of men for a' that.
The President knows how to beat
In battle, siege, and a' that;
But we're the lads for swift retreat,
Although he growl, and a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
Our bonds and oaths and a' that,
A bouncing swag's the better
thing
For gentlemen, and a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it shall for a' that,
That plundering gents may keep the sway,
And help themselves, and a'
that.
For a' that and a' that.
Leg bail's the thing, and a'
that;
For travelling improves the
mind,
The body saves, and a' that.
THE THIRTEENTH MAN IN THE OMNIBUS.
The New-York omnibus was constructed to seat and carry twelve persons;
certainly not more. Indeed, when twelve men, of nominal size, sit
squarely on the seats and do not clownishly cross their legs, one may
ride in an omnibus with comfort. Nay, with these conditions, he _may_
generally escape having his toes crushed, his shins kicked, his shoes
soiled, or his trowsers daubed with mud by his neighbor. But alas! how
often is this paradisiacal state disturbed by the intrusion of "the
thirteenth man in the omnibus."
Shall I attempt to portray the creature? He is pretty well known, and
perhaps the picture will be recognized. Sometimes he may be seen
standing at the corner of the street lying in wait for the "bus." He is
never known to walk toward its starting-place, lest he might be
confounded with the "twelve" by getting inside before the seats are
filled. No; he is "nothing if not" odd. His very hat never sits
squarely upon his head like the hat of a gentleman. It is either
elevated in front like a sophomore's, or depressed on one side, as if
he had just come from a cheap spree in the Bowery, or was troubled with
some obtrusive "bump" that kept his hat awry. If by chance he gets a
seat inside the omnibus, (as "accidents will happen," etc.,) he must
cross his legs and wipe the mud from his ill-shod feet upon your
trowsers or your wife's dress.
Indeed, methinks it was he who invented sitting cross-legged in a
public vehicle. Do savages ever sit thus when in close company? I have
never been able to imagine what special human sin this ingenious mode
of annoyance was meant to punish. It has been suggested that it might
be the man's pantomimic protest against sitting at all. But the saddest
commentary upon this vice of our hero is, that by some mysterious
magnetism of awkwardness and ill-breeding, he has betrayed into
imitation of it men whose early education has been less neglected than
his own.
Sometimes, as he gets into the "'bus," he carries in his hand or mouth
the stump of a half-burned, extinct cigar, which fills the atmosphere
with a rank and sickening odor. More frequently he is dressed in
well-worn black, and his clothes reek with noisome exhalations of stale
tobacco-smoke. Shall I finish his picture? I verily believe he is the
original Loafer.
Methinks I see him in my mind's eye. I am riding in a Broadway
ominibus. I have just handed up my fare, and, taking my seat, have
surrendered myself to a sweet half-hour of reverie. I disdain to spoil
my eyes or waste my time by newspaper-reading. I dream, and save my
time for better things, as I conceive.
The stage is full. "Twelve inside." The driver does not seem to get
along. He is constantly stopping or turning his horses to the sidewalk,
right or left. You wonder what is the matter. You begin to think the
whole town is striving to get a ride down with you in that particular
"'bus." At every street-corner we linger or stop. Suddenly the door is
pulled open with a jerk and our enemy leaps in. He sees the seats are
filled, but he does not hesitate. There is always room for him. Indeed,
his "spirit rises with the occasion." He becomes pertinacious as he is
offensive. He tramples upon more than one pair of feet in his struggle
to reach the middle of the omnibus. The passengers patiently submit to
the intrusion with that quiet good nature with which Americans usually
suffer imposition invasive of good manners, or petty social rights.
They seem to feel they can "stand it" if he can.
His mode of paying his fare evolves a climax of unconscious
impertinence. In order to have free use of one hand to pass up his
money, he grasps cane or umbrella with the other hand, by which he
holds the pendent strap. By this means he loses control of the lower
end of his stick, which thereby becomes an automatic instrument of
torture, menacing your face and eyes in quite a savage way. Indeed, his
apparent unconsciousness that he is a nuisance, and ought to be kicked
out, really approaches the sublime.
He is a pet of the driver, of course. Some innocent people wonder that
the drivers of omnibuses or cars should feel so very charitably
disposed toward the human family in general, as to take up extra
passengers when all seats are filled. Short-sighted mortals! Do you not
see it! The more passengers, beyond the complement of the "'bus," the
more perquisites for an ill-requited profession.
To return to our black sheep. Look where he stands. As he grows weary,
he grasps the straps on either side to steady him. His attitude is a
cunningly devised mode of tormenting his fellow-passengers. Either
elbow of our nondescript just reaches the hat of your opposite neighbor
or yourself. With each jolt of the stage, by a little dexterity of
movement, or want of it, he can knock the hats over the eyes of two
persons at a time, and by a little shifting of his position he can
frequently bring down four by a single spasmodic lunge. When he is
fresher, as in the morning, and can hold his own weight, he falls in
his more natural posture. Would you know what that may be? Did you ever
observe one of the descendants of the Lost Tribes who inhabit Chatham
street dreamily waiting for a passing rustic? He is apparently in a
comatose state. His abdomen is drawn in; his body is bent like a
section of a hoop; his eyes are cast down; while both his hands are
thrust deeply into his trowser's pockets.
But I grow weary of the subject, and stop by commending the Thirteenth
Man in the Omnibus to curiosity-hunters as a fungus growth of humanity
nursed by over-virtuous forbearance.
Hyperborean.