were only shorter and broader, it would closely resemble the shape of
_Punch_. Now, sir, we Americans don't want anything that looks like
anything British or European. Our country is bigger, and consequently
better than any other. We have bigger rivers, bigger cataracts, bigger
steamboats, and bigger jimfisks than any other people, and, therefore,
our newspapers ought to be original in shape. You should make your paper
octagonal in form, otherwise everybody will justly accuse you of
imitating some effete and monarchical British journal.
And I must strongly object to the spirit of levity which I find in your
paper. This is an Earnest Age, sir, and we cannot afford to joke. The
Rev. Mr. DODGE has been greatly grieved at the light way in which you
have treated such serious subjects as the Divorce Question. He will
forward to you a sermon of his own on the topic of "The Jewish Marriage
Law compared with that of the Amalekites and the Jebusites, together
with Remarks on the construction of the Ark, including an Inquiry into
the origin of the Edomites, and a Dissertation upon the Levitical law of
Tithes." This sermon would occupy from four to six pages of your paper
every week, if published in weekly instalments, for a period of about
ten weeks, and would give a tone to PUNCHINELLO which it now lacks.
Besides publishing this sermon, you would do well to print, every week,
a speech of the Hon. Mr. DODGE, who is one of the most eloquent members
of the House, and whose views on finance are greatly respected by such
men as Mr. KELLEY and Mr. CHANDLER.
You ought also to have a definite purpose in view. At present you have
no Mission. The earnest men and women who look to you for aid and
counsel, find nothing in your paper bearing upon the great questions of
the day. You should make your paper the organ of some influential party.
There are the friends of Pig Iron, for example. Devote the greater part
of your space to the advocacy of their lofty cause, and there is not an
iron manufacturer in the United States who would not borrow PUNCHINELLO
from some one of his acquaintance, and read everything in it relating to
the contest now going on between the fearless champions of freedom, and
American pig iron, against the bloated upholders of British interests.
As it is, you appear to advocate no single practical measure which
concerns the welfare of this country and the perpetuity of our glorious
Union. PUNCHINELLO is the favorite paper of careless young men, depraved
middle-aged men, who care nothing for Progress and Humanity, and young
girls who prefer dress and admiration to addressing their Earnest
sisters from the platform of Reform meetings. The Rev. Mr. DODGE tells
me that all the young people of his congregation read it, and he fears
that they prefer it to his sermons. A paper read by this class of
readers must be radically wrong. You must change its character at once.
One thing more. You must cease to publish pictures of the character of
those which now appear in your paper. In their place you might
substitute drawings of practical value, such as the _Scientific Yankee_
publishes. If you do this, in addition to making the other changes which
I have suggested, you will find that PUNCHINELLO will make a very
different impression from that which I fear it has already made. In that
case I will become a subscriber, and will send you a few sound, earnest
articles of my own. I am, Yours, in behalf of Progress,
AN EARNEST MAN.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "WHAT I KNOW ABOUT FARMING."
_Fast Bear (to Officer from Fort.)_ "YOU TELL ME PLANT CORN IN THE
SPRING, THEN GO 'WAY HUNT AND COME BACK GATHER CORN IN THE FALL. UGH!--I
PLANT CORN, AND WHEN I COME GATHER IT YOU SHOOT BULLET IN MY SIDE!"
(_Fact, related by one of the Brulé Sioux Chiefs at Washington._)]
* * * * *
[Illustration: FRUITLESS PERSEVERANCE.
_Earnest Suitor, who has just received a final and flat refusal._ "WOULD
A TOWER IN YURRUP MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE?"
_Julia._ "IT'S USELESS. I DON'T LIKE YOU, AND I WON'T MARRY YOU."]
* * * * *
THAT INDIAN TALK.
How, how, Great Father, how.
Me Spotted Tail; me Rattling Cow;
Me Red Cloud; whiskey time now?
How, Great Father? How? How?
Me Ogallala; me Brulé Sioux.
How, Great Father, how do?
Bed children come long way, ugh!
Big Whiskey love. Great Father too?
Poor Injun tired; peace Injun try.
War-paint no good; no whiskey buy;
Treaty no want; treaty all lie.
Great Father's whiskey Injun no spy.
No whiskey give, no have pow-wow.
Poor Injun dry; dry Injun row.
When whiskey time? Whiskey time now?
Father no tongue? How! How! How!
* * * * *
INTERESTING TO THE P. R.
A paragraph states that a "piece of Spar, seven feet long, and weighing
two hundred pounds, has been taken from the great Spar Cave near
Dubuque." We were not previously aware that O'BALDWIN, the "Irish
Giant," was serving out his term of imprisonment, in the Spar Cave, but
the thing has a fitness about it.
* * * * *
A CON FOR COCKTAILERS.
WHEN do topers like to make a raid upon the rural districts?
When the herbage is "lush."
* * * * *
REMARK BY A MARKSMAN.
Moose, as well as other members of the cervine family, live mostly on
the shoots of trees, but they die mostly by the shoots of hunters.
* * * * *
OUR PORTFOLIO.
PUNCHINELLO hears with sincere regret that the notorious Miss CRAIG, of
Chicago, once more threatens the unhappy SPRAGUE with another suit for
breach of promise of marriage. We had thought that the forty thousand
dollars awarded by the jury in the first trial were a plummet heavy
enough to reach the lowest depths of "AMANDY'S" affections, and so in
fact they were; but "ELISHA'S" lawyers, utterly disregarding the claims
of true love, have interposed the absurd claims of what they call
"justice to ELISHA," and so the thing will have to be all done over
again.
It seems a cruel exercise of power to compel this delicate and shrinking
female to stand once more in the pillory of the law; or, to put
"ELISHA'S" orthography to a second test by a crucial and censorious
public. Whatever may be the result of all this indifference to the
sanctity of private character and correct spelling, PUNCHINELLO wishes
to put upon record his total disapproval and abhorrence of it.
It is strange, yet nevertheless true, that a woman's glances are not
always her own property. The old proverb, that "a Cat may look at a
King," goes a-begging when applied to a woman; and this enables us to
present to the Sorosis a subject for examination, at least as
metaphysical as the philosophy of the MCFARLAND verdict.
Only last week a New York Judge committed an unsuspecting female because
she did not look at him, while giving her evidence. The consideration
that the unhappy creature was cross-eyed does not seem to have affected
in the least the judicial aspect of the matter, and although counsel
particularly directed the Judge's attention to the fact that even if the
witness looked as straight as she could, her lines of vision would meet
at an angle far short of the tip of his Honor's nose, still this
pocket-edition of Lord Chief-Justice JEFFRIES "blinked" the point sought
to be made, and absolutely insisted that she should suffer the penalty
of her alleged disrespect.
PUNCHINELLO has a heart which warms naturally toward the sex, but he has
also a cat-o'-nine-tails, which longs to warm the back of such a Judge,
and if he will come down from his woolsack he can both see and feel what
that cat-o'-nine-tails is like. Whether she be blue-eyed, or black-eyed,
or cross-eyed, makes no difference to PUNCHINELLO, for he is, under all
circumstances, the champion of the sex.
* * * * *
"Y. M. C. A."
These much printed initials, which (as our intelligent readers are
aware,) belong to certain modern Associations that combine Religion and
Business in a highly prosperous manner, have sometimes a kind of
secondary meaning, which may vary according to circumstances.
When, for example, the Young Men's C. A. of Iowa City, after having
regularly engaged Miss OLIVE LOGAN in their lecture course, concluded to
back out, the cabalistic letters seemed to read--
"Y-ou M-ust C-ancel A-rrangements."
But when the spirited OLIVE--perceiving rather more of Business than of
Religion and Honor in this despatch--replied promptly that they might
expect her without fail, according to programme, prudence suggested a
quite different version of their initials, which now signified--
"Y-ou M-ay C-ome A-long!"
We forbear to comment on the dramatic and touching picture here
afforded.--We suggest still another reading of their abbreviation,--one
that may serve as a permanent interpretation for _that_ latitude at
least.--
"Y-outh M-ade C-onscientiously A-cute."
* * * * *
GREENISH-BLACK.
Chicago boasts having sent a colored Fenian to Canada. But is he a
true-blue O'SAMBO or MCCUFFEE? Or is he recognized as colored only in
respect to his peculiar wearin' of the grin?
* * * * *
AT THE WATERING PLACES.
PUNCHINELLO'S VACATIONS
It need not be supposed that Mr. PUNCHINELLO intends to work himself to
death this summer.
By no manner of means!
He guarantees that the paper shall come out regularly, and get riper and
lovelier every week, but he will have his good little times,
notwithstanding.
Every week during the season he expects to slip off somewhere, for a day
or two, and hopes to have something worth telling when he comes back.
Last week he ran down to Long Branch. It's early yet, but folks like Mr.
P.; CHILDS, of the Philadelphia _Ledger;_ THOMPSON, of the Pennsylvania
Central; and other rich fellows always do go early. The big bugs always
fly the soonest. Mr. P. went directly to the West End Hotel--the old
Stetson House, you know. He went there because he always did like a
hotel that had three men to keep it. What you can't get out of one of
them is pretty certain to be screwed out of one of the others. "When Mr.
P. drove up, Messrs. PRESBURY, SYKES, and GARDNER, were all sitting out
on the front piazza, smoking seventy-five-cent cigars. They arose in
chorus, and assured Mr. P. that the house was not yet quite ready for
occupancy,
"But, sir--" said Mr. PRESBURY, "the Girard House, my hotel in
Philadelphia, is always open. If you would like to go there--" And here
SYKES struck in.
"But, sir," said he, "my hotel, WILLARD'S, in Washington, is always
ready for guests, and if you could go there for a while--"
But forward sprang GARDNER, and says he:
"But, sir--if you would like to run down to Cape May, you will find my
hotel--the Stockton House--" And here Mr. P. interrupted.
"Gentlemen," said he, "I would not have you quarrel, and you shan't
split on my rocks. Good evening to you all," and he drove directly to
General GRANT'S thirty-two thousand dollar cottage in the Park. GRANT
was not there yet, but Mr. P. did not expect that he was. There being a
butler and some cooks on hand, Mr. P. considered them sufficient, and
had his baggage taken right up to the second story back room.
The butler looked a little astonished at first, but when Mr. P.
explained about the hotel, and how he didn't want to go about any
more--for from riding in the salt evening air he had already got a
little hoarse--the man brightened up immediately.
"Oh, a little horse!" said he. "If that's what you come about you'll be
welcome here. The General isn't here yet, but till he comes the rooms is
yours."
And they were!
If any one feels inclined to follow Mr. P.'s example, he begs to
recommend the President's "Old Yarns,"--the hind box on the top shelf of
the library closet.
The next morning, Mr. P. wandered on the sands. Fond memories flocked
around him, as he stood gazing on the corruscating waves.
But they were mostly memories of sheepsheads and flanneled bathers and
'tis not for these that the poet gazes into the emerald depths whence
the pearly scum, like tears of mermaids--Ah! Mermaids! Mr. P. had never
seen a mermaid. These were not among his memories He deeply woulded that
he could--and lo! he did! The creature came gliding to his very feet,
and he had barely time to bound back before she reached the shore.
Shaking the water from her spectacles, she came up, and stood before
him.
Twas SUSAN B. ANTHONY.
"How do, PUNCHY?" said she; "I've left the _Revolution_. Yes, left it
now, and we've got a new editor, and she's beautiful and don't charge a
cent."
"Why, that's like me!" said Mr. P.
"Oh, PUNCHY!" said the gentle SUSAN, wringing the water out of her
flannel skirts, "none of your joking here. Come, take my arm."
Here Mr. P. drew back in apprehension.
"Why, what's the matter?" said SUSAN. "Are you afraid of a little water,
and you a man, too? See me! I'm as wet as sop. Don't keep me waiting
here, now, or I'll feel like saying "Damn" again, and that sort of thing
won't do too often. I want you to come along with me up to LESTER
WALLACE'S place--the 'Hut,' you know. I'm stopping with him. It's two or
three hours yet before lunch-time, and we can have a good talk."
Just at this minute Mr. PUNCHINELLO saw a sea-gull skimming past, and he
said he would like to catch it and give it to LESTER for his menagerie.
So he hurried after it.
The next day, Mr. P. went out fishing. He hired a boat, and a man to
sail it, and while the man was getting ready to put off, Mr. P. took his
seat in the bow and began to fix his lines. He always likes to sit in
the bow. The tiller don't knock him so often in the back, and the boom
don't bother his head so much. What he particularly wanted was to catch
a devil-fish! He thought to himself what a splendid thing it would be to
catch one of the big, VICTOR HUGO kind, and to take it home with him to
Nassau street! Wouldn't all his editors jump, when they saw him come
into the office with that! And he would get STEPHENS to draw it for the
paper.
STEPHENS has drawn nearly everything on earth, but Mr. P. did not
believe that he ever drew a devil-fish. Not from life, anyway.
As they sailed out to sea, Mr. P.'s heart beat faster, and his brain
throbbed with delight as he thought of his great possible triumph.
He fished for two hours and never got a bite. There was too much talking
at the stern. Mr. P. looked around, and there were three men there,
beside the sailor-man! "Confound it!" thought Mr. P.; "they must have
got on while I was fixing my lines, before we started." After this wise
reflection, he objurgated the sailor-man, but the latter wanted to know
if he wasn't to make any profit out of his stern and his mid-ships, as
well as his bow, and he objurgated back with such force that Mr. P. gave
him no further attention, but, turning to the interlopers, he said:
"I'm not so much surprised to see you, Mr. DELANO, for if any man in the
country pushes himself and his hirelings where neither he nor they are
wanted, it's you; but why you, HORACE GREELEY, and you, JIMMY HAGGARTY,
should be here, I'm sure I don't know."
"Oh, we're all in the same boat, PUNCHY, said DELANO, knocking off his
ashes to the windward of the Philosopher.
"That's a lie," remarked HORACE, rubbing the ashes deeper into his eyes
with his handkerchief.
J. HAGGARTY grunted at this emphatic denial of such a self-evident
proposition, and DELANO went on to say, "Yes, we're all alike"--all
'going through' our fellow-men. I with my assessors and collectors;
HORACE with his protection schemes, and JIMMY, there, with his nimble
fingers."
"That's so," said the good JAMES, and he shifted his quid.
The sailor-man, who had been objurgating straight ahead all this time,
now weighed anchor and put the boat in towards shore. Silence fell upon
the company. They seemed very shy of each other, and did not amalgamate
at all. Mr. P. went out to the extreme end of the bowsprit and gazed
down into the deep blue sea, wondering whether its color was really due
to excess of salt, or the presence of cuprate of ammonia. HORACE climbed
to the top of the mast, where he sat sadly, observing the swindling
waves, which came all the way from Europe, and didn't pay a cent of tax
when they landed. Mr. HAGGARTY went to the stern, where he employed his
time in cleaning out the sailor-man's pockets, while DELANO dived into
the hold, to see if he couldn't find an old worm-box, or a rope's-end,
which had no revenue stamp upon them.
That evening Mr. P. strolled up to the Pavilion, and Governor MORRIS
told him all the news. When he heard that the Prince ERIE, of the Heavy
Ninth, was coming down with his six-in-hand, (being only half his usual
number of Temptations,) Mr. P. found that if he wished to shine at Long
Branch, he had better keep away until he could come down with some of
his pet seven-thirties in hand. So he picked up his $8.00 valise; put on
his $9.00 hat; buttoned up his $35.00 coat; took his $12.00 umbrella
under his arm; stuck his $00.00 free pass in his hatband, and went home
to Nassau street.
* * * * *
A MARINE MIXTURE.
There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip. When the Berton
excursionists were taken by the Californians to the Cliff House, Mr.
RICE brought out a bottle. Of course the Californians were wide awake
for the drawing of the cork. "Whiskey, perhaps!" they murmured, "Brandy,
possibly!" they sweetly sighed. "Rum, maybe!" they conjectured.
"Schnapps, possibly," they surmised. But when Mr. RICE had drawn the
cork, it was discovered that there was nothing in the bottle except a
pint of salt water, taken from the Atlantic Ocean, which the bottle
holder (as a rare joke) proceeded to empty into the Pacific Ocean, thus
making (as he observed) "a literal blending of the waters." Very pretty,
indeed; but not the sort of witticism which a dry man would be likely to
appreciate--and Californians are sometimes extremely dry!
* * * * *
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Employing female clerks in the Treasury Department because they will
work for small wages.
* * * * *
A SIMPLE INQUIRY.
May not a pretty actress, when playing a page part, appropriately be
called a "belle boy"?
* * * * *
NINETY-NINE IN THE SHADE.
A. MIDSUMMER ODE.
Oh for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers!
Oh for an iceberg or two at control!
Oh for a vale which at midday the dew cumbers!
Oh for a pleasure-trip up to the Pole!
Oh for a little one-story thermometer,
With nothing but Zeros all ranged in a row!
Oh for a big, double-barrelled hygrometer,
To measure this moisture that rolls from my brow!
Oh that this cold world were twenty times colder!
(That's irony red hot it seemeth to me.)
Oh for a turn of its dreaded cold shoulder!
Oh what a comfort an ague would be!
Oh for a grotto to typify heaven,
Scooped in the rock under cataract vast!
Oh for a winter of discontent even!
Oh for wet blankets judiciously cast!
Oh for a soda-fount spouting up boldly
From every hot lamp-post against the hot sky!
Oh for proud maiden to look on me coldly,
Freezing my soul with a glance of her eye!
Then oh for a draught from a cup of "cold pizen!"
And oh for a resting-place in the cold grave!
With a bath in the Styx, where the thick shadow lies on
And deepens the chill of its dark-running wave!
* * * * *
BOW-WOW!
One may discern a new argument for the removal of the National Capital
to St. Louis, in the Capital style of doing things in that accomplished
city. Supposing you have a business, we naturally admire you as a
business man, in proportion to your ingenuity in developing that
business, and your energy in prosecuting it. Now this genius for
business seems to characterize all grades of society in St. Louis,--even
so far down as to the "City Dog-Killer." This talented functionary so
developed his art, that he is able to kill the same dog a great many
times--at an average profit of twenty-five cents each execution. He has
a way of stunning the beast so that for all purposes of a canine nature
it is apparently quite dead. By the next day, however, the late defunct
has revived sufficiently to be susceptible of another killing, which is
accordingly administered, and so on, we suppose, all through the season.
The inferiority of the East, in matters of this kind, may be justly and
satisfactorily inferred from the fact that in Philadelphia, lately, they
attempted to execute their dogs with carbonic acid gas. When the box or
tub was opened, the irrepressible spirits of the animals confined
therein were perceived to be at the topmost heights of jollity, and the
police were obliged to go back to first principles and shoot the
exhilarated curs.
* * * * *
DRAINAGE UNDER DIFFICULTIES.
It is generally known to the world that Chicago needs draining. In order
that it may be drained, Mr. Sanitary Superintendent RAUCH has made a
report which is extremely figurative and which quite bristles with the
nine digits. Mr. PUNCHINELLO has read it until perfectly bewildered by
the intricacy of the computations; but what he does understand is that
if Chicago be not drained immediately, the amiable cholera may be
expected to put in an early appearance. Mr. Superintendent RAUCH prints
an aggravating table to show, by multiplication, addition, subtraction,
division, and the rule of three, that if you don't drain you will have
cholera, while if you do drain you will escape it. Under the
circumstances, we should advise Chicago to drain.
* * * * *
"LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE."
A resolution has been introduced into one of the Southern Legislatures,
that any member sleeping during service hours shall forfeit his per
diem. The trouble with our fellows at Washington is that they keep too
wide awake.
* * * * *
CONDENSED CONGRESS.
SENATE.
[Illustration: 'C']
Catching an idea, Mr. NYE objected to the bill which some wretch had
introduced, to abridge the privileges of Senators under the Franking
laws. He knew that it would be a fearful tax upon Senators to send the
_harmless_ necessary editions of two or three hundred thousand copies of
the _Congressional Globe_ to their constituents at their own expense,
and of course the constituents could not be expected to pay. What would
be the result? The _Globes_ would accumulate in vast and useless numbers
over all the land, to such an extent as to impede traffic, and they
could, in that condition, kindle neither patriotic enthusiasm nor
private fires. Somebody had suggested that these copies need not be
sent. They all saw the folly of such a suggestion. True, constituents
never read their speeches, but it was natural for the constituents to be
gratified at having a representative thoughtful enough to tell his
secretary to make out a list of eminent idiots in his district, and send
them a _Globe_ apiece. This secured the idiotic element, which, he was
proud to say, was the chief support of his political life.
Mr. SUMNER said that a bookseller in Boston was getting out an edition
of his speeches in thirty-seven volumes. He was, accordingly, quite
indifferent upon the Franking privilege, since it was certain that no
constituent who read one of the speeches in the book would ever yearn to
read another in a newspaper, and since no constituent would ever survive
the reading of the entire series thus published.
Mr. CHANDLER said he would be Frank. He always had been Frank. It was
his Franking Privilege. He was in favor of declaring a war with every
nation which would not allow matter franked by Senators of this glorious
Republic to pass their post-offices. He had sent copies of all his
speeches to the effete and loathsome monarchs of Europe, with his frank
neatly lithographed in one corner. But he had since heard that the
minions of tyranny in foreign post-offices had stopped those documents,
upon the paltry pretence that the postage was not paid. Thus he had been
prevented from freezing the monarchical marrow and curdling the royal
blood, since nobody could be expected to derive instruction or
admonition from a speech which was used to feed the fire, or stuff the
window, of one of his petty tools. He called upon the Senate to do him
justice.
Mr. CARPENTER observed that justice would never be done to Mr. CHANDLER
until the occurrence of a public execution. But still he considered that
the franking privilege ought to be retained. The party that he belonged
to was the party of intelligence. Strange as this might seem, it was
true, and it was also true that, in spite of their intelligence, they
would read his speeches. Let the Senate have pity upon these misguided,
but not wilfully wicked men.
HOUSE.
Mr. BANKS said he would offer a few observations upon Cuba.
The Speaker (who is coming out very strong as a comic presiding
officer,) said he would rather see BANKS square a circle than a Cuba
root. (He meant a cigar.) This sally was greeted with sickly smiles by
the members who wanted the floor.