Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 34, November 19, 1870

Chapter I: Part 1

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Vol. II. No. 34.

PUNCHINELLO

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1870.

PUBLISHED BY THE

PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,

83 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.

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PRANG'S LATEST PUBLICATIONS: "Joy of Autumn," "Prairie Flowers," "Lake George," "West Point," "Beethoven," large and small.

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Entered according to Art of Congress, in the year 1870, by the Punchinello Publishing Company, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

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_Clothier._ "Step in and look at our goods, Captain. Summer stuffs at a discount--nice lot o' white ducks at half price."

_Sportsman._ "I beat you there. I've got a nice lot o' black ducks here that ain't to be had at any price."]

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BRILLIANCY OF THE "SUN."

The Moon, as is generally known, shines with a borrowed light, while the Sun is popularly supposed to manufacture its own gas and to arrange its pyrotechnics on the premises. Our N.Y. _Sun_, however, does not always manufacture its own beams. By far the most brilliant of the "sunbeams," for instance, published in that journal of November 1st, is the quaint and charming little poem there headed "Sally Salter," and written originally for Punchinello, in the issue of which publication for Oct. 1st it made its first appearance, under the title of "The Lovers." We congratulate the _Sun_ on having thus successfully lit its pipe with Punchinello's fire, though we think it might have been gracious enough to have acknowledged the favor.

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A PEOPLE OF TASTE.

The extraordinary liberality of the generous people of Connecticut has frequently excited apprehension in the minds of their friends, that, sooner or later, as the result of their spendthrift career, they must come to beggary. But we are glad to hear that they are making an effort in New Haven to reform. The grocery men there say that their customers taste so much before they can make up their minds to buy anything, that what with gratuitous slices of cheese and specimen mouthfuls of sugar and sample spoonfuls of molasses, the shop-keeper's profits are most dolefully diminished. A particularly BLUE LAW against this economical custom will have the effect of sobering down these brilliant Cullers.

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"What Answer?"

Is it likely that HORACE GREELEY, or any other man, could steer this country through its difficulties by means of the tillers of the soil?

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ANY MORE CAVES?

About the dreariest magazine or other reading we know of--and we get a deal of it, too--is that which describes the visits of enthusiastic persons to big caves underground, very dark, damp, dreary, ugly, funereal--with winding ways and huge holes, water with eyeless fish, and certain drippings called stalagmites and stalactites. The enthusiasts, who always possess that priceless treasure self-satisfaction, and a boundless capacity for wonder (which is always ready to exercise itself with anything that is big, however ugly), and the "Palaces," and "Halls," and "Cascades," and "Altars," and "Bridal Wreaths" they see there are not only finer than real ones (if you would believe them!) but so grand and wonderful as to be really indescribable. So we find them, by their turgid and stupid reports, which are all alike, and all dreary and silly. We have never heard of anybody who got excited over these pictures (except the artists themselves); and positively there is no flatter reading anywhere than these gushing notes about big caves.

* * * * *

GEOMETRICAL.

Why is it that we hear so much of the proper "Sphere" of woman? Here is that noble exile, the Princess Editha Montez, lecturing again, and her subject, of course, is the Spherical one. So when Mesdames Stanton, Dickinson, Anthony, Howe--all the lovely lecturers--discourse, they forget the platform which is plane, and discuss the "sphere" which is mysterious. Can it possibly be that it is because these amiable gentlewomen are always going round? Or is it because they cannot help reasoning in a circle? Or is there some occult relation between spheres and hoops? Or has the wedding-ring something to do with it? It should be understood, that these are questions addressed solely to male mathematicians; for Mr. P. is unlike John Graham, and doesn't care to cross-examine ladies.

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SECRETION EXTRAORDINARY.

It is done by Mollusks. We can tell you even the precise kind--it is the Gasteropod kind. Not only this, we know the very devil himself that does it. (And you will say that "devil" is not a particle too rough a term, when we come to tell what it is he "secretes.") It is the _Dolium galea_, good friends, and we could tell you six other kinds that are suspected of this meanness. One of 'em is the _Pleurobranchidium_ --which, of course, you have often heard of.

Well, what do these wretched Mollusks go and secrete? We can tell you--we, who know everything. It is sulphuric acid! What! do they steal it? Oh, no; they "evolve" it--probably from the "depths of their own consciousness."

And what do they do it for? Well, they bore with it. Give 'em a chance, and they'll go through _you_. The acid eats its way, and then they eat _their_ way. That way is not ours, exactly; but we have known human beings about as venomous as this creature, and with precisely the same tendency to pierce one. They do it with their tongues, it is true, but the perforation is complete.

* * * * *

THE WRONG PLACE.

We are unusually astonished to find the Female Reformers holding their meeting in this city in Apollo Hall. It is well known that Apollo was a god of the male persuasion; and to have everything "mix up well," these philosophical dames should have a Minerva Hall or a Diana Hall of their own. Besides, was not Apollo the God of Harmony? Precious little of that same was there at this meeting; for there was the Medical Mary Walker trying to make a speech, while the Chairwoman put her down, causing Mary de Medici to cry out with shrill indignation: "Tyrant!" Bless us! we thought all the tyrants were we Bearded Ones.

* * * * *

A LETTER FROM CHICAGO.

Purposely or otherwise, we are all on our way to California now--men, women, and children--graybeards and babies. We did Europe two or three years ago, so that idea is obsolete, excepting as a bridal tour; then, too, the more peaceably inclined, who have not seen the European elephant, would prefer to wait until that country is again in a state of quiescence. But Chicago is constantly sending out her adventure-loving citizens upon the Pacific road, each one of whom looks, sees, admires, and suddenly develops an epistolary talent hitherto undreamed of by his most enthusiastic friends. There's our MELISSA, for instance--she never used to have a pen in her hand more than once in the course of six months, and _now_--why, we really seem to have another SÉVIGNÉ budding right in our midst. She went to California, saw all the sights, and wondered, and admired, and _wrote_. The floods of eloquence that had so long been slumbering now burst forth beyond all hindrance or control. She stopped at Salt Lake, and called upon BRIGHAM YOUNG, and was so disgusted with the mighty prophet that she would not look at him. Yet, considering that circumstance, she described his personal appearance with wonderful vividness and accuracy. She indulged in the usual amount of stern remonstrance and indignation, that seem to be almost indispensable to the occasion. ALONZO asked why she called upon the dreadful man, and somewhat maliciously inquired if it was not for the express purpose of being shocked and horrified, thus affording a fine chance to moralize, and display the elevation of her own principles, and, in fact, help to fill out a good article; but MELISSA most vigorously denied the soft impeachment. Then she saw the sad wives, whose days of sunshine are gone by, and the merry ones,--who don the cap and bells deliberately; and for their benefit she expended just the proper degree of astonishment and sympathy--so fully substantiating the sound and praiseworthy condition of her own mind and heart.

This excellent young woman also caught glimpses of the red man, and here was another glorious opportunity to display her literary genius--and she did not let the occasion slip--O no! it produced a plaintive little rhapsody of pity and regret, such as "Mr. Lo!" is apt to inspire in the hearts of the young and romantic, although if MELISSA were to find herself alone in a forest, with the faintest suspicion of "Mr. Lo!" meandering anywhere near, she would most likely apply her hand involuntarily to her trembling chignon, and regret as keenly as all _hard-hearted_ persons, that civilization has not carried out the process of extermination even more thoroughly than it has done. Indeed, she would probably wish the red gentleman at the bottom of the Red Sea, or in some other equally damp and discouraging situation. The noble-hearted braves are so much prettier to read about than to encounter, and the thrill occasioned by the sight of a bloody hatchet suspended over the intricate elaboration which we so fondly term a head, though more exciting perhaps, would scarcely be as delightful as that awakened by some perfectly safe and stirring ballad of the red man's wrongs.

MELISSA'S ideas of refinement met with a great shock. She concluded that the Indians' acquaintance with soap and water must be extremely limited, and thought that the distribution amongst them of several boxes of COLGATE'S best would be a most delicate courtesy, and true missionary enterprise. In looking at these noble representatives of savage life, she was greatly puzzled to discover where the dirt ended and the Indian began: but philanthropy should overlook such trifles. Philanthropy shouldn't be squeamish.

MELISSA, ecstasized over Lake Tahoe, and Yo Semité, and the Big Trees, and was delighted, enchanted, and enraptured in the most thorough and conscientious manner. She revelled amongst California grapes and pears, and quaffed the California wines with appropriate delight and hilarity. She also studied JOHN CHINAMAN in all his phases, and came to the conclusion that he would do. She thought it would be a seraphic experience to see the pride and importance of Misses BRIDGET and GRETCHEN taken down a little. JOHN would certainly not possess the voluble eloquence--of the first, nor the stolid impudence of the second, nor would he have, like the pretty Swede, a train of admirers a mile in length. Of course he would not have these advantages to recommend him. But then one can get along without florid oratory in the kitchen, and although a lady may feel highly pleased and flattered to see an unending procession of admirers file in and out of her drawing-rooms, still she has a most decided objection to seeing the same imposing spectacle in her kitchen. Women, will be inconsistent.

MELISSA particularly admired JOHN'S manner of ironing. She thought it peculiar but genteel, and gentility is always desirable. There must be something about the climate of California that is especially inspiring to authors--a kind of magnetism in the atmosphere that draws out all the literary talent which may be lying dormant in their souls--so that any one desirous of becoming a writer, has only to take a trip to that fascinating region, and at some unexpected moment he will awake with rapture and delight to the blessed consciousness of having blossomed into a flower of genius, and, as such, will feel privileged at once to deluge his family, his friends, and the world in general, with the brilliant results of his most delightful discovery.

* * * * *

THE PROFIT OF PURITAN PRISONS.

Spain has commissioned a Mr. AZCARATE, a Cuban, to visit and report upon our penal institutions, and the gentleman is now in the country. We trust he will not fail to visit the Connecticut State Prison. There he would unquestionably obtain numerous hints for improving the Spanish system of prison torture, or even that in vogue in his native land, for political prisoners. There he might learn how Yankee thrift, applied in this direction, makes the starving of convicts even a more profitable business than manufacturing wooden nutmegs. Perhaps not the least valuable information he would gain, would be the best method of goading obnoxious prisoners into revolt, and thus obtaining a chance for disposing of them, legally, by a capital conviction.

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AN OPEN CONGRESSIONAL COUNTENANCE.

It is oddly enough objected to the re-election of a certain Member of Congress from Massachusetts, that "he can't open his mouth." It might be answered that Gen. BUTLER is quite able to open his mouth wide enough for the whole delegation. The mouth may be opened for two purposes, viz., speech-making and swallowing; and it never appeared to us that there was any lack either of Bolting or Bellering in the House of Representatives. However notably Honorable Gentlemen may play the game either of Gab or Grab, it isn't so clear that their constituents are much benefited by these accomplishments. If all they want is an open-mouthed Member, why don't the Massachusetts men import a first-class crocodile, and send him to the National Menagerie in Washington?

* * * * *

SPREAD OF AMERICAN PRINCIPLES.

It is with a heart full of patriotic pride and gratitude that Mr. PUNCHINELLO observes the adoption, in his dear native Italy, of the manners and customs of the Land of his Adoption. At an election recently held in Rome, about something or some other thing, one enterprising Roman has been discovered who voted "yes" twenty-five times in as many electoral urns--thereby, it is to be presumed, earning a good deal of money. We have a more lively hope for charming Italy when we find even a single citizen exhibiting a skill which would do honor to the most accomplished professional voter in New York. There is something encouraging in finding the Sons of ST. PETER becoming, every one of them, Re-Peters.

* * * * *

To Commentators.

The "Sun of York," mentioned in Richard III., has no reference to the "Sun of New York" neither was the quotation, "Who is here so base, that would be a bondman?" especially meant for application to "THE" ALLEN.

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Beatific.

They talk a great deal about the twenty-eight inch beet they have grown in California, but a policeman of this city has a beat three miles long.

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_1st festive Cuss._ "WHAT MAKES FOLKS STARE AT US SO?"

_2d Festive Cuss._ "ON ACCOUNT OF OUR ELEGANT COSTOOM, I GUESS. THEY TAKE YOU FOR WALL STREET, AND ME FOR FIFTH AVENUE."]

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OUR EYE-WITNESS AT THE ELECTIONS.

We suppose that no individual has rendered more invaluable service as a historian than the distinguished Eye-witness of the newspapers. The friends of PUNCHINELLO will therefore be rejoiced to hear that this accurate reporter was engaged to detail for our readers the progress of the late elections.

Some time ago, the Eye-witness set about organizing the campaign by the masterly and novel plan of inducing the leaders of the opposing political parties to nominate different men for the same office. The effect was electrical. Immediately on these nominations being made public, the people rose like one man, and began canvassing like a great many different and very quarrelsome men. Target companies sprang from the recesses of the East Side, like ghosts from the rocks in _Der Freischütz;_ drums and fifes resounded; cannons boomed; fireworks burst into flame. The Eye-witness, having thus set the universe satisfactorily by the ears, got into his second-story front, and contemplated the campaign with serene complacency from the window.

He had not to wait very long for a Mass Meeting to be formed under his very nose, and, consequently, within range of his witnessing and recording Eye. This Mass Meeting was conducted by the "Intelligent" Party, and was announced to be speedily followed by a Multitudinous Assemblage of the "Enlightened" Party. These two factions, as it will readily be observed, and as their names indicate, are of the most widely varying character and scope; a fact to be further illustrated by the proceedings which followed.

The intelligent began to assemble early in the evening, to the sound of guns and drums and sky-rockets. These accompaniments were intended to get their spirits up, but the Intelligent persistently applied themselves to getting spirits down; and when the rival processes had continued for a reasonable length of time, speakers began to appear upon the stands. The first man who addressed them was the Commercial Candidate.

"Fellow-citizens," said he, "why are you here? To elect me, of course. (Immense cheering.) And why will you elect me? I am an honest man: I want no office. (Laughter and cheers.) Ah, my friends, you elect me because you are now paying $5.36 on every pound of Peruvian Bark and Egyptian Mummy which you use in every-day life, and because you know that when I am in, the other party will be out!" (Continued applause.)

Next rose an ex-Senator, who said he had come wholly unprepared to speak, but, being unexpectedly called upon, had made some brief jottings on a visiting-card, to which he would now refer. He then spoke for one hour and three-quarters. At the close there was an intermission for carrying off the dead.

JONES, the candidate for the office of Vituperator, then cleared his throat savagely.

"My friends," he began, "BROWN, the opposing candidate, is a scamp, and he knows it. If any man says he isn't, _he_ is. (Loud cheers.) Do you ask me to prove it? Prove an axiom! (Applause.) Who but a damned rascal would run against me at election? I tell you it is assault and battery! (Sounds of approbation.) In conclusion, I will only add that Brown is an infernal bummer and a sneak." (Cheers.)

The Intelligent then dispersed in a splendidly ferocious and bloody-minded condition, fully primed for the election. Shortly afterward the Enlightened appeared upon the scene in the following

ORDER OF PROCESSION.

Cordon of Police. Drum. Committee of Arrangements. Fife. Target Company. Drum and Fife. Small boys. Apple-women. Drum.

The Enlightened candidate for the Vituperator was the first on the stand. He rushed forward and said:--

"The Vituperative candidate of the Intelligent let fall in a former speech some subtle or carefully worded innuendoes as to my character. I have only to say that his speech was a tissue of falsehood. I will trespass upon your patience further, to add that JONES is an infernal bummer and a sneak. If he is not, my fellow-citizens, why then I am. (Indignant cries of 'That's so!') My friends, you cannot doubt this reasoning. The facts are then conclusive. Either he is a bummer, or I am. It is therefore your duty, on the 8th November, to elect me at once and in fact to the office of Vituperator, and prospectively to those of Mayor, Governor, and President of the United States." (Prolonged cheering.)

Mr. DE MAGOG, a very giant of eloquence, a Gog as well as Magog of oratory, next set the enlightened agog with a speech.

"Fellow-citizens! Men and Brothers! Victory or defeat! Liberty or death! Glorious republic! Stars and Stripes! Down with the traitor! To the polls! Red fire--blood and thunder"--(voice drowned in shouts of wild enthusiasm.)

The Eye-witness, meantime, had become distracted with harassing doubts. Subscribing fully to the politics of PUNCHINELLO, which is the only paper he reads, he had hitherto announced himself as a member of the Right Party. Being, however, open to conviction, he had unfortunately permitted both parties to convict him. In this awful crisis Reason appeared about to totter from her throne. The Eye-witness thrust his head wildly from the window, and shrieked to the crowd below: "Where's the Right Man? I belong to the Right Party. I want to hear the Right Man!!"

At once the mob became a sea of upturned faces. The Enlightened, together with a large number of the Intelligent, who had lingered on the scene, with one common consent lifted up their voices and groaned. The groan was but a premonitory thunder to a shower of sticks, stones, whiskey-bottles, and superannuated eggs. The Eye-witness closed the window with an undignified bang, and retired into the depths of his chamber, where he remained until after the election. Owing to a dimness of vision, resulting from the eggs-cruciating condition of his ocular organs, the occupation of the Eye-witness was from that moment gone. And to this fact must be attributed his inability to state, with any certainty, whether the Right Party has succeeded in putting the Right Man in the Right Place; but he rather thinks it has.

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Spots on the Sun.

The _Sun_ is eclipsed by the _World,_ and is far behind the _Times._ It cannot be considered a _Standard_ sheet, and will never personify the _Star_ newspaper. Receiving its _News_ with the _Mail,_ as a _Herald_ it is valueless. It cannot claim to be a _Journal of Commerce,_ and as a _Tribune_ for the people it is a failure, and it does not shine as a _Democrat,_ for it relies on the _Post_ for most of its intelligence.

Moral.--Keep the _Sun_ out of your eyes.

* * * * *

_First Old Loafer_. "THE PAPERS SAYS THERE'S A CHANCE OF THE BOURBON DIE NASTY REIGNING IN FRANCE AGAIN."

_Second ditto_. "BULLY! IF THERE'S ANYTHING I LIVE FOR ITS A HIGH OLD RAIN OF BOURBON. LET IT POUR!"]

* * * * *

SARSFIELD YOUNG ON FORT SUMTER.

The country was indignant that Fort Sumter was not reinforced. Major Anderson's supplies were nearly exhausted, and he wanted twenty thousand men, with equipments and rations. If the Government couldn't afford the rations--very well: it ought at least to given him the men.

I am speaking of the late rebellion, which GREELEY, HEADLEY, and others have written up. Although a publishing company at Hartford, Conn., own most of the facts of the war, which they peddle out only by subscription, they can give the public but little of the secret history of the Fort Sumter affair. That remains to be written, while WELLER and I remain to write it. The Ex-Secretary has gracefully left it to me to describe the midnight session of the Cabinet at which I chanced to be present.

I was boarding at the White House at the time, and as President LINCOLN assured me it would be rather interesting, I was persuaded to attend. "The fact is, the crisis reminds me," said he, of a little story of a horse-trot in Arkansas--"

"Sir," interrupted I, "it reminds me of a dozen stories, one of AEsop's fables, and two hundred lives of CHAUCER."

He was afraid to continue.

As the clock struck twelve, he called the meeting to order and remarked: "Gentlemen, ANDERSON is in Sumter. The question now is,--what will he do with it?"

South Carolina was out. BUCHANAN had done nothing. Everywhere was distrust. (That very day they had refused, on Pennsylvania avenue, to trust me for a spring overcoat.) STANTON was getting his dark lantern ready for nightly interviews with SUMNER and WENDELL PHILLIPS in a vacant lot upon the outskirts of the Capitol. Universal gloom prevailed.

SEWARD opened the discussion. He said it was contemplated to throw four thousand men into Fort Sumter. We couldn't do it. If we did, it would only be one of the first throes of a civil conflict, a war long and bloody, which he would venture to predict might be protracted even to the extent of ninety days. Were we prepared for that? He would like to hear from that pure patriot, the Secretary of War, on this point.

Amid murmurs of applause, Gen. CAMERON rose to say that he was wholly unprepared to make a speech; but he owned a lot of condemned muskets, which he stood ready to dispose of to the Government at four times their original cost. He should advise that the Fort be covered with several thicknesses of Pennsylvania railroad iron. It would protect our gallant troops, and he was now, as he had always been, in favor of protection. Besides, he knew parties who could get up a ring in the way of army blankets.

Mr. CHASE spoke rather thick and fast, but I understood him to pronounce in favor of that platform which would get the most votes. "If the people think it ought to be done, why, do it. The country needs taxation, and is anxious to have me President. I think I can borrow money enough in Wall street to pay the passage of a moderate number of men to Charleston, but they mustn't on any account be CHASE men. I don't want any of my friends killed off before the next Presidential election."

"What the Administration lacks," chimed in BLAIR, "is backbone. Powder and ball, and blood are my sentiments. Fill all the army and navy offices with the BLAIR family, and secession is dead."

SEWARD again: "Strengthen Pickens, and let Sumter go. Our soldiers will find it healthier and more commodious at Pickens. I'll have the _Powhatan_ sent there forthwith."

Hereupon Mr. GIDEON WELLES woke up and remarked, in a strain of apology, that be hadn't read his commission yet, but it was his impression that he was the head of what was called the Navy Department. Coming from an inland town, he didn't exactly know whether the Secretary of State or himself had the ordering about of our national vessels; but he rather thought he would relieve his friend SEWARD of that burden. He had talked with several old sea-dogs. They all agreed that the success of the plan depended on its feasibility. Capt. Fox, a private citizen of Massachusetts, had been down there with a horse and buggy, and reports that a squad of marines could do the job up in good style.

Mr. BATES was called upon, and stated that strengthening Sumter, without giving the Southerners four weeks' notice of our intention, would not, in his opinion, be unconstitutional.

At this juncture Mr. FLOYD (who, having acquired the habit of attending BUCHANAN'S cabinet meetings, had not quite got over it) put his head in for a moment to suggest, that if the Black Republican Government would evacuate all the forts on Southern territory, remunerate his friends for their expenses, and execute a quit-claim deed of Washington and the national property to JEFF. DAVIS and other Southern leaders, the proposition might possibly be accepted, and trouble avoided.

Mr. SEWARD rose to add only a word, and that word was "Pickens."

The Secretary of the Interior observed, that as Charleston harbor wasn't in his department, he would say nothing.

Mr. BATES urged that the people of his section were loyal to the flag; in fact, they not only wanted the flag but the Capitol itself, and the national buildings (except the monument), removed to St. Louis; if they couldn't get that, they might be satisfied if Fort Sumter were towed around there, up the Mississippi. It would certainly be a good deal safer there.

Mr. GIDEON WELLES wanted it distinctly understood that Gen. SCOTT, Gen. HOLT, Capt. FOX and the _Powhatan_ could save the country if Mr. SEWARD would let them; otherwise he would make a minute of these deliberations, and if his friend Mr. YOUNG (whom he was pleased to see present) didn't expose it, he himself would put it in the shape of a lively sketch, and send it to the magazines.

"Well--now," said Mr. LINCOLN, after patiently waiting, "this reminds me of the man in Pomeroy, Ohio, who kept what he called an 'eating saloon.' One morning, a tall hoosier came in and called for ham and eggs. 'Can't giv 'em to ye, stranger,' said the proprietor, 'but what'll ye hav' t'drink?--don't keep nothin' but a bar.' 'Yer don't? Then what'n thunder yer got that sign out thar for?' for the fellow was a little mad. 'Why yer see I call her a eating saloon, 'cos I reckon she eats up all the profits."

This beautiful and appropriate anecdote, which seemed to throw a flood of light upon the critical State question under consideration, pleased every one except FLOYD, who swore it was ungenerous and unchivalric. Hastily withdrawing, he threatened to telegraph it verbatim to the insurgents; it would fire the Southern heart.

SEWARD said he was going home, as he had already sent the _Powhatan_ to PICKENS.

Mr. LINCOLN yawned, and turning to me, inquired: "Well, SARSFIELD, you see what a man's got to do to run this machine,--now what's your advice?"

"Your Excellency," I replied, "there's a man in the tanning business at Galena, in your State. Telegraph him at once. His name is GRANT, and if you give him the tools to work with, he'll straighten everything out for you as neat as a pin."

The meeting dissolved without taking heed of my suggestion, and the world knows the result. However, there's one thing I am proud of. I claim to have discovered GRANT four years before WASHBURN did. That's the secret why I can have any office I want under the present administration.

SARSFIELD YOUNG.

* * * * *

THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.

The popularity of opera among fashionable people in this city varies inversely as the intelligibility of the language in which it is sung.

To illustrate! The Italian opera is fashionable, though not one in ten of the people composing an average audience understand a word that is said or sung. The French opera is less fashionable, but perhaps one-third of the audience can understand the less ingenious of the indelicate jokes. The English opera is not fashionable, but every one can understand every word that Miss RICHINGS or Miss HERSEE pronounces. These facts undoubtedly stand in the relation of cause and effect. Wherefore the axiom with which this column begins.

To be sure, the words of an opera are a matter of very little consequence, the music speaking as plainly as the clearest of Saxon sentences. But the fashionable public knows less of music than it knows of languages, and would be quite capable of mistaking "_Gran Dio_" for a comic song, and "_Libiamo_" for a lover's lamentation, were not the translated libretto of _Traviata_ at hand to supply them and the critics of the minor papers, with the cue for the display of appropriate emotion. Singers, especially, understand the full force of the above stated axiom. Hence, those who are deficient in voice avoid the English stage. Miss KELLOGG, for example, never attempted English opera, because she knew that people who had heard ROSE HERSEE or CAROLINE RICHINGS would laugh at her claim to be "the greatest living Prima Donna," should she compete with those birds of English song. Wherefore, she wisely confined herself to the Italian stage, sure of pleasing a public that knows nothing of music, but is confident that a lady who enjoys the friendship of Madison avenue must be a great singer. PAREPA, on the contrary, turned from the Italian to the English stage,--but then PAREPA had a voice.

How many years is it since CAROLINE RICHINGS first sung in English opera? It is an ungallant question, but the answer would be still more ungallant were it not that Miss RICHINGS is an artist; and with artists the crown of youth never loses the brightness of its laurel leaves. At any rate, she has sung long enough to compel the recognition of her claims to our gratitude and admiration. She is not faultless in her method, but she differs from other great American prime donne in the important particular of possessing voice enough to fill an auditorium larger than the average minstrel hall.

At present she is filling NIBLO'S GARDEN with her voice and its admirers. We go to hear her. PALMER and ZIMMERMANN, clad in velvet and fine linen, flit gorgeously about the lobby, and are mistaken, by rural visitors, for JIM FISK and HORACE GREELEY--concerning whom the tradition prevails in rural districts that they are clothed in a style materially different from that affected by King Solomon at the period of his greatest glory. We find our seats, and mentally remarking that NIBLO'S is the one theatre in this city from which it would be possible to escape with whole bones and coat in case of fire, we await with contented minds the lifting of the curtain.

In time the opera begins, and a select company of young men who are standing in the rear of the audience improve every possible opportunity for breaking into rapturous applause. Their zeal occasionally outruns their discretion, and they finally ruin the attempt of Miss RICHINGS to execute a florid cadenza at the end of one of her arias. An intelligent usher is therefore detailed to curse them into a comprehension of their duties, after which they applaud with a discretion which produces almost exactly the effect of spontaneous enthusiasm.

Remarks a young lady near us, who is dressed with much wealth of contrasting colors:--"This isn't half so nice as the Italian opera. Miss RICHINGS can't dress half so nicely as Miss KELLOGG, and then you don't see any fashionable people here. The DAVIDS, the ABRAHAMS, the AARONS, the NOAHS, that handsome Mr. JACOBS, and that delightful Mr. MOSES,--all these elegant young men with beautiful eyes and curly hair that dress in velvet coats and diamond studs--there isn't one of them here. Our best society never goes to any opera but the real Italian opera."

LIGHT-HAIRED YOUNG MAN.--"But, my dear, it seems to me that your best society must consist chiefly of Jews--judging from the names you mention."

YOUNG LADY.--"Well, what if it does? They are rich, are they not? What more could you want?"

LIGHT-HAIRED YOUNG MAN.--"What, indeed! But the music is just as good as it would be if the fashionable Israelites were here,--isn't it?"

SHE.--"The music as good! Why, Charles, everybody knows that the Italian opera music is perfectly lovely. This is only English, you know."

HE.--"It is precisely the same. Here the _Somnmabula_ is sung with English instead of Italian words. That doesn't alter a single note."

SHE.--"You are too ridiculous! The idea of attempting to make me believe that this is just like the Italian Opera! Don't you suppose I knows anything about music?"

OLD GENTLEMAN.--"I heard CAROLINE RICHINGS sing in 1808,--I think it was. I tell you she sings better now tan she did then, but the stupid public never appreciated her. I recollect saying to KEAN--not CHARLES, you know, but _the_ KEAN--that I knew a young lady that would be a splendid singer some of these days--meaning CAROLINE, of course. 'Well, sir,' says KEAN, 'what of it; you can't drink her, can you?' Gad! he was the best man for repartee I ever knew. To give you an instance; one night KEAN and I, and old SMITH,--you don't remember old SMITH, I presume; he played old men at the Boston Theatre sixty years ago; I never met a jollier fellow,--I remember his saying one night when JUNICS BOOTH was playing--let me see, what was the play; it wasn't the _Apostate_, I hardly think, for--"

Here the orchestra mercifully strikes up, and the big drum drums the garrulous monologue of the veteran theatrical observer. We have another act of the opera, sung far better than any opera has been sung at the Academy for years. Pretty ROSE HERSEE--when have we had a voice as pure, or a manner as charming as hers?--sings in this act, and her tones so closely resemble those of NILSSON in their exquisite purity, that we wonder how she has escaped the abuse of that "independent critical journal," the _Season_, until we notice a middle-aged gentleman sleeping quietly with a copy of the _Season_ on his lap, and remember that at NIBLO'S GARDEN the proprietor of the independent critical journal is permitted to distribute his mental soothing syrup, while at STEINWAY HALL a rival sheet is the only admitted programme.

And I say--still thinking of NILSSON--to an experienced theatre-goer,--"Why does WATSON abuse NILSSON?"

And he answers, with the contemptuous, but obviously honest inquiry--"Who's WATSON?"

Really appalled by the suggestion that there exists a man with soul and things so completely dead as not to have heard of the great WATSON, I change my question and ask him: "Why does the _Season_ abuse NILSSON?"

HE.--"The _Season_, my young friend, is a programme paper that is circulated gratuitously and depends for support upon its advertizing patronage. A few managers permit it to be circulated in their theatres; the remaining managers will not admit it. Among the latter are Mr. WALLACK, and MAX STRAKOSCH. Consequently, the _Season_ abuses WALLACK'S Theatre and NILSSON'S concerts--asserting that Mr. WALLACK has a wretched company, and that Miss NILSSON has no voice. The _Season_ is also a comic paper, and its best joke is its assertion that it is an 'independent critical journal.'"

YOUNG LADY IN COLORS.--"This opera is dreadfully stupid."

LIGHT-HAIRED YOUNG MAN.--"But, MARY ANNE, it is one of Mozart's--the _Marriage of Figaro_. It is one of his most famous works."

SHE.--"Then I don't like Mozart. There was an Italian who wrote an opera that was all about Figaro,--the _Nossy di Figaro_ was the name of it. Oh, it is perfectly splendid; ever so much prettier than this."

HE.--"Why, my dear girl, the _Nozze di Figaro_ is the identical opera you are now hearing."

SHE.--"There is young Mr. NATHAN ISAACS. Isn't he perfectly splendid?"

HE (sighing sadly).--"Whenever you wish to go home, I am ready."

SHE.--"You are real disagreeable to-night, and I'm sorry I came with you."

RURAL PERSON.--"Well, if this is the opery, I don't mind sayin' I like it. Susan said I couldn't understand a word of the gibberish these opery folks squawked, but it's just as plain as psalm-singing. Miss RICHIN and that HERSY gal are just the tallest kind of singers. If we had 'em in our choir, the Baptist folks might shut up their meetin'-house to wunst."

ZIMMERMANN.--"When are we going to revive the Crook--did you ask? What do we want to revive it for? Isn't the house full enough to-night to satisfy anybody?"

FRIEND OF THE THEATRE--"To be sure it is. Stick to this sort of thing, and you'll find it will pay better in the end than any amount of legs. NIBLO'S is now a respectable theatre. Don't change it into an Anatomical Museum."

MATADOR.

* * * * *

CARRYING OFF THE WOUNDED.]

* * * * *

PUNCHINELLO CORRESPONDENCE

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

_A Lover of Music._ Our street musicians are growing worse and worse. There is a piper who infests the street in which I live, and sets my nerves on edge with his horrible droning. What am I to do with him?

_Answer._ put him in the waste-piper basket.

_Aunt Carraway._ The preparatory schools about which you inquire have nothing to do with the reformation of wicked parrots. If the language made use of by your parrot is so dreadful that the cats have left the house in consequence of it, we are afraid that the bird is past reform. Try him with rats, and you may yet be renowned as the "female Whittington of the period."

_Rebecca Hazeldown._ It was very rude of the young man to stare at you through an aquarium, as you say he did. The little fishes might have been flirting their tails at the time, however, and it is just possible that he might have taken you for one of the flirts.

_A Horseman._ After long observation, I am of opinion that the sudden collapse which so frequently occurs among omnibus and street-car horses, is to be attributed to the stupid but common practice of giving them water when they are overheated. Can you assist me in putting a stop to this?

_Answer._ We do not see why you should apply to PUNCHINELLO in the case. Have we not a Croton BERGH among us?

_Valetudinarian._ To furnish you with a list of all the patent medicines advertised is quite out of our power. Suppose you start out early every morning with your note-book, walk for seven or eight miles along the Bloomingdale Road, and make your list from the innumerable inscriptions on the rocks in that vicinity. Do this for a month or two, and you will not care much about the list when you have got it.

_N.E. by S.W._ We read that DEMOSTHENES used to put pebbles in his mouth, and spout while thus charged, to cure himself of thickness of utterance. Suffering from the same defect, I have tried the same remedy, but without success. Can you advise me in the matter?

_Answer._ The most learned commentators agree that the statement about DEMOSTHENES' putting pebbles in his mouth was only figurative, and really meant that, when about to speak in public, he used to put a brick in his hat. The same thing is done by many of our public speakers of the period--such as JOHN B. GOUGH, H. GREELEY, ANNA DICKINSON, and others. Try it moderately, and it may loosen your tongue.

_Epicurus._ Is Worcestershire sauce really the invention of an English nobleman?

_Answer._ Yes: he was one of the COOKS or one of the BUTLERS, we have forgotten which; but it is certain that he was degraded from the peerage for offering some of his sauce to the reigning British monarch of his time.

* * * * *

Complimentary Chromatics

While all France is Blue with the prospects of the siege of Paris, we have constant accounts of the growing ascendency of the Reds. We commend this to the nest scientific convention, as an evidence of the analogies which prevail in the physical and moral worlds.

* * * * *

A Sally for Sketchers.

When an artist visits a picturesque locality, why is the proceeding like an undecided prize-fight?

Because it results in a draw.

* * * * *

WAITING FOR A LIGHT.]

* * * * *

HIRAM GREEN AND FEMALE SUFFRAGE.

His Experience with the Advocates of the 10th Amendment.

On the last eleckshun day, I was servin as Inspecter of Eleckshun, when a passil of wimmen, drest partly in men's habiliments, walkt up to the ballit box.

They was headed by old SARY YOOMANS, who has been an old made for more'n 1/2 Sentury.

Steppin up close to the railin where votes is put in, Miss YOOMANS thus to me did say:--

"Square GREEN, wee've come to cast the soffrige of a down-trodden race: Will you receive our votes?"

"Not exzactly I wont, my hi toned Greshun benders," was my reply.

"Do you know who we air, sir?" cride a long, leen, lank, rale-fence-lookin femail, whose nose looked as if sheed been sokin it in a bladder of black snuff.

"Well! sweet wolfs in lambs clothin," said I, puttin on one of my shrewed expreshuns, "you look as if you was a lot of, so-called, strong-minded femails, who was up to snuff, but, in an endevor to scratch somebody bare-boned, you'd lost your footin, and tumbled slap-bang into a coal-hole."

"We air, sir," says another ethereal-lookin hearthstun depopulater, "members of the Skeensboro Sore-eye-siss Society. We believe wimmens has got rites, which man won't let her have. We believe the ballit is calkilated to raise woman to her proper speer. We believe hoop-skirts and side-saddles will soon be numbered among the lost arts. We believe SOOZAN B. ANTHONY, E. CADY STANTON, WENDIL FILLIPS, or Mister BLACKWELL, are just as capable of bein President of this ere old Union, as the best man which ever wore panterloons; and we air bound hensforth and forever, one and onseperable, to stand up for our rites, if we can only rope in enuff Congressmen to hold our bonnits."

Durin the a-4-said bust of elokence, about 75 wimmen was holdin ballits for me to take, while others were vilently swingin their gingham parasols over my bald head.

All seemed as if they was jest bilin over to get their clutches about my breethin apparatus. Says I:

"Go hum and be femails, and don't make sich tarnal loonatix of yourself any longer, gittin mixed up with the body polertick; for sures you're born, when woman votes sheel trail her skirts in the dust and you cant stop her; when she walks up to the ballit box, and undertakes to mix into suthin she don't know no more about, than TILTON and FULTON do about the golden rool, then when that air time comes I will exclaim:

"'Oh! woman; where is thy stinger.'
"'Oh! Sore-eye-siss! where 'bouts is thy victory?'"

"What! miserable man, woodest-ist thou deny us the ballit?" screemed another femail, as she tore a 2-bushel waterfall from her head, and, wildly swingin it in the air, dirty stockins and old clothes fell into promiscous heeps all about her.

"With all doo respect to the sects," says I, gettin madder and madder all the while, "you can jest bet your Sunday close I woodest."

"Hard-harted old man, yool rue this day," they all cride in Koruss, and the hull lot commenced snivellin, as if their harts was busted.

"Kind, noble, beautiful sir! we langwish to cast our suffrages," says a big fat woman, about the size of a lode of hay, as she shoved her ballit under my nose.

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Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 34, November 19, 1870Chapter I: Part 1

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