dollars to go to the Pole! If Captain HALL wants adventure, let him
travel to the Halls of the MONTEZUMAS. If he wishes only to be left out
in the cold, let him go to Chili; or else up in a balloon; or let him
make himself Republican candidate for something in New York. We believe
the North Pole would rather be let alone. The whole subject is, at all
events, too HAYES-y just now to be comprehended. There is a sort of
KANE-ine madness, which shows itself not in fear of water but in an
insane disposition to do big things on ice. Haul off, Captain HALL!
Meteorological Query.
Is a temperance lecture synonymous with a Water Spout?
THE SPIRIT OF THE NAVY.
ITS PORTER. ITS SAILS.
_Impressions of an Outsider_.
MR. PUNCHINELLO: According to your instructions, your correspondent
proceeded to Washington, and there interviewed our present efficient
Secretary of the Navy, Admiral PORTER. I found him in his office,
surrounded by bills-of-sale of main-tops, carronades, iron-clads,
bo'sen's whistles, navy-yards, and other naval articles, the proceeds
of which were needed for the future experiments of the Department.
These papers were being bound up into bundles and stowed away by his
assistant, ROBESON.
After the ordinary greetings had passed between the admiral and your
correspondent, the following conversation ensued:
_Cor_. Admiral, what do you think of the Fifteenth Amendment?
_Ad_. All right. When Americans want votes, I say, give 'em to 'em.
_Cor_, (_A little apprehensively._) Votes are different from boats,
then, admiral?
_Ad_. Certainly. What do the negroes want with boats?
_Cor_. How are you satisfied, Mr. Secretary, with the plan of always
providing you with a civilian as an assistant?
_Ad_. I don't like it. Can't help it, though. This one, however,
(_pointing his thumb over his shoulder at_ ROBESON,) don't give me much
trouble. Quiet man.
_Cor_. What do you think of the condition of Cuba,
_Ad_. Very nice indeed! Got Admiral POOR out there, cruising around.
Just like a picnic, you know.
_Cor_. Are you in favor of the recognition of Cuban Independence?
_Ad_. No, sir! What's the good? POOR might have to come home, then.
_Cor_. You think, then, that recognition would not be a Poor policy?
_Ad_. Yes—no! No—yes! Doormat! You know what I mean.
_Cor_.(_quickly_.) Oh! yes. Certainly,sir! But what is your opinion
upon the woman question?
_Ad_. Don't care a snap. Let 'em vote. Won't make a difference 'board
ship.
_Cor_. You think, then that women will never be sailors, Admiral?
_Ad_. Nothing they could do. Except to trim the boats; look out for the
mizen sheets or somethg o' that kind. Couldn't expect 'em, even in a
calm, to be brisk in manning the yards, much less martingales.
_Cor_. What is your opinion, Admiral, of SHERIDAN'S work among the
Piegans?
_Ad_. (_laughing_). Neat job. How was that for Lo?
_Cor_. Good. Do you believe the Pope's infallible, Admiral?
_Ad_. The Pope's what?
_Cor_. Do you think that there is no such word as fail with PIO Nono?
_Ad_. No, no!
_Cor_. The Empress EUGENIE, Admiral, and Queen VICTORIA—which do you
think is the prettiest of these women?
_Ad_. Never saw 'em swimmin'. Can't say.
_Cor_. What is your opinion about McFARLAND? Was he justifiable, think
you?
_Ad_. No! Poor shot.
_Cor_. Have you seen _Frou Frou_, Admiral?
_Ad_. Yes. In New-York.
Cor. How did you like it, sir?
_Ad_. Not much. Do for folks whose taste for that sort of thing is
DAILY bred.
_Cor_. What do you think of oar new City Charter?
_Ad_. Is it a ship?
_Cor_. Yes, sir. It is a sort of hardship for New-York.
_Ad_. Well, the city must be used to that. Will take in its ale pretty
much as usual, I reckon.
_Cor_. What, sir, do you think of Chicago?
_Ad_. Ah! go way.
_Cor_. (_oblivious of hint_.) Where do you buy your pantaloon stuff,
Mr. Secretary?
_Ad_. (_sharply_.) Where the woodbine twineth.
_Cor_. Admiral, have you any children?
_Ad_. (_loudly_.) ROBESON!
_Cor_. My dear sir, you surprise me! Is he your son?
_Ad_. (_to assistant_.) ROBESON! Did you see MIKE HAINES?
_Cor_. One moment. Admiral! Let me ask of you, in which, if any, of our
New-York companies is your life insured; and do you wear the patent
perforated buckskin?—
Here the interview terminated. Your correspondent suddenly discovered
that he would have barely time to catch the N. Y. Express, and he took
leave with a renewed respect for the spirit of our Navy and its head.
SNIQUE.
[Illustration: COME, GENTLE SPRING.]
SPRING has come. Now is the time to ask your friends for seed and roots,
and to tell somebody they ought to see about the garden. Turn your
chickens into your neighbors' grounds, and the cow too, if you think she
would like to go there. Now also is the time for house-cleaning, as well
as for settling up one's affairs generally; so, after you have called in
all the money due you, and paid out as little as possible, perhaps you
had better go out West for a week or so.
The sort of Liquor most apt to Tell upon a Man.
PEACH Brandy.
Opinions of the Press.
The _Sun_ thinks that the World's end would be a god-send.
It also thinks that the Tribune is a try weakly and unique daily,
besides being a four centenary.
It thinks that the fact of the _Times_ being out of Joint is the reason
it is getting the cold Shoulder from its subscribers.
It thinks that the _Herald_ is not the leading paper, though it may
have Ben-it.
It thinks that the _Sun_ is awful shiny.
The Politician's Half-and-Half.
DEMAGOGUE and Demijohn.
CONDENSED CONGRESS.
SENATE.
LOFTY Mr. SUMNER wished to know what Mr. CARPENTER meant by pursuing
him. He was used to being blackguarded by the enemies of his country,
but now he was hounded in the house of his friends. He had looked
through the whole Congressional Library and failed to find a precedent
for the course of the carping CARPENTER, except in the case of the
classic chap who had warmed a viper which had turned again and rent
him. He did not mean to say that Mr. CARPENTER was a viper, but he
thought nobody but an Adder would put this and that together as Mr.
CARPENTER had done.
Mr. CARPENTER said that the passion of his friend from Boston for
maundering about himself amounted to a mild mania. All he had done was
to suggest that SUMNER had upheld States Rights twenty years ago, and
now pretended that he was never any such person.
Mr. SUMNER said that twenty years ago the States Rights boot was upon
the other leg. ÆNEAS SILVIUS had well observed that it made a heap of
difference whose ox was gored, and HORACE had pointed out the
difference between tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee. Unless his reading of
the Cyclopedia had failed to inform him, he believed that there was a
game known as "Heads I win, tails you lose." That was his little game.
When Massachusetts States Rights were invoked to aid the colored man,
States Rights were good. When Southern States Rights were invoked to
crush the colored man, States Rights were bad. As for him, give him
liberty or give him rats.
Mr. HARLAN wished to know why the Pacific Railway grant should be
passed. No officer of that railway had been to see him about it. He did
not believe in legislation of this kind. If a thing were worth having,
it was certainly worth asking for. He had no objection to breaking old
"ties," but he was averse to paying for new ones, unless he had some
personal reason for it. He wished he were altogether in the same
position as some of his colleagues, including these "bonds."
WILSON, and CASSERLY, and THURMAN, and THAYER said that HARLAN was of
no account, and that was the reason why he had not been "seen." As long
as a majority was prepared, it was wasting money to conciliate any body
else.
Mr. DRAKE said he had a better thing than the Pacific Railway. It was a
bill to provide that the Army and Navy of the United States might be
put on a war-footing on the application of any three colored persons.
This did not seem to be profitable, but it was. The profit in it was a
JOB, but much subtler than in the Pacific Railway. He hoped Senators
would see the illimitable vistas of patronage opened by the bill.
HOUSE.
Mr. BUTLER insisted upon his bill to annex Dominica. Somebody had said
that we had plenty of Dominicans already in the Southern States. This
was net so. He wanted to be Governor-General of Dominica. It was true
that silverware was not rife in that island, but there was an
infinitude of potential voters, who could be converted into coin. The
House refused to see it, however, and proceeded to discuss the case of
SYPHER. Mr. BROOKS said SYPHER was nothing. He did not see how SYPHER,
who was a nullity, could be figured out to be a member of Congress.
Besides, SYPHER lived in Pennsylvania.
Mr. KELLEY said that was the very reason why SYPHER should be admitted.
Every body knew, who knew any thing of arithmetic, that a SYPHER in the
proper place amounted to a great deal. He would like to know what
objection there was to Pennsylvanians representing Louisiana? A
Pennsylvanian was sure to be right on the tariff, and a Louisianian was
sure to be wrong. Therefore a Pennsylvanian was a much better
representative than a Louisianian. Besides, SYPHER's hands were not red
with loyal blood, neither had he waded knee-deep in patriotic gore.
Mr. BUTLER wanted to annex Dominica.
Mr. Cox said he did not object to SYPHER'S coming in because he was a
Pennsylvanian. He was an Ohio man, and represented a New-York district.
But be thought there were too many SYPHERS here now. An integer or two
would be more useful to maintain the integrity of the House.
Mr. BUTLER said he would like to introduce a bill to annex Dominica.
Mr. FARNSWORTH said he didn't care any thing about the merits of the
case. He knew the committee was all right. It was a martter of comity
to go with the committee. If the House added a SYPHER, it would
increase their strength ten fold.
Mr. STOKES said he would not weep for SYPHER if he were rejected. But
he would sigh for SYPHER, if he could cipher SYPHER in.
Mr. BUTLER moved a bill to annex Dominica.
SYPHER tried to swear himself in, but he had been so much irritated by
the previous proceedings that he found that he had sworn himself out.
The House adjourned, except Mr. BUTLER, who was preparing a bill to
annex Dominica.
A REMONSTRANCE.
MR. PUNCHINELLO: In the _Express_ of Saturday, April 17th, I read the
following announcement, printed at the foot of the regular weather
table, furnished for that journal by Professor THATCHER:
"Prediction.—It will not rain within 3¾ days from 8 P.M.
"A. E. THATCHER."
The positive character of this prediction made it very, welcome. My
wife and myself had been invited by friends in Westchester County to go
to their house on Saturday evening, stay all night, and pass the
following day—Easter-Sunday—with them. We had nearly made up our minds
to do it. They are very pleasant folks to visit, especially about
Easter time; for the man of the house has a mania for hens, and, being
a dyer by trade, his poultry, using the refuse of the drugs instead of
gravel to aid their digestion, lay natural painted eggs of the most
varied and delicate tints. If I am strict in any matter of religion, it
is with regard to having a blow-out of eggs at Easter. My wife is as
fond of eggs as myself, (the yolk sits lightly, she says, which is a
joke upon yoke,) and she required no egging on to persuade her to
accept the invitation. We were doubtful about the weather, though; but
the "Professor's" prediction decided us, and we went.
I thought it felt mighty like rain as we walked the short distance from
the railway station to our host's. I had rain-pains in my back, and my
wife said her corns were shooting. Nor did our punctual aches deceive
us. Between that Saturday night and Easter-Sunday morning it began to
rain. Easter-Sunday was the wettest day I remember ever to have
experienced. There was no "let up" of the deluge throughout that day
and Easter-Monday. We—my wife and I—are suffering dreadfully from the
effects of Easter-eggs, which we were obliged to devour by the stack
merely to kill time, as we could not walk out. Should we die, I will
let you know; but really it was too bad of "Professor" THATCHER.
WEATHERBOUND.
P.S.—Who is "Professor" THATCHER?
THE BIRD OF WISDOM IN IOWA.
Civilization, it seems, is making some headway in Iowa. Boys are no
longer allowed to shoot small birds there, especially song-birds. And
so the little warblers can pipe it all day, if they like, and when they
grow tired and hungry, they are welcome to refresh their small systems
at the strawberry beds. There is one feature of the regulation in
question, however, that does pain us. While vocal and fly-gobbling
talents are tenderly fostered, dignified Wisdom is not only neglected,
but persecuted. Our old friend the Owl is reputed by the people of Iowa
to be rather particular in his diet, (as all wise creatures are,) and
to prefer a nice young spring chicken to almost any other "delicacy of
the season"—a proof of wisdom and refinement that proved too much for
the people of Iowa. And so they have left the poor old Owl out of the
protective enactment; and it is not only legal to shoot him, but
meritorious. The legislators could have stood the wisdom, perhaps by
itself; and possibly they might have respected the taste; but the
combination troubled them, and could not, of course, be tolerated.
[Illustration: “THE MERRY FIRST OF MAY.”
_First Young Wife_. “OH! THIS HORRID HOUSE-MOVING—AN'T YOU DISTRACTED
ABOUT IT, DEAR?”
_Second Ditto_. “O DEAR! NO. WE HAVE ARRANGED IT NICELY. CHARLES WILL
SEE TO THE FURNITURE AND THINGS, AND I WILL SUPERINTEND THE REMOVAL OF
FIDO MYSELF.”]
HOW A DISCIPLE OF FOX BECAME A LOVER OF BULL.
PHILADELPHIA, 4th Month, 13th, 1870.
FRIEND PUNCHINELLO: I know thee treats our good city with more
consideration than thy brother journalists, and so it is that I address
the on this occasion. Last night I listened to the fiddle of OLE BULL.
I
had long known of this man, even from the time when I first attired
myself in a coat, (called by the world after the name of the abdomen of
a fish,) as one who
—"skinned a cat
And put the fur around his hat."
But having recently been made aware of the fact that this fiddler only
availed himself, in his vain exhibitions, of a part of the _felis_
which was not necessary to its felicity after death, I determined to
give a portion of my worldly goods toward the building of a light-house
on the Norway coast, for which purpose, I heard it averred, this man's
performances were given; and I went to the building where the fiddling
was to be, to see if it were done with fidelity for this end.
As I sat in the upper seats of the house, serenely elevated above the
vain throng, the man BULL appeared before me. His mien was humble and
his hair was of a gray tinge, which I attributed to the ceaseless
gratings of the instrument which he held on his arm, as carefully as if
it had been an immortal child.
At first, though I labored conscientiously toward that end, I could
discover nothing in the sounds he made which reminded me in the least
degree of a Norwegian light-house. But suddenly I forgot that useful
monument. Against my will, I seemed to be wafted aloft, even to where
the seats were cheaper; and anon, I felt as though I disported among
the shameless figures on the ceiling of the house. I now forgot all
things earthly, even that suspicious bill which friend HOPKINS paid in
to my cashier on Second-day. Yea, my whole being became, as it were,
strung upon the entrails of a cat and tickled with the tail of horse. I
felt as if I were wafted aloft on a blanket of shivering scrapes while
quivering angels gently swung me among the stickery stars! And there I
heard a melody as though the edges of glass skies were softly rubbed
together. Then all was stiller, stiller, until methought I heard
nothing but one consumptive angel breathing in his sleep. But even that
sound dribbled away, until the last drop seemed to me about to be
sucked down into a hole at the bottom of the airy void, when suddenly
there came a rush as though a vast light-house of brass had fallen into
a sea of tinkling cymbals, and I jumped so violently that my spectacles
slipped from off my nose and fell among the vain ones below.
A second time now came the fiddler forth, and soon methought I stood
within a surgeon's operating hall. The player drew his bow as though it
were a knife, gliding over the limb of a subject in a sleep.
So keen the blade, so soft the touch, the sleeper did not wake! I
clutched my knees—my breath did cease!
The skin divides!
And still he sleeps.
The muscles and the tendons fall apart!
He moves not.
Oh! That glittering blade
It deeper goes!
A—Ah!
He wakes!
He yells!
Horror! And now, through flesh and bones that vengeful weapon grinds!
'Mid screams and oaths!
Down falls the leg...
I staggered forward. My hat, which much clamor in the rear had not made
me remove, fell over the iron rail and plunged, resounding ike a sinful
drum, upon the head of a painted Jersey belle below.
I heeded not, but groped me to the door.
And now I write to thee, friend PUNCHINELLO. Can thee buy me such a
fiddle in New-York? Thy friend,
VENTER CLUPLE.
A Puzzler.
The Belgians, it is said, are anxious to have the letter _h_ dropped
from the French alphabet. As that contains no _w_, how, in the event of
a new elision, will the Parisians, who are so fond of English words,
manage to spell _wheelwright_?
A Blow that Hurteth not.
The Blow of a flower.
A Pleasant Prospect.
If the new Superintendent of the New-York Police Force is to be as
severely tried as was his predecessor, then, surely, JOURDAN will have
a hard road to travel."
"OUT OF THE STREETS."
GEORGE W. MCLEAN am I,
And potent was my name,
Till TWEED and SWEENEY crossed my path
And spoiled my little game.
Our city roads I supervised,
Long time, with pious care,
The people's "Ways I strictly watched—
Street, Avenue, and Square
But now, from office rudely swept
By Legislative BILL,
The crossing-sweeper's broom I ply,
My empty pouch, to fill.
Honeymoons in the Air
The rage for passing the honeymoon in a balloon appears to be on the
wane in this country. The reason for this may be that a majority of
those who enter wedlock find they "go up" soon enough without the aid of
a balloon.
Motto for Unsuccessful Croquet-Players.
"Hoops deferred make the heart sick."
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BROADWAY,
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OR,
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PRICE 50 CENTS EACH.
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Either of the above volumes sent by mail free to any part of the United
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RED AS A ROSE IS SHE.
_Third Edition._
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RED AS A ROSE IS SHE.
By the Author of "Cometh up as a Flower."
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[Illustration: OUR PAVEMENTS.]
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NEWLY PAVED ONLY A WEEK AGO!"
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