A SEASONABLE PARODY.
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Three women went waddling out into the surf, Out into the surf at Newport town; Each wore a bath suit of the very best, Costing as much as a wedding-gown. For men must work, and women must lave, And what men earn their wives don't save, Though husbands they be moaning. Three brokers sat up at three high desks, And balanced their books as the sun went down; Each "poring" o'er ledgers that wouldn't come straight, Each wrapped in a study disgustingly brown. For men must sweat, and women keep cool, And woman will ever be fashion's fool, Though husbands they be moaning. Three names are struck from the Gold Board's books, Three brokers' sign-boards are taken down; Three men are busy "seeing their friends," Borrowing money to get out of town. For men must break if women must waste, And it costs a deal to be "people of taste," So good-bye to the fools and their moaning. |
OUR PORTFOLIO.
DEAR PUNCHINELLO: You may have heard of a slight breeze recently stirring at the Custom House, consequent upon the removal of Mr. GRINNELL and the appointment of the Hon. THOMAS MURPHY. The savage feelings which this event aroused have sufficiently subsided to allow a plain statement of the causes which led to it. At the time, it was the opinion of many that our worthy Chief Magistrate, convinced that things were getting along too smoothly in this State, had determined to infuse new life into both men and measures here. He didn't find it such a hard job "infusing" the measures, but when he came to the men all the usual machinery failed, and he had to get out a new patent battering-ram to wake them up. Such, I say, at least, was the popular impression, confirmed by the subsequent appearance of the persons against whom its operations were directed; but the initiated knew better. A few months ago a private commission, whose expenses were defrayed out of the Secret Service Fund, was sent to California to explore the region thereabouts for any hitherto undiscovered connection of the GRANT genealogical tree. For a long time the search was in vain, but finally the commission unearthed a chap in the mining district, who hadn't heard of LEE'S surrender yet, but whose sister had married a nephew of Mrs. GRANT'S brother-in-law. The poor fellow was promptly captured, combed and curried, and shipped East via Pacific Railroad, with a label across his back inscribed,
"Care of HIS EXCELLENCY, U. S. GRANT,
C.O.D."
Washington, D.C.
On his arrival the express charges were duly paid, and he was billeted at the White House, while orders were sent to the heads of the different departments to report what vacancies existed. Brief replies were returned from each, to the effect that another straw laid on the camel's back would break it, and, moved by a constitutional antipathy to breaking camel's backs, the President desisted from his efforts in those quarters. In this dilemma, the usual recourse was had to the New York Custom House, and Mr. GRINNELL was sounded as to what he could do for the last of the GRANTS. This is what he wrote: