Punchinello, Volume 1, No. 25, September 17, 1870

Chapter III: Canto VI

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TAFFY was a Welshman,
TAFFY was a thief,
TAFFY came to my house and stole a piece of beef.
I went to TAFFY'S house,
TAFFY wasn't at home,
TAFFY came to my house and stole a mutton bone.

It is not often that a poet descends to the discussion of mundane affairs. His sphere of usefulness, oftentimes usefulness to himself, only, lies among the roseate clouds of the morn, or the spiritual essences of the cerulean regions, but, like other human beings, he cannot live on the zephyr breeze, or on the moonbeams flitting o'er the rippling stream. Such ethereal food is highly unproductive of adipose tissue, and the poet needs adipose like any other man. And our poet is no exception to the rule, for he well knew that good digestible poetry can't be written on an empty stomach.

It is seldom that a writer is met with, who does not seize every opportunity to attract attention to his own deeds. He is never so happy as when, in contemplation, he hears the remarks of his readers tending to his praise for the noble and heroic deeds he makes himself perform.

But with our poet--and we have been exceptional in our choice--he has always been backward in coming forward, and it was not until he was touched upon a tender point that he concluded to make himself heard, when he might depict, in glowing terms, some of the few ills which flesh is heir to.

The opportune moment arrived.

He had been out since early dawn, gathering the dew from the sweet-scented flower, or painting in liquid vowels the pleasant calmness of the cow-pasture, or mayhap echoing with hie pencil's point the well-noted strains of the Shanghai rooster, when the far-off distant bell announced to him that he must finish his poetic pabulum, and hurry home to something more in accordance with the science of modern cookery.

He arrived and found his household in tumult. "Who's been here since I've been gone?" sang he, in pathetic tones. And he heard in mournful accents the answer, "TAFFY."

Could anything more melancholy have befallen our poet? He could remember in childhood's merry days the old candy-woman, with her plentiful store of brown sweetness long drawn out; and how himself and companions spent many a pleasant hour teasing their little teeth with the delicate morsels. Now his childhood's dreams vanished. He remembered that

"TAFFY was a Welshman."

And then, after a careful scrutiny of the larder, assisted by the gratuitous services of his ever faithful feline friend, THOMAS, he found the extent of his loss.

"TAFFY was a thief,"

he now gave vent to passion, while anguish rent his soul. TAFFY had been here, and made good his coming, although the good was entirely on TAFFY'S side, for he walked off again with a piece of beef, and was, even at this very moment, smacking his chops over its tender fibres.

All his respect for TAFFY now vanished like the misty cloud before the rays of the morning sun. He buckled on the armor of his strength, departed for TAFFY'S house, determined to wreak his vengeance thereon, and scatter TAFFY, limb for limb, throughout his own corn-field. "Woe, woe to TAFFY," he muttered between his clenched teeth. "I will make mincemeat of him; I will enclose him in sausage skins, and will send him to that good man, KI YI SAMPSON."

Judge of our poet's chagrin, however, when, on arriving at TAFFY'S house, he was informed, with mocking smiles.

"TAFFY wasn't at home."

Here was a fall to his well-formed plans of vengeance.--All dashed to the ground by one foul scathing blow.

But whither went TAFFY? The poet himself could tell you if you waited, but we will tell you now. TAFFY liked beef; liked it as no other human liked it, for he could eat it raw. And when, foraging around the village, he found a nice piece at the poet's house, his carnivorous proclivities induced him to steal it, and, with it under his arm, hurried off to the nearest barn, and there rapidly devoured it. This only seemed to give him an appetite. He went foraging again, but this time only picked up a mutton-bone. "The nearer the bone, the sweeter the meat," cried TAFFY, and with a flourish he hastened to his hiding place, while the poor poet, disconsolate in his first loss, returned home only to find a second; and the culprit was still free.

Ah! my kind reader, here was a deep cut to our poet. "Who would care for mother now?" he sang, for all the meat was gone. Home was no longer the dearest spot on earth to him, since it was rudely desecrated by the hands of TAFFY--of DAVID, the Welshman.

Poor poet! Cruel TAFFY!

Let me draw the curtain of popular sympathy over the unhappy household. The poet has told his story in words which will never die; and he has proclaimed the infamy of TAFFY to the uttermost corners of the earth.

* * * * *

Sweeping Reform.

The world moves. There is a chiropodist now travelling in the East who removes excrescences of the feet simply by sweeping them away with a corn broom. When last heard of he was at Alexandria, and there is no corn in Egypt, now.

* * * * *

OUR EXPLOSIVES.

What between nitroglycerine, kerosene, and ordinary gas, New York city has, for years.past, been admirably provided with explosives. Now we have to add gasoline to the interesting catalogue of inflammables. What gasoline is, we have not the slightest notion, but, as it knocked several houses in Maiden Lane into ashes a few days since, it must be something. Crinoline, dangerous as it is, would have been safer for Maiden Lane than gasoline, and more appropriate. In the present dearth of public amusements, these jolly explosives--gasoline, dualine, nitroglycerine, and the rest of 'em,--come in very well to create a sensation. They keep the firemen in wind, and, as the firemen keep them in water, the obligation is reciprocal. Let Gasoline, as well as Crinoline, have the suffrage, by all means.

* * * * *

Aggravating.

The war news is becoming dizzier every day. It is now announced that the Prussian headquarters are at St. Dizier.

* * * * *

Anna-Tom-ical.

"A young man who lost an arm, some two weeks since, insists upon it that he still feels pain in the arm and fingers."--(Daily Paper.)

This is strange, certainly, but not more so than the statement of our young man, TOM, who affirms that, having had his arm around ANNA'S waist some three weeks ago, he still feels the most bewitching sensations in that arm. Who can explain these things?

* * * * *

_Prussicos odi, puer, apparatus_,--as old NAP said to young NAP, when the Teutonic bullets flew about them at Saarbruck.

* * * * *

_Shipwrecked Cockney_.--"I SAY, CAPTAIN, ARE THERE ANY BEARS ABOUT HERE? I'VE COME PREPARED FOR A LITTLE SPORT, YOU KNOW."]

* * * * *

THE CHARGE OF THE NINTH BRIGADE.

"Col. FISK, Jr., marched his men up to the Continental Bar-room this evening and gave them a _carte blanche_ order for drinks."--_Special to morning paper_.

Half asleep, half asleep,
Half asleep, onward
Into the bar-room bright
Strode the Six Hundred:
'Forward the Ninth Brigade!
Charge this to me," he said.
Into the bar-room, then
Rushed the Six Hundred.

Topers to right of them.
Topers to left of them,
Old sots in front of them,
Parleyed and wondered;
Yet into line they fell,
Boldly they drank, and well
Into the jaws of each,
Into the mouth of all,
Drinks went, Six Hundred.

Flashed the big diamond there,
Flashed as its owner square
Treated his soldiers there,
Charging a bar-room, while
All the "beats" wondered.
Choked with tobacco smoke,
Straight for the door they broke,
Pushing and rushing,
Reeled from the Bourbon stroke,
Shattered and sundered;
Thus they went back--they did--
On the Six Hundred.

Whiskey to right of them,
Cocktails to left of them,
Popping corks after them,
Volleyed and thundered,
Yet, 'twere but truth to tell,--
Many a hero fell.
Tho' some did stand it well,
Those that were left of them,
Left of Six Hundred.

Oh! what a bill was paid,
Oh! what a noise they made,
All Long Branch wondered;
Oh! what a noise they made,
They of the Ninth Brigade,
Jolly Six Hundred!

* * * * *

A Sun-burst.

The _Sun_ regretfully announces that PUNCHINELLO is about to "give up the ghost." PUNCHINELLO begs to assure the Sun that he doesn't keep a ghost; though, at the same time, the mistake was a natural one enough to emanate from Mr. C. A. (D. B.) DANA, who keeps a REAL ghost in his closet.

* * * * *

A. Natural Mistake.

An advertisement from the establishment of Messrs. A. T. STEWART & Co., announces, among other things, that they have opened a "MADDER PRINT."

At first sight we supposed that the firm in question had begun publishing a paper in opposition to the Sun, and that it was to be, if possible, a madder print than that luminary, for the purpose of cutting it out. Further reflection convinced us, however, that the "print" in question was connected with the subject of dry goods, only.

* * * * *

Very Small Beer.

Newspaper items state that the editor of the Winterset (Iowa,) _Sun_, is, probably, the smallest editor in the the world." Surely the editor of the New York Sun must be the one meant.

* * * * *

"Well I'm Blowed!"

As the _omelette soufflée_ said to the cook.

* * * * *

_Horace Greeley, (to Roscoe Conkling.)_ "DON'T BE RASH, NOW REMEMBER THAT A SOFT ANSWER TURNETH AWAY WRATH."

_Roscoe Conkling_. "LET US HAVE PEACE, BY ALL MEANS: BUT IF THAT FELLOW REUBE FENTON INTERFERES WITH ME, HE HAD BETTER LOOK OUT THAT I DON'T SMASH HIS SLATE."]

* * * * *

HIRAM GREEN TO NAPOLEON.

Napoleon I and Napoleon III--Lager-Beer a Formidable Enemy to Overcome.

SKEENSBORO, NYE ONTO VARMONT,

_Orgust--, 18-Seventy._

FRIEND LEWIS: As I haint got no anser to my last letter which I rote to your royal magesty a few weeks ago, it has occurred to me, that maybe you don't feel well about these days, or, just as like as not our "Cousin German," FRITZ, mite have been mean enuff as to gobble up your male bag, and steel my letter to put into his outograf album. I now take my pen in hand to inform you, that Ime as sound as a Saddle Rock oyster, and hope these few lines may find you enjoyin' the same blessin. Numerous changes have taken place since your _grand invasion_ of German sile.

It has certinly been very kind in your Dutch friends to save you a long jerney to fite them.

Insted of puttin' you to the trouble of goin' away from home for a little excitement, you can set rite in the heart of your own country, and enjoy the fun.

A man by the name of NERO, was once said to do some tall fiddlin' when Rome was burnin'.

While the patriotic fires of your people is clusterin' around you (?) my advice is, to cote the words of Unkle EDWARD:

"Hang up your fiddle and your bow,
Lay down your shovel and the hoe.
Where the woodbine twineth
There's a place for Unkle LEW,
With UGEENY and little LEWIS for to go."

The foregoin' is rather more sarcastikle than troothful.

It laserates my venerable heart-strings, most noble Pea-cracker, to see how you've been lickt.

You have probly found out by this time, that the mantle of your grate unkle has passed into the hands of some other family.

The grate BONYPART was called the Gray Eyed man of Destiny, altho' I don't know what country that is in, as the village of Destiny haint on any of the war maps.

I should judge, however, onless there is a change in the program, that when this "cruel war is over," you will wear the belt as the champion Black-eyed man of Urope.

Your so-called ascendant Star, is probly the identikle loominary which; Perfesser DAN BRYANT refers so beautifully to, in his pome of "Shoo-fly."

It shone rather scrumpshus, in the dark, but the rays of the Sun has nockt its twinkle hire'n GILDEROY'S kite.

Yes, Squire BONYPART, your star is the only planet whose eclips has been visible to the naked eye, all over the world, and can be seen without usin' smoked glass.

I think, in the beginnin' of the war, when you left UGEENY for Nancy, that, like your Unkle, you made a bad go.

When the old man stuck to JOESFEEN he was a success.

Empires--Kingdoms--Pottentates and Hottentots, took the first train and skedaddled, when the General sot his affeckshuns on their territory.

The BOURBONS fled and come over here and settled in Kentucky, and commenced makin' whiskey, payin' a tax of $2.00 per gallon, and sellin' the seductive flooid for $1.50 per gallon, gettin' rich at that, which may surprise you, altho' it doesen't our Eternal Revenoo Offisers, who, as Mr. ANTONY remarked of H. BEECHER STOW when she stabbed Lord Byron, "are all _honorable_ men."

Finally BONYPART went back on JOSEFEEN, which made Mrs. B. scatter a few buckets of tear drops.

Said your Unkle:

"What's the use of blubberin' about it? Cheer up and be a man. I belong, body, sole and butes, to France, who says my name must be perpetuated. You, JOSEFEEN, must pick up your duds and look for another bordin'-house, for you can't run the Tooleries any longer."

He then sent to Chicago and got a ten dollar devorce, and married MARIAR LOUISER, arter which he become a played-out institootion, employin' his time walkin' _in solo_ with his hands behind him, gazin' intently on the toes of his butes, and wonderin' if they was the same ones which had histed so many roolers off of their thrones.

In view of the past, you should have stuck to UGEENY, who, I understand, is good lookin' and sports a pretty nobby harness.

The charms of Nancy may make your Imperial mouth water, but let an old statesman, who has served his country for 4 years as Gustise of the Peece, say to you, "Don't be a fool if you know anything."

Another reason of your unsuccess is that Lager is a hard chap to fite agin. I tried it once.

A Dutch millingtery company visited Skeensboro a few years since, for a target shoot, bringin' a car lode of lager-beer and a box of sardeens for refreshments.

I, bein' at that time Gustise, was on hand to help perserve the peece.

Lager, they told me, wasen't intoxicatin. I histed in a few mugs. I woulden't just say that I got soggy, but I felt like a hul regiment of Dutch soljers on general trainin' day.

It suddenly occurred to me that Mrs. GREEN had been puttin' on rather too many airs lately, and I would go in and quietly remind her that I was boss of the ranch.

Pickin' up a hoss-whip, I "shouldered arms," and entered the kitchen as bold as the brave FISK of the bully 9th.

"MARIAR," said I, addressin' Mrs. GREEN, and tippin' over her pan of dish-water so she coulden't wet my close, "yer 'aven't (hic!) tode the mark as 'er troo (hic!) wife orter. I can't (hic!) 'ave any more of yer (hic!) darn foolin'. Will yer (hic!) 'bey yer 'usband like a (hic!) man, in the futer?"

I raised the hoss-whip to give her a good blow. She caught it on a fly with both hands, as I lade down on the floor to convince my wife I was in earnest in what I said.

Well, LEWIS, I remember feelin' as if I was put into a large bag with a lot of saw logs, and was bein' viteally shoot up. I could also distinguish my wife, flyin' about as if she had taken a contract for thrashin' a lot of otes, and haden't but a few minnits to do it in, and somehow I got it into my head that I was the otes.

I went to sleep in a cloud of hosswhips--hair and panterloon buttons rapt up in a dilapidated soot of close.

When I awoke, I looked as if that Dutch millingtery Company had been usin' me for a target, substitootin' my nose for the bull's eye.

I imejutly come to the conclusion, that to successfully buck agin Lager-beer, was full as onhealthy as tryin' to get a seat in H. WARD BEECHER'S church on Sunday mornin's, afore all the Pew-holders had got in.

When you want an asilum to flee to, come to Skeensboro.

Altho' you have got the ship of State stuck in the mud, I think I can get you a canal bote to run, where you can earn your $115.00 a month, provided your wife will do the cookin' for the crew.

This is better than bein' throde onto the cold, cold charities of the world, especially where a man has got the gout, for anything cold in apt to bring on the pain and make him pe-uuk.

Hopin' that in the futer, as you grow older, you may lern wisdom by cultivatin' my acquaintance--and with kind regards to UGEEN and bub BONYPART, in your native tung I will say:

_Barn-sure, noblesse Pea-cracker._

Ewer'n, one and onseperable,

HIRAM GREEN, Esq.,

_Lait Gustise of the Peece._

* * * * *

Bunsby's War Paint.

Napoleon's chances are not great
If German facts are true;
But if he finds not Paris Green
Hell make the Prussian Blue.

* * * * *

Remark by a Bandsman.

Once upon a time the French Horn was a famous instrument, but now, considering the retreating strategy of the French leaders, it appears to be superseded by the Off I Glide.

* * * * *

The Music of the Future.

Considering the enormous difficulties which stand in the way of the performance of Herr WAGNER'S music, it is the music of the Few Sure enough.

* * * * *

A Relic of the Past.

The following item is taken from a daily paper:

"The septuagenarian Dejazet sang the 'Marseillaise' at the Passy theatre lately."

There seems to be a mistake, here. Surely the word Passy is meant for _passée_.

* * * * *

LITTLE FEMALE AMERICA, TOO, ASSERTS HER RIGHTS AND ESPECIALLY THE RIGHT TO THE EXCLUSIVE USE OF THE SIDE-WALK FOR A ROPE-WALK."]

* * * * *

OUR PORTFOLIO.

"Well, you know, Dear Mr. PUNCHINELLOW, this is how CHARLEY DANY and me cum to hev our fallin' out. We was boys together, was CHARLEY and me, and went to the same school. CHARLEY were a likely lad there; never given to spilin' the faces of t'other boys nor splashin' mud on their clothes. Oh! but hasn't he gone back on them good old times. I wouldn't hev' believed it, CHARLEY, no I wouldn't.

But, as I was sayin', he were a likely lad; studyin' hard, and often tellin' me how he would one day come out at the head of the heap, gradooatin' before the Squire's son, JACK BALDERBACK. Just about this time I was tuk with the measles, and father died, and SALLIE got married, and the old woman said to me:

"EPHRAIM, I think your school days is ended." And so they was. I never went back again, and never saw CHARLEY these thirty-five years gone now, 'till t'other day. I went West in search of a livin', and he tuk onto business here East. Wons't in a long time I heerd on him; how things went well with him, and how he got up, up, up, till the ladder wasn't big enough and he couldn't climb no higher. Folks said he was into the war; but I didn't believe 'em. CHARLEY was a peace man, I knowed that. Arterwards, howsumever, it cum out that it was the War Office he was into, and not the war; and says I to myself, "EPHRAIM," says I, "didn't I tell you so; and tell them so, and war'nt I right? I calkilate they won't go back no more on what I says about CHARLEY DANY."

Well, dear Mr. PUNCHINELLOW, I was one day readin' of your paper, and I comes onto sumthin' about sumbody, which it was as I spell it, "CHARLES A. DANA," how he was a cuttin' up shines, and how you was a pokin' fun and hard things at him.

I larfed right out.

"That's smart," says I, "Yes, that's smart; but it ain't onto _my_ CHARLEY. He ain't stuck up nor nothing of that sort. He is as innocent as gooseberries, is the CHARLEY DANY I know;" and arterwards I thought no more about it, till I cum on to New York for to look into the cattle business, and see how things was shapin for trade this winter.

I put up to the St. Nikkleas. Well, I allers larf when I think of it. Here was an Irishman tuk my bag, slung it behind him, and says he to me--"Foller me, if you please, sir." I follered accordin'.

I've clumb some pretty tall hills in my day, Mr. PUNCHINELLOW, but that 'ere gettin' up them stairs jest switches the rag off of all on 'em. I broke down. Then he tuk me to a heister, and landed us next to the roof. I was too pegged out to wash or fix, so I flung off my cowhides, jumped onto the bed and slept clean through till next day. In the mornin' I rigged up, went down stairs, and asked the clerk if he would be kind enough to pint out to me where I might see CHARLEY DANY. He sort o' smiled like, and said I would find him at the _Sun_ office. I paid two dollars for a kab to take me down, which it did till we stopped afore a big yaller house, with a big board stuck up agin it havin' these words:

"Wonder if CHARLEY writ all that 'ere," says I, inwardly, inquirin' of a boy where Mr. DANY'S particular holdin' out place might be, and givin' him three cents to show me the way. Drawin' a quick breath, I knocked at the door. "Come in," says a peskish voice. I cum in, and there, sure enough, with nose close down to the desk, a writin' away for dear life, sat CHARLEY. I knowed him to onc't, for all he was a little oldish, and a little grayish, and had a bare spot like a turtle's back on the top of his head. My heart cum' a bustin' up into my throat, and an inward voice seemed to say:

"Do it now EPHRAIM, do it now, while the feeling is onto you." Jest then he looked up, and I bust forth: "Oh, CHARLEY! CHARLEY! its a long time sin' we met, CHARLEY. Don't you know me? Don't you remember little EPH ECKELS? Oh! CHARLEY, CHARLEY, give us a grip of your knob, old hunk"--and I slewed over towards him for to shake hands when he suddenly drawed back, kinder gloomy like, putting down his pen and chewing his gums sort of swagewise. as he said:

"My name, sir, is the Hon. CHARLES AUGUSTUS DANA, Ex-Assistant Secretary of War, Ex-Proprietor of the ablest paper in the West, and at present Chief Editor of the New York _Sun_, price two cents. There is no individual here, sir, answering to the appellation of "Old Hunk," and, as I perceive, sir, that there is a most infernal smell of cow yards about your raiment, and the effluvia arising thence is becoming insupportable, I would thank you to get out of this apartment double quick, and I suggest for the sake of others who may be unfortunately brought into contact with you, that my friend the Hon. WILLIAM MANHATTAN TWEED has recently established public baths where such creatures as you may undergo purification before venturing into the presence of gentlemen."

It was CHARLEY who spoke it; Mr. PUNCHINELLOW, there is no doubt about that; but the CHARLEY that I knew has been dead sin' that day. Yours in memory-moram,

EPHRAIM ECKELS.

* * * * *

Horrors of War.

Much has been said about the Prussian "demonstrations" at Strasbourg. If half what we hear of Prussian vandalism as displayed at the siege of Strasbourg is true, "Demonstration" is a very appropriate term for the thing.

* * * * *

OLIVE LOGAN.

We have no authentic record of the date of this fair syren's birth. It is popularly supposed, however, that she was contemporaneous with POCAHONTAS. POKY (as she was playfully called by her playmates at boarding-school) is now dead. LOGY (another playful appellation of the gushing miss alluded to) is still Olive.

We do not, however, credit the legend above cited. Also, we do not credit the equally absurd and unreasonable story that our girlish gusher is a daughter of a negro preacher named LOGUEN. We look upon this as a colorless aspersion of our subject's fair fame, and we therefore feel called upon to politely but furiously hurl it back in the teeth of its degraded and offensive inventor. Things are come indeed to a pretty pass when a lady of Miss LOGAN'S position may have her good name blackened (not to say sooted) by associating it with that of a preacher. Besides, LOGUEN was himself born in 1800, and is therefore only seventy years old. These things are not to be borne.

Miss LOGAN is seventeen years of age. This, at least, is reliable. We have our information from the lips of an aunt of the Honorable HORATIUS GREELEY, who met Miss LOGAN in Chicago in 1812, and wrung the confession from the gifted lady herself. Mr. GREELEY'S aunt, we need not say, is incapable of telling a lie.

At the early age of six weeks our illustrious victim made her first appearance as a public speaker. This was at Faneuil Hall, Boston. She was supported on that memorable occasion by a young and fascinating lady by the name of ANTHONY (SUSAN.) SUSIE prophesied then, it will be remembered, that the fair oratress would yet live to be President of the United States and Canadas. Miss LOGAN, with her customary modesty, declined to view the mysterious future in that puerile light, gracefully suggesting, amid a brilliant outburst of puns, metaphors and amusing anecdotes, that SUSIE distorted the facts. Miss ANTHONY, under a mistaken impression that this referred to her peculiar mode of keeping accounts, offered, with a wild shriek of despair and disgust, to exhibit her books to an unprejudiced committee of her own sex, with WENDELL PHILLIPS as chairwoman. (There is manifest inaccuracy in this account, though, inasmuch as Mr. PHILLIPS was not yet born, at that time; but we of course give the story as it is related to us by eye-witnesses.) Mr. JOHN RUSSELL YOUNG, who was in the audience, rose and said that Miss ANTHONY'S explanation was entirely sufficient, and that she might now take her seat. The lecturer then proceeded to discuss her subject, "Girls." She said--

However, this is not a newspaper report, is it?

Soon after this, Louis PHILLIPPE invited Miss LOGAN to visit Paris. He represented that he should consider it an honor at any time to welcome the beautiful demoiselle to the palace of the Tuileries. He remarked in a postscript that his dinner hour was twelve o'clock, noon, sharp, and that his hired man had instructions to pass Miss LOGAN at any time. Accordingly, our syren departed hungrily for the capital of the French. Her career in Paris is well known to every mere ordinary schoolboy: therefore, wherefore dwell? Madame DE STAEL'S dressmaker called on her. A committee of strong-minded milliners solicited the honor of her acquaintance. GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN proposed an alliance with her for the purpose of hurling imperial jackassery from its tottering throne. Other honors were conferred on her.

Returning to her native motherland in 1812, she once more resumed her career as a public speakeristess. How wonderful that career has been, does not the world know? If not, why not? She has lectured in 14,364,812,719 towns between San Francisco on the one hand and California on the other. Upwards of fourteen million Young Men's Christian Associations have crowded to hear her thrilling eloquence, and lecture committees all over the land have grown fat and saucy on the enormous profits yielded by her engagements. Country editors, who, before speculating in tickets of admission, were without shoes to their feet, have been suddenly converted into haughty despots and bloated aristocrats by their prodigious gains. And Miss LOGAN herself is said to be worth $250.

* * * * *

COMIC ZOOLOGY.

Genna, Corvus.--The Common Crow.

This Ravenous bird abounds in all temperate regions, and is a fowl of sober aspect, although a Rogue in Grain. Crows, like time-serving politicians, are often on the Fence, and their proficiency in the art of Caw-cussing entitles them to rank with the Radical Spoilsmen denounced by the sardonic DAWES. In time of war they haunt the battle-field with the pertinacity of newspaper specials, and have a much more certain method of making themselves acquainted with the Organization of military Bodies than the gentlemen of the press who Pick the Brains of fugitives from the field for their information. In time of peace the Crow leads a comparatively quiet life, and it is no novel thing to see him walking in the fields devouring with great apparent interest the Yellow-Covered Cereals. Agriculturists have strong prejudices against the species, and allege, not without reason, that large Crow Crops indicate diminished harvests. The most persistent enemy of the Crow, however, is the martin, which attacks it on the wing with unfaltering Pluck, and compels it to show the White Feather.

This variety of the genus _corvus_ was well known to the ancients. Those solemn Bores, the Latin augurs, were in the habit of foretelling the triumph or downfall of the Roman Eagles by the flight of Crows, and St. PETER was once convicted of three breaches of veracity by a Crow. The bird has also been the theme of song--the carnivorous exploits of three of the species having been repeatedly chanted by popular Minstrels.

A Greek author has described the Crow as a cheese-eater--but that's a fable. Though fond of a Rare Bit of meat, it does not care a Mite for Cheese. Nothing in the shape of flesh comes amiss to this rapacious creature; yet, much as it enjoys the flavor of the human subject, it relishes the _cheval mort_. During the late war, our government, with exemplary liberality, purchased thousands of horses to feed the Southern Crows. The consequence was that our Cavalry Charges were tremendous.

The appearance of the Crow is grave and clerical, but it is nevertheless an Offal bird when engaged on a Tear. It generally goes in flocks, and the prints of its feet may be seen not only on the face of the Country, but in many instances on the faces of the inhabitants. Naturalists do not class it with the edible fowls. There may be men who _can_ eat crow, but nobody hankers after it. The story of the man who "swallowed three black crows" lacks confirmation. Looking at the whole tribe from a Ration-al point of view, however, we have no hesitation in pronouncing them excellent food--for powder. In this category may be included the copper-colored Crows on our Western frontier.

* * * * *

THE CHURCH MILITANT.

That Brooklyn is a City of Churches has long been known to people of average intelligence. The following item, however, taken from a daily paper, is very suggestive of the old saying, "The nearer the church," etc.

"JOHN BEATY bit off WM. HARPER'S face in April last, at a church fight in Brooklyn, and then went to sea. Last night he came back, and was arrested by officer Fox, who will take him before Justice WALSH to-day. HARPER is disfigured for life."

The matter-of-fact way in which the expression, "a church fight" is used by the writer of the above item, seems to indicate that tabernacular conflicts are rather the rule than the exception in "deeply religious" Brooklyn. We were not prepared to expect, though, that theological controversy ever ran further in Brooklyn than to the extent of "putting a head on" one's antagonist, though now it appears that biting his face off is more the thing. The statement that "HARPER is disfigured for life," goes for nothing with us, as that depends altogether on what sort of looking man he was previous to the removal of his features by means of a dental apparatus.

* * * * *

_Daughter_ "WELL, TO TELL THE TRUTH, I DID NOT THINK MUCH OF THE CLOSE OF THE SERMON."

_Father_. "PROBABLY YOU WERE THINKING MORE OF THE CLOTHES OF THE CONGREGATION."]

* * * * *

THE WAR.

It is with feeling of intense satisfaction and self complacency, that Mr. PUNCHINELLO submits to his readers the following despatches relative to the Great Railroad War, which have been collected at a fabulous cost, by a large corps of reporters and correspondents specially detailed for the purpose.

WAR DECLARED!

ERIE PALACE.--It is rumored that the "unpleasantness" which has for some time past existed between the rival powers of the Erie and the Central, will shortly culminate in open hostilities. Col. FISK, assisted by twelve secretaries, is said to be actively engaged in drawing up a formal Declaration. Great enthusiasm prevails here. The Erie Galop and FISK Guard March (price 50 cents, including full length portrait of Capt. SPENCER,) are played nightly in the Opera House, and are vociferously re-demanded. Every member of the Ninth has been notified to hold himself in readiness to turn out at fifteen minutes' notice.

LATER.

"Erie accepts the war which VANDERBILT proffers her." The "Blonde Usher," accompanied by an extensive retinue of brother ushers, will bear the gauge of battle to the Tyrant of the Central. He will cast It boldly at VANDERBILT'S feet. It is announced that he will proceed to his destination by way of the Eighth Avenue Car Line. The reply of the Hudson River potentate is looked forward to with great interest.

"CENTRAL" REPORTS.

VANDERBILT received the Declaration of War with seeming calm. On the departure of the Erie Emissary, however, his fortitude forsook him; he threw himself on the neck of a baggage porter and wept aloud. At a late hour this evening a trusted agent left here for the _Tribune_ office. He is said to have held a long conference with Mr. GREELEY, the particulars of which have not transpired. It is supposed by many to portend an alliance, offensive and defensive, between the King of Central and the Philosopher of Printing-House Square.

FROM ERIE.

Activity is the order of the day here. Col. FISK'S $20,000 team went to the front this morning. They are to be broken into the turmoil of war by being led gently to and fro, before a Supreme Court injunction. A Central spy, who was captured during the day, was immediately tried by court-martial, and sentenced to be suspended from the flag-staff on top of the building. He was executed at noon, a copy of the _Tribune_ being tied to his feet, to add force to his fall and curtail his sufferings. From legal documents found in his possession, the wretched being is supposed to have been a minion of the law. The Narragansett and Long Branch boats are being rapidly got ready for active service. Their armament will consist of Parrott guns of large calibre. FISK says that VANDERBILT will hear those Parrotts talk.

DESPATCHES FROM THE CENTRAL.

VANDERBILT is preparing for a grand flank movement upon the Erie forces. He will transport passengers at one cent per head, insure their lives for the trip, feed them on the way, and present them, on parting, with a copy of H.G.'s paper. He has been reinforced by the _Tribune_, which will continue to harass the enemy by attacks in the rear.

ADVICES FROM ERIE.

VICTORY!--By a well executed movement the Narragansett fleet under command of Admiral Fisk, have succeeded in cutting off the _Tribune's_ connection with Long Branch. A panic prevails in the _Tribune_ office. HORACE GREELEY threatens, in retaliation, to lecture on farming along the route of the Erie Railway, to the ruin of the agricultural interest of the district. A meeting of prominent farmers has been convened to protest against this outrage, and a strong body of Erie troops have been sent to prevent H.G.'s advance. It is proposed, in case of attack, to illuminate the Erie Palace by means of Colonel FISK'S big diamond, which, it is estimated, would prove more powerful than a dozen calcium lights. If this should not be dazzling enough, it is suggested that a glimpse of the Colonel's $5,000 uniform might have the desired effect. Amongst the novel instruments of warfare which the contest has given birth to, is a new ball projected by the Prince of Erie. It will be given at Long Branch, and will, no doubt, be very effective.

LATEST FROM LONG BRANCH.

As the Plymouth Rock was nearing the pier here this morning, an elderly man, whose profane language had attracted the attention of the officers of the vessel, was arrested by order of COL FISK. It proved to be the sage of Chappaqua. He was attired in a clean shirt collar, by means of which he no doubt hoped to avoid recognition. In his travelling bag was found a tooth-brush and several copies of the _Tribune_. Upon being tried and convicted of carrying contraband of war, he was sentenced to give forthwith his reasons why J. C. BANCROFT DAVIS should not be dismissed from his present office of Assistant Secretary of State.

FROM SARATOGA.

The news of Mr. GREELEY'S capture has affected the Commodore to such an extent as to stretch him on a bed of sickness. JAY GOULD is reported marching on Saratoga with a strong force.

LATEST--PEACE!

Central has capitulated! Erie is victorious! To-day a treaty is drawn up by which everybody is made happy except Mr. GREELEY, who, it is stipulated, must feign total ignorance of farming whenever he journeys by the Erie Railway.

* * * * *

The place to look for them.

_The Sun_, a few days ago, had an editorial article about a reported theft of a box containing four large boa-constrictors. Might not a search in the editorial boots disclose the whereabouts of the missing reptiles?

_Lawyer_--"A DIVORCE, MADAM?--CERTAINLY, BY ALL MEANS. BOY, GIVE THE LADY A DIVORCE."]

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Punchinello, Volume 1, No. 25, September 17, 1870Chapter III: Canto VI

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