Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketfull of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing;
Wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
The poet had now reached that stage of parental experience where he
realized to its fullest extent, what many another poor mortal has
learned to his sorrow, that a baby in the house is the greatest tyrant
ever invented. A baby may be a well-spring of joy, a gleam of bright
sunshine, an angel from Heaven, a compound of unalloyed blissfulness, or
a mixture of "snaps and snails and puppy dogs' tails;" but it is
nevertheless the tyrant of the household, the king of the family, the
royal personage to whom all must bow, and to whom everything must yield.
What father or mother is there who dares set his or her will up in
opposition to the baby. If baby wants papa's spectacles, it must have
them, no matter if papa is reading. If it wants mamma's thimble, it has
it. If baby wants to go to sleep, the whole family must move on tip-toe,
and not speak above a whisper. If baby gets the croup at night, the
whole family must be aroused, papa must run two miles to the doctor's,
grandmother must be routed from her warm bed and brought post-haste to
help take care of it, everybody from the cook upwards must stir about
lively and be on the watch ready any moment to offer their devotional
incense at the shrine of this potent baby monarch, the wee ruler who's
slightest wish has greater weight than the king's command.
It is owing to this peculiarity of our humanity which always has been
and always will be, that the world has received the remarkable lines
placed at the heading of this article. Since the Poet's time there have
been attempts by other aspirants to immortality to continue the story so
well begun, and add a lengthy jingle to the already completed verse,
conceiving in their futile minds the idea that it was an unfinished
structure upon which they could build for themselves a temple of fame;
but all such dastardly attempts met with the success they deserved, and
that was speedy oblivion; and we contend and will maintain to the bitter
end, that these lines are the only right and true lines written on the
subject by our immortal Poet, and that the others which are falsely
circulated as part and parcel of the original, are spurious, emanating,
it is said, from a half-insane idiot who hung himself immediately after
finishing them.
The inspiration to the above lines came about in a very natural way. The
Poet was poor. That is, speaking after the manner of later days, he was
occasionally hard-up. His occasions were very lengthy ones and the
interregnum a period remarkably brief. It had become a sort of chronic
state with him, and although he occasionally wrote a bit of verse by
request, his modesty would not allow him to charge more than a sixpence
or thereabouts for any article, and the consequence was that he
understood to the fullest extent the meaning of the term hard times. Now
it is a well-known fact that families, especially where there are wives
and babies, do not take kindly to poverty and its concomitants, but
emphatically insist upon having something to eat, drink, and wear.
Time has proved that even the weakest are wise in their own way, and are
given knowledge for self-protection; and woman, although she may not
command success by main strength, nor by force of will, has learned that
when other resources fail she has only to stoop to conquer: that her
weakness is her strength, her tears her weapons, and her baby her
shield. So when the Poet's politic little wife found there was no money
forthcoming, and consequently no dinner, she advised him to go hunting
for birds, as it was very necessary for growing children to have the
little bones to pick; not that she cared for a pie made from birds
herself, but it was really necessary for the child just at this age.
Off sets the duped husband in a spirit of self-sacrifice, determined
that no negligence of his shall prevent his child from growing properly;
and if birds are necessary to the process, then birds it shall be. A
weary day is spent tramping among the woods and bushes, and towards
night, with two dozen of the feathered creatures in his bag, he turns
his footsteps homeward. He is rewarded by a smile and a word of praise
for his unusual good luck, and with a pat on the shoulder and a promise
of a splendid dinner in an hour or two, he is set to work to pluck the
birds.
Time passes on, the savory smell of the cooking birds occasionally
saluting his nostrils and making his mouth water with anticipation, when
at last comes the joyful summons, and all seat themselves around the
table and engage with unbounded admiration in this wonderful issue of
the day's labor.
The little lever which has moved the mighty events to this result sits
in his high chair, a spoon in one hand, a fork in the other, and beats a
grand tattoo ornamented with numerous little shrill sounds of baby joy,
in honor of the glorious sight, the like of which his eyes have never
seen before. Father and mother gaze enraptured upon the joyful sight of
the crowing youngster, exchange intelligent and admiring glances at his
precocity, and inwardly congratulate themselves upon possessing such a
wonderful improvement on babies in general.
But the Poet himself, with his sensitive nature--who can fathom the
profound depths of his soul now stirred by two such entrancing sights as
the high-smoking blackbird-pie won by his own prowess, and the little
monarch for whose sake all this was brought about? The delicious smell
excites him like draughts of rich old wine, and all the soul within him
bubbles up exultingly, and he improvises on the moment. Joyfully he
sings in melodious tones, his nerves trembling with ecstasy, and his
blood bubbling through his veins like sparkling champagne:--
Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing;
Wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
One adoring glance at the rosy little king, who sits with open mouth and
spoon poised in air, staring in amazement at such unusual hilarity; one
comprehensive glance at his wife, and the keen knife and fork pierce to
the depth of the dainty dish, and the delicate blackbirds come forth;
but they do not sing. That was poetic license. Perhaps, on the whole, it
was just as well that they did not sing, for it would only have delayed
the dinner, and hungry folks are rather practical, and would much prefer
testing the birds for themselves to hearing from them.
The event of the day is over. Quiet has settled upon the earth and upon
the Poet's household. He leans back in his chair in peaceful revery, and
muses upon the scenes of the day. Slowly, like distant music, come back
to his mind the diamonds of thought that dropped from his lips under the
unwonted excitement, and as he strings them together he jots them down
in his memorandum for future service.
* * * * *
[ILLUSTRATION: The Tempter and the Tempted
_Mephistopheles Butler._ "MR. PRESIDENT, PUT IN ABOUT ST. DOMINGO,
STRONG."]
* * * * *
HIRAM GREEN IN PITTSBURGH.
Owing to the smokey condition of the city, the "Lait Gustise" looses his
identity.
I have just got back from a pertracted jirney, of a weeks durashun, from
the state of Pensilvania.
While pursooin my tower I hove up in Pittsburg, which city is serrounded
by a lot of iron furnases, whose smoky chimleys is enuff to smoke a dog
out of a tan yard. Chicken raisin dont ammount to shucks there.
When they have a spell of cloudy wether, fowls keep rite on roostin, and
don't leave their perches ontil they tumble off, starved to deth.
This is because darkness rains, unless the sun shines.
Pittsburg is an ecommikle place for nigger minstrel shows.
15 minnits walk in the open air bare-hedded, will put a black head onto
'em, which will pars muster before a select committy of Freedman burows,
or pull the wool over the eyes of such Filantropistors as WENDILL
FILLIPS. Bildins are never painted in fancy cullers down there.
When a man wants to look slick, he takes an old blackin brush and rubs
his domisil over with stove blackin, then goes over it with an old
broom, puttin a polish onto a bildin, which makes it shine like a bran
new cookstove. It is no onusual thing for the citezins of Pittsburg to
carry along with them a basin of water, sope, towels, &c.; and when a
person stops to shake hands with 'em, wash their faces, so as to be sure
they haint associatin with a reglar descendant of HAM.
This way is confined to the upper tendoms; but it is a singler fact that
it is neccessary to remove the _upper crust,_ so as to oncover the
superior man.
Never havin heerd anything about the smokey condition of Pittsburgh, I
was the victim of an adventoor which come mitey nigh puttin a quietuss,
for a permanent period, onto my terrestial egistance. Ide just arroven
into the city, from the northern part of the State. Thinkin Ide like to
look the city over a bit, I sholdered my bloo cotton umbreller and
carpet bag, and started on a tower of observashun.
I walkt along gaeopin rite and left at the bildins, which I could only
distingwish, as I got rite opposite of em.
Just as I stopped to rest myself a minnit, a man say's to me: "Git out
of the way, Cuffee."
I turned to impale him with my impenetratin gaze, when he disappeared in
the smoke.
Gropin my way along I suddenly was run into, by another man. As he
struck me vilently into the stomack, he hollered out: "You black raskil!
how dare you run into a respectable man?" My blood was gettin hot.
"Me, a black raskel," said I, makin a push to ceaze him by the throte,
"Ile larn you that you can't call them names to me with impunerty, not
by a darn site."
In the thick smoke which surronded me, I grabbed for Mister man, when to
my horror! my hand came in contact with a lot of curly hair, and by the
shriek which greeted my ear, I was conshus that I had made a misgo, and
was clutchin a womans water-fall.
Turnin full onto me (and Ketchin my cote sleeve), she says, "Oh! you
black villian, how dare you insult a lady?" Tearin myself from her
grasp, I rushed madly on. I could feel pedestrians glide by me.
There I was in a strange land. From all sides it was,
smoke--smoke--smoke, darkness--darkness--darkness. Ide read about the
Egipshun darkness, but Pittsburgh is ahead of that, for while I couldent
see in Pittsburgh, the blamed smoke was suffocatin me, and makin the
teers run down my cheeks, like the prodigal son, when he was mournin for
the deth of a rich unkle, who'd left him some cash, I made up my mind,
that I would try and enter a bildin somewhere, and implore the ade of a
pilot.
Hearin voices, I made a bee line from whence issood the voise. After
tumblin over severil dry goods boxes, I went head first throo a big
glass winder, and landed my voluptous form at the feet of the cerprised
groceryman, who was engaged in the lofty pursoot of measurin out a peck
of onions. "See here! my cullered friend," says he, takin me by the cote
collar, and marchin me up to view the ruin, which I had made. "Yoove
smashed a ten doller pane of glass. Come, shell out the damage, or ile
call a policeman." I tride to remonstrate with him agin his callin me a
cullered man, at which he agin insisted on my payin for broken glass,
&c. To avoid further discussion, I planked down the required ammount,
and flew into the street, with my mind vergin onto madness.
Why, oh! why? was I addressed as a "blackraskil," "scoundrel," &c.? was
the thoughts which was ruunin' throo my mind.
Bringin my hands to my eyes, a terrible suspishon flashed across my
brain, as I diskivered to my horror, that my usually lilly white hands
had turned black.
I couldent stand such feelins as I was in, for a great while.
Feelin along the side of numerous houses, I found my way into another
store.
"Mister STOREKEEPER, who am I?--and what am I?" said I, wildly
interogatin a individual, who was standin by a big pile of caliker.
"I should say you was a descendant of HAM, and a pooty well died one
too," says he laffin.
"Me black? impossible sir!" was my reply.
He ceazed me by the hand and led me to a lookin glass.
Yes, the terrible truth stared me in the face.
I begun to realize my situation. It suddenly occurred to me, that in the
confusion of changin cars that mornin, that, likely as not, I'de got
swapped off with some cullered preacher.
With my feelins workt up to a traggick pitch, and madly cussin the day
that I left Skeensboro, I staggered into the street.
For a few minnits, I assumed the air and garbage of a loonytick.
I ran vilently again numerous individuals, and as the concussion
generally piled me into the gutter, I quickly sprung to my feet, and
waved my umbreller wildly into the air.
I was suddenly grabbed by the cote coller and moked into a large bildin,
which I afterwards diskivered to be the Monongaheeler House. I found
myself confrontin a perliceman. Says I, strikin a tragick attitood, "Am
I GREEN, or am I not GREEN? If I haint GREEN, who in SAM HILL am I?"
"Old man," said the porliceman, tryin to quiet me, "you mite have been
_green_ before you struck Pittsburg, but if I haint mistaken, yoo've
been out and got smoked up, and are now as _black_ as the ase of
spades."
"Oh! hor-ri-ble, hor-ri-ble!" I hissed, and rushed into the washroom.
After soakin my head in a wash-basin for a few minnits, reezin agin
returned, and I diskivered, to my disgust, that I had been sold by the
consarned smoke a settin down onto me. Well, Mister PUNCHINELLO, it was
a narrer escape for the old man, you bet. I wasent long in gettin washed
up; and if ever a lone traveller was tickled to set foot onto a rale
rode car homeward bound, it was your hily intelectual and venerable
quill jerkist.
I told Mrs. GREEN of my adventoor. It emejetly sot her into one of her
cranky tantrums. Says she, "HIRAM, you've an old fool. Why don't you
stay home, where you belong, and not go pokin about the country like a
great big booby?"
"But, my dear," was my reply, "GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN got up his name by
gittin into musses, and wastin and pinin away into furrin pastiles."
"GEORGE FRANCIS your grandmother," said she. "You and he orter be tide
together and caged. If I only had the keepin of you then, Ide nock the
foolishness out of your nozzles, or break your pesky old topknots in the
atemt."
Between us, Mister PUNCHINELLO, MARIAR would do that ere thing to the
letter, if she had a chance.
Ewers, white as the druv snow,
HIRAM GREEN, Esq.,
Lait Gustise of the Pees.
* * * * *
[Illustration: TERMS OF SURRENDER.
_Madge (to her elder sister, who has just rung the hall-door bell)._
"FLORA, YOUR BEAU'S HERE."
_Flora._ "LET ME IN IMMEDIATELY, YOU NAUGHTY GIRL."
_Madge._ "I WILL IF YOU'LL PROMISE TO GIVE ME YOUR BON-BON BOX AND CORAL
PIN."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: HIGH REVEL IN THE WHITE HOUSE.]
* * * * *
SARSFIELD YOUNG'S PANORAMA.
PART IV.
THE GOLDEN GATE.
An animated and picturesque view, fresh from the hand of genius.
The mellow sunshine, the birds fluttering in the air, the ships dashing
through the briny deep, the foliage upon the hills in the dim distance,
the glittering steeples of the great city of El Dorado,--and one of
GEORGE LAW'S old man-traps in the foreground, with a high-pressure
boiler (you see there is an excursion party on board, with a band of
music), and an open bay,--all combine to lend to this wonderful triumph
of art an airy and exhilarating tone, indescribably delicious.
This is the Golden Gate which guards the harbor of San Francisco. It is
open and shut by means of an earthquake. This water, extending in every
direction, is the well-known Pacific Ocean. They have called this the
_Golden_ Gate, because somewhere in this vicinity the precious metal
was discovered, accidentally, as it were.
Observe the skill--with which our artist has distinguished land from
water; trees from ships; clouds from church spires; human beings from
Chinamen. In so doing, he has distinguished himself also.
In view of these sloops on the extreme left, may we not say that this is
a mast apiece?
This exquisite gem was completed about the same time as the Pacific
Railroad, and yet how different. Here the eye of the beholder lingers
fondly upon the scene, drinking in at every point new and inspiring
beauties. I presume that the traveller upon the Union Pacific may drink
at every point if he wants to, but he can't linger. Their time-table
doesn't allow it.
I forgot to mention that in the background can be detected glimpses of
the great State of California.
BOTANY BAY.
What emotions arise in the breast as you approach this remarkable spot!
Tour mind naturally reverts to your English ancestry, to those early
settlers, the noble forefathers of this colony, who forsook their old
homes and braved the perils of the deep till they reached these distant
shores. They came not from a feverish thirst for gold, nor with
ambitious visions of a new and powerful empire. They came rather from a
_conviction_, that here was where they were wanted.
This crowded canvas gives you some faint idea of what has been the
result of that generous, patriotic pilgrimage.
This is Felon's Avenue.
Burglar's Hall,--a fine public building,--Headman's Block, The College
of Forgery, Counterfeiter's Exchange, The Cracksman's Crib, (a new and
elegant hotel), Mutiny Row, and many other prominent buildings are to be
seen.
Such are the natural beauties of the place that persons who come here
feel compelled to stay a good while. (The melodeon will evolve "Home,
sweet home.")
THE NATURAL BRIDGE OF VIRGINIA.
Next to Mount Vernon, the Libby Prison at Richmond, and John Brown's
Engine House at Harper's Ferry, this is to the stranger the most
interesting piece of scenery in the Old Dominion. So firm and
substantial is the masonry that it is supposed to have been standing
long before the English settlement of the country. Some learned writers
think that those stately abutments are too massive for the red man of
the forest to have constructed. Besides, what did he know about
engineering? I'm sure I can't say how this is; but I had always supposed
that there never was a camp of these savages without an Indian near.
At all events the effect is very natural, and it only needs a toll-house
to render it completely so.
This dizzy elevation has been scaled by daring adventurers who cut their
names in the soft, yielding rock; not so many, it is true, of late
years. They have rather fallen off.
There is food for contemplation in this beautiful object; also in the
hotel which you perceive not far off.
NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE.
This represents a very dark night, with no moon, exceedingly cloudy, and
all the fires out. You will be struck with the interesting fact that a
night on the prairie, under such circumstances, looks very much like a
similar night elsewhere.
SUNRISE, ON THE PRAIRIE.
People who have never seen the sun rise on the prairie, or anywhere
else, say that this is exactly like it.
These two vivid representations of our Western domain are the efforts of
two boys, both of them brothers. One panted for fame. So did the other.
That made a pair of pants.
Both miners, they mixed a good deal with rough people, in fact from the
cradle up. They mixed paints well. They did this job in gangs of one
each.
One of these boys has grown up and dyed. His bones are bleaching on the
plains of Arkansas. He is carrying on an extensive dye-house and
bleachery in the suburbs of Little Rock.
The other boy, I hardly know whether he has grown up or not. He was a
pattern young man. The last I heard of him he was making patterns for a
large manufacturing establishment at Pittsburgh.
BOSTON.
An exceedingly accurate view of the City of Boston and vicinity. The
vicinity has all been annexed; so it is Boston proper. All Boston is
proper--very proper.
This view was taken by BLACK, a distinguished artist. Colored men draw
better in Boston. The picture was originally a small one, taken by
photograph, and then "thrown up," as the technical term is. Our artist
threw it up for pecuniary reasons. I have forgotten the man's name who
took it again. I think he said his name was SHERIFF.
The spectator is supposed to be standing just in front of the
foreground, except where this perspective comes in; then he is perched,
with a smoked glass, in the look-out at the top of the State House.
Boston Common; the Harbor; the Mall on the Common; Fort Warren; the Old
Elm Tree on the Common; Bunker Hill Monument; Fountain on the Common;
Park Street Church, orthodox--these other docks are at East Boston;
Children of the Public Schools playing on the Common; Faneuil Hall; Frog
Pond on the Common; the Public Garden, etc.
The Great Organ is played at about this point. Travellers from New York
frequently come upon the Sound when miles away.
We would like to show one or two of the important men of Boston, but the
artist assured us we hadn't room.
Boston is high-toned. I believe the taxes here are higher than in any
other city in the country. I would like to say a good deal more about
Boston, but being a Boston man myself, my modesty prevents me. You will
always notice this peculiarity in a Boston man--he seldom mentions
Boston. It is a way we have in Boston.
* * * * *
Lunatic
What man is most looked up to? The Man in the Moon.
* * * * *
THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.
WALTER MONTGOMERY has been playing "HAMLET" and "OTHELLO" at NIBLO'S
GARDEN. So graceful and elegant is he in his stage presence, that I have
been obliged to decline to take MARGARET to see him. There is nothing so
annoying as to escort one's cousin (I think I have mentioned that
MARGARET is my cousin) to the theatre and to hear her express the most
ecstatic admiration of that "perfectly lovely Mr. MONTGOMERY." I have
suffered from this sort of thing once, and don't propose to subject
myself to it a second time. I do not consider myself a jealous man, but
as Mr. GUPPY finely and forcibly remarks, "there _are_ chords in the
human breast."
Last week, I referred in pointed, not to say Greeleyesque language, to
the REFORMING NUISANCES who insist upon improving everything according
to their own fashion. The NUISANCE, however, has this peculiarity, that
he never wants to change anything that really needs to be reformed. He
will insist upon bullying Mr. TILTON into total abstinence from the
mildest form of claret and water, but he never thinks of urging Mr.
GREELEY to a wholesome moderation in the use of objurgatory epithets. He
is clamorous in his demand that _Rip Van Winkle_ should be transformed
into a temperance lecture, but he is entirely satisfied with the
preposterous manner in which the clever but inartistic SHAKESPEARE has
thought fit to end his two meritorious tragedies, _Hamlet_ and
_Othello_. Now no one at all familiar with either of these two popular
plays can fail to perceive the gross faults of construction which
characterize them both.
To be sure, if we accept the theory of "HAMLET'S" insanity, we can
account for the preposterous idiocy of his conduct. But from the
greatest to the worst of our interpreters of "HAMLET,"--from BOOTH to
FECHTER,--there is no modern actor who believes in the real insanity of
the melancholy Dane. The fault of his folly, therefore, lies with the
dramatist, and not the actor.
What does "HAMLET" do when he decides--on the unsworn statement of an
irresponsible GHOST--that his father has been murdered by the GHOST'S
brother? We all know that he devotes himself to the duties of a private
detective; that he drives his sweetheart crazy by using very improper
language to her, and by coolly denying that he had ever had any serious
intentions toward her. Then he gets up the worst specimen of private
theatricals that even a royal drawing-room ever witnessed,--a
performance so hopelessly stupid as to actually make the KING and his
consort seriously ill. Next he insults his mother, and, under the weak
pretext of killing rats, wantonly makes a hole in her best tapestry. And
finally, after having killed the young man who was to have been his
brother-in-law, he stabs his own uncle and calmly watches the dying
agonies of his mother, who has succumbed to an indiscreet indulgence in
adulterated whiskey. His death is the only redeeming incident in his
career,--only he should have died in the first, instead of the fifth
act.
The real "HAMLET"--if there ever was such a person--would have shown the
traditional thrift and enterprise of his race by a very different course
of conduct. After the interview with the GHOST he would have had a
private audience with the KING, and there would have ensued a scene
somewhat like the following one. Of course he would not have talked in
blank verse. The world has never properly condemned the outrageous cheek
with which SHAKESPEARE has attempted to make us believe that blank verse
was ever the ordinary speech of sensible men.
HAMLET.--"I have a little business to settle with your majesty."
KING.--"Well! out with it; I've got an appointment with the German
Ambassador about that Schleswig-Holstein business at 2 o'clock, and can
only spare you ten minutes."
HAMLET.--"I want to be appointed collector of the port of Copenhagen,
with a salary of ten thousand dollars a month besides the fees. Also, I
want to marry OPHELIA, and to be recognized as the heir apparent to your
throne."
KING.--"Well! I rather like your cheek. Do you mistake me for an
American President, that you ask me to appoint one of my own relations
to the fattest office in my gift? Why you impertinent young scoundrel!"
HAMLET.--"Draw it mild, if you please. The reason why I ask these favors
of you is, that if granted they will prevent me from talking in my
sleep."
KING (_aside_).--"He's got 'em at last. I knew he would, if he kept
company with politicians." (_To Hamlet._) "Are you drunk or crazy? Not
that it is of much consequence, but still I should like to know the
reason of this impudence."
HAMLET (_in a sepulchral whisper_).--"Uncle! I have seen a reliable
gentleman who saw my late father die. Now don't do anything rash. You
see I know all. Appoint me collector, and I'll agree to think no more
about it. Refuse, and I shall take the course that filial love and duty
prompt."
KING.--"There is no need of any dispute between relatives on such a
little matter as this appointment. I appreciate your business capacity.
Swear to forget the nonsense you have hinted at, and you shall be
collector. Is it a bargain?"
HAMLET.--"It is."
Here the play would naturally end, and the audience would feel that both
"HAMLET" and the "KING" had conducted themselves in a creditable manner.
By such a change as this, _Hamlet_ becomes a rational and enjoyable
play. But will, you ever find a REFORMING NUISANCE who will offer to
improve _Hamlet_? Not a bit of it. There is nothing which your NUISANCE
is more reluctant to do than to engage in any really useful work.
"OTHELLO" is another idiotic person, who spoils what would otherwise
have been a respectable play, by his stupid jealousy. How much better
would the drama have been had the fifth act proceeded in this wise:--
OTHELLO.--"Desdy, my dear, are you in bed?"
DESDEMONA.--"Yes, and I'm sleepy too, and don't want to be bothered.
There's your night-shirt hanging on the chair."
OTHELLO.--"IAGO tells me you've been flirting with Lieutenant CASSIO.
Now that won't do. Remember that under the Fifteenth Amendment I have
the right, being a colored man, of doing pretty much as I choose. If
this flirtation isn't stopped promptly I'll go to Indiana, divorce you,
and marry EMILIA. Do you know where the boot-jack is?"
DESDEMONA.--"I never did flirt with him, and IAGO tells a big story if
he says I did. The boot-jack must have been kicked under the bed. As for
flirting, after the way you have gone on with EMILIA, the less say about
it the better. If you can't find the boot-jack, call the servant and let
him pull your boots off--you'll catch your death if you go poking round
under the bureau and sofa and things much longer."
OTHELLO.--"Of course it's all right, only don't have too much to say to
him. There's that confounded boot-jack at last. You see, my dear, that
people will talk if you give them the slightest reason. There's a button
off this shirt. Are you all ready for me to put the gas out?"
With the extinction of the gas, the curtain would naturally fall. And it
would fall upon a pleasant, well-constructed, probable, and eminently
realistic play. As it is, OTHELLO ends with a complicated massacre
worthy of the Bowery Theatre in its bloodiest days.
MATADOR.
* * * * *
"Parlez aux Suisses."
It seems that Water Valley, Mississippi, is attracting hosts of Swiss
settlers, speaking of whom a contemporary calls them "iron-handed
mountaineers." We were not previously aware that the Swiss are provided
with iron hands, though we have long known that they have _glaciers_.
* * * * *
A Warning.
The man who tried to arrange his hair with an ice pick got it into a
Nice Pickle.
* * * * *
Suggested by a "Tight" Fit.
What county of Scotland is the best to get a foot-hold in? Bute.
* * * * *
AN EVEN TEMPERATURE FOR CONGRESS.
Warmed by WOOD; Cooled by BROOKS.
* * * * *
[Illustration: ANOTHER "SUCCESSFUL FRENCH SORTIE."]
* * * * *
THE MARCH OF PROGRESS.
The nations of Europe appear to suppose that their advance in
civilization is marked by improvement in their rifles rather than in
their school-houses. The possession of the needle-gun by Prussia
stimulated France to invent the Chassepot, and now it appears that
Russia claims to have a new rifle which surpasses them both. If we may
judge from Prussia's actions in this war, this improvement in rifles
leads to improvement in rifling; and though it is difficult to imagine
how Russia could surpass Prussia's proficiency in this art, which in
civil parlance would be called robbing, yet there is no knowing to what
further point of perfection it may be carried. It is only to be hoped
that the industry of Europe, which offers the field for the exercise of
these improvements, will continue to be piously thankful for the noble
position which it is thus made to hold in the march of progress.
* * * * *
"Drawn from the Wood."
"What d'ye want? Why come you here?"
Said the Beetle inside the bark
Unto the crafty Woodpecker
Who rapped on the pine-tree in the park.
"Never mind what, and never mind why,"
Replied the Woodpecker, hammering still,
"The question will be, 'How's this for high?'
When I send in my little bill."
* * * * *
Hand and Glove.
The scarcity of kid gloves, caused by this war, will, no doubt, force
many a fair one to bare a hand during its continuance. Yet the
conservative bigots say that women should not vote unless they are
willing to do their part in the fighting.
* * * * *
HOW TO DISTINGUISH A WEALTHY MAN.
By the CROESUS in his face.
* * * * *
Q.E.D.
Astronomers say that there is no water on the moon's surface. We, on the
contrary, know that there are large oceans there. No one ever heard of
ship captains in a place destitute of water; and, as the moon is made of
green cheese, there must of course be "skippers" there.
* * * * *
A Christmas Joke.
When JENKINS felt in his pocket, after leaving the 37th Regt. Armory the
other night, he exclaimed; "Well, if this is a French fair, I prefer an
American fowl!"
* * * * *
Theatrical.
The "Gods" at our theatres generally evince good taste in selecting
their favorite actresses, and as they usually choose _blondes_, we
cannot believe that "those whom the gods love dye young."
* * * * *
Accident.
AUNT BATHSHEBA fell into the East River last Monday, and she now
declares that the dress she wore on that occasion is watered silk.
* * * * *
Query.
Should an account of the present administration be called Dent'ist'ry?
* * * * *
History Repeats Itself.
PARIS and 'L.N. have again been separated.
* * * * *
A-ROUND ROBBIN'.--Nearly all the office-holders in Washington.
* * * * *
THE GREAT AMERICAN BIRD. The "bird in the hand."
* * * * *
"A MOVEMENT ON FOOT," Any chiropodist's.
* * * * *
PROTECTION PROTECTED.
A Western editor has issued a conundrum in a volume with the title _Does
Protection Protect?_ and undertakes to prove by statistics that answer
is No. These Western people are in the habit, we know, of bragging a
good deal of their exploits, and so the writer referred to says he used
to think the answer to his conundrum was Yes, but investigation has
shown him he was wrong. What business has he to investigate it? There is
Mr. GREELEY, he says the answer is YES!! and does any one suppose that
he ever investigated it, or could so investigate any subject as to
change his opinion about it? Of course not.
Then there is H.C. CAREY, who used to say, when he was interested in
statistics, that the answer was No; but now that he is more interested
in mining, he says the answer is Yes. Could there be any better proof
that the Western man is wrong?
Besides, has not Mr. KELLEY proved a thousand times that protection does
protect his constituents, and that by making everybody pay dearer for
iron, the money goes where, according to the true laws of trade, it
ought to go--into the pockets of the mine-owners? Can it be possible
that the castor-oil man, the thread man, the salt man, the steel man,
and all the others of this kind, don't know that protection protects
them, and that they are the important persons in the country?
If this freedom of inquiry is allowed much longer, protection itself
will have to be protected. Let that Western editor prosecute his studies
further, until he becomes convinced that Americans are naturally a lazy,
idle, and shiftless people, and never would, or could, engage in any
industry unless they were so protected in it that it can be made as
flourishing as ship-building, machine-shops, and manufactures of all
kinds are now. Or, if he thinks that would take too much time, let him
join some snug little ring, if he can find such a vacancy, and enjoy the
reflection, when Republican orators talk of the glorious results of
protection to American industry, that he is one of the glorious results.
* * * * *
For Sawyers.
What kind of pine is the most difficult to saw into lumber? The
Porcupine.
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