$47,000 REWARD.

PROCLAMATION.

The Murder of Mr. Benjamin Nathan.

The widow having determined to increase the rewards heretoforeoffered by me (in my proclamation of July 29), and no result having yetbeen obtained, and suggestions having been made that the rewards werenot sufficiently distributive or specific, the offers in the previousproclamation are hereby superseded by the following:

A REWARD of $30,000 will be paid for the arrest and convictionof the murderer of BENJAMIN NATHAN, who was killed in hie house, No. 12West Twenty-third Street, New York, on the morning of Friday, July 29.

A REWARD of $1,000 will be paid for the identification andrecovery of each and every one of the three Diamond Shirt Studs whichwere taken from the clothing of the deceased on the night of themurder. Two of the diamonds weighed, together, 1, 1/2, and 1/3, and1-16 carats, and the other, a flat stone, showing nearly a surface ofone carat, weighed 3/4 and 1-32. All three were mounted in skeletonsettings, with spiral screws, but the color of the gold setting of theflat diamond was not so dark as the other two.

A REWARD of $1,500 will be paid for the identification andrecovery of one of the watches, being the Gold anchor Hunting-caseStem-winding Watch, No. 5657, 19 lines, or about two inches indiameter, made by Ed. Perregaux; or for the Chain and Seals theretoattached. The Chain is very massive, with square links, and carries aPendant Chain with two seals, one of them having the monogram "B.N.,"cut thereon.

A REWARD of $300 will be given for information leading to theidentification and recovery of an old-fashioned open-faced Gold Watch,with gold dial, showing rays diverging from the center, and with raisedfigures; believed to have been made by Tobias, and which was taken atthe same time as the above articles.

A REWARD of $300 will be given for the recovery of a GoldMedal of about the size of a silver dollar, and which bears aninscription of presentation not precisely known, but believed to beeither "To Sampson Simpson, President of the Jews' Hospital," or, "ToBenjamin Nathan, President of the Jews' Hospital."

A REWARD of $100 will be given for full and complete detailedinformation descriptive of this medal, which may be useful in securingits recovery.

A REWARD of $1,000 will be given for information leading tothe identification of the instrument used in committing the murder,which is known as a "dog" or clamp, and is a piece of wrought ironabout sixteen inches long, turned up for about an inch at each end, andsharp; such as is used by ship-carpenters, or post-trimmers,ladder-makers, pump-makers, sawyers, or by iron-moulders to clamp theirflasks.

A REWARD of $800 will be given to the man who, on the morningof the murder, was seen to ascend the steps and pick up a piece ofpaper lying there, and then walk away with it, if he will come forwardand produce it.

Any information bearing upon the case may be sent to theMayor, John Jourdan, Superintendent of Police City of New York; or toJames J. Kelso, Chief Detective Officer.

A. OAKEY HALL, MAYOR.

The foregoing rewards are offered by the request of, and areguaranteed by me.

Signed, EMILY G. NATHAN,

Widow of B. NATHAN.

The following reward has also been offered by the New YorkStock Exchange:

$10,000.—The New York Stock Exchange offers a reward of TenThousand Dollars for the arrest and conviction of the murderer ormurderers of Benjamin Nathan, late a member of said Exchange, who waskilled on the night of July 28, 1870, at his house in Twenty-thirdstreet. New York City.

J. L. BROWNELL, Vice-Chairman

Gov. Com.

D. C. HAYS, Treasurer.
B. O. WHITE, Secretary.
MAYOR'S OFFICE, New York, August 5, 1870.

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of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern Districtof New York.

THE MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD:

AN ADAPTATION.

BY ORPHEUS C. KERR.

CHAPTER XVI.

AVUNCULAR DEVOTIO

Having literally fallen asleep from his chair to therug, J. BUMSTEAD, Esquire, was found to have reached such anextraordinary depth in slumber, that Mr. and Mrs. SMYTHE, his landlordand landlady, who were promptly called in by Mr. DIBBLE, had at firstsome fear that they should never be able to drag him out again. Inpursuance, however, of a mode of treatment commended to their judgment,by frequent previous practice with the same patient, the good couplepoured a pitcher of water over his fallen head; hauled him smartly upand down the room, first by a hand and then by a foot; singed hiswhiskers with a hot poker, held him head-downward for a time, and triedvarious other approved allopathic remedies. Seeing that he still sleptprofoundly, though appearing, by occasional movements of his arms, toentertain certain passing dreams of single combats, the quick womanlywit of Mrs. SMYTHE finally hit upon the homoeopathic expedient ofsoftly shaking his familiar antique flask at his right ear. Scarcelyhad the soft, liquid sound therefrom resulting been addressed for aminute to the auricular orifice, when a singularly pleasing smilewreathed the countenance of the Ritualistic organist, his eyelids flewup like the spring-covers of two valuable hunting-case watches, and hesuddenly arose to a sitting position upon the rug and began feelingaround for the bed-clothes.

"There!" cried Mrs. SMYTHE, greatly affected by his patheticexpression of countenance, "you're all right now, sir. How worn-out youmust have been, to sleep so!"

"Do you always go to sleep with such alarming suddenness?"asked Mr. DIBBLE.

"When I have to go anywhere, I make it a rule to go atonce:—similarly, when going to sleep," was the answer. "Excuse me,however, for keeping you waiting, Mr. DIBBLE. We've had quite a rain,sir."

His hair, collar, and shoulders being very wet from the waterwhich had been poured upon him during his slumber, Mr. BUMSTEAD, in hispresent newly-awake frame of mind, believed that a hard shower hadtaken place, and thereupon turned moody.

"We've had quite a rain, sir, since I saw you last," herepeated, gloomily, "and I am freshly reminded of my irreparable loss."

"Such an open, spring-like character!" apostrophized thelawyer, staring reflectively into the grate.

"Always open when it rained, and closing with a spring," saidMr. BUMSTEAD, in soft abstraction lost.

"Who closed with a spring?" queried the elder man,irascibly.

"The umbrella," sobbed JOHN BUMSTEAD.

"I was speaking of your nephew, sir!" was Mr. DIBBLE'Simpatient explanation.

Mr. BUMSTEAD stared at him sorrowfully for a moment, and thenrequested Mrs. SMYTHE to step to a cupboard in the next room andimmediately pour him out a bottle of soda-water which she should findthere.

"Won't you try some?" he asked the lawyer, rising limply tohis feet when the beverage was brought, and drinking it withconsiderable noise.

"No, thank you," returned Mr. DIBBLE.

"As you please, then," said the organist, resignedly. "Only,if you have a headache don't blame me. (Mr. and Mrs. SMYTHE, you mayplace a few cloves where I can get them, and retire.) What you havetold me, Mr. DIBBLE, concerning the breaking of the engagement betweenyour ward and my nephew, relieves my mind of a load. As aright-thinking man, I can no longer suspect you of having killed EDWINDROOD."

"Suspect ME?" screamed the aged lawyer, almost leaping intothe air.

"Calm yourself," observed Mr. BUMSTEAD, quietly, the while heate a sedative clove. "I say that I can not longer suspect you.I can not think that a person of your age would wantonly destroy ahuman life merely to obtain an umbrella."

Absolutely purple in the face, Mr. DIBBLE snatched his hatfrom a chair just as the Ritualistic organist was about to sit upon it,and was on the point of hurrying wrathfully from the room, when theentrance of Gospeler SIMPSON arrested him.

Noting his agitation, Mr. BUMSTEAD instantly resolved to clearhim from suspicion in the new-comer's mind also.

"Reverend Sir," he said to the Gospeler, quickly, "in this sadaffair we must be just, as well as vigilant I believe Mr. DIBBLE to beas innocent as ourselves. Whatever may be his failings so far as liquoris concerned, I wholly acquit him of all guilty knowledge of my nephewand umbrella."

Too apoplectic with suffocating emotions to speak, Mr. DIBBLEfoamed slightly at the month and tore out a lock or two of his hair.

"And I believe that my unhappy pupil, Mr. PENDRAGON, is asguiltless," responded the puzzled Gospeler. "I do not deny that he hada quarrel with Mr. DROOD, in the earlier part of their acquaintance;but, as you, Mr. BUMSTEAD, yourself, admit, their meeting at theChristmas-Eve dinner was amicable; as I firmly believe their lastmysterious parting to have been."

The organist raised his fine head from the shadow of his righthand, in which it had rested for a moment, and said, gravely: "I cannotdeny, gentlemen, that I have had my terrible distrusts of you all. Evennow, while, in my deepest heart, I release Mr. DIBBLE and Mr. PENDRAGONfrom all suspicion, I cannot entirely rid my mind of the impressionthat you, Mr. SIMPSON, in an hour when, from undue indulgence instimulants, you were not wholly yourself, may have been tempted, by thesuperior fineness of the alpaca, to slay a young man inexpressibly dearto us all."

"Great heavens, Mr. BUMSTEAD!" panted the Gospeler, livid withhorror, "I never—"

—"Not a word, sir!" interrupted the Ritualistic organist,—"nota word, Reverend sir, or it may be used against you at your trial."

Pausing not to see whether the equally overwhelmed old lawyerfollowed him, the horribly astounded Gospeler burst precipitately fromthe house in wild dismay, and was presently hurrying past the pauperburial-ground. Whether he had been drawn to that place by some one ofthe many mystic influences moulding the fates of men, or because ithappened to be on his usual way home, let students of psychology andtopography decide. Thereby he was hurrying, at any rate, when a shiningobject lying upon the ground beside the broken fence, caused him tostop suddenly and pick up the glittering thing. It was an oroide watch,marked E.D.; and, a few steps further on, a coppery-looking seal-ringalso attracted the finder's grasp. With these baubles in his hand thegenial clergyman was walking more slowly onward, when it abruptlyoccurred to him, that his possession of such property might possiblysubject him to awkward consequences if he did not immediately havesomebody arrested in advance. Perspiring freely at the thought, hehurried to his house, and, there securing the company of MONTGOMERYPENDRAGON, conveyed his beloved pupil at once before Judge SWEENEY, andmade affidavit of finding the jewelry. The jeweler, who had wound EDWINDROOD'S watch for him on the day of the dinner, promptly identified thetimepiece by the innumerable scratches around the keyhole; Mr.BUMSTEAD, though at first ecstatic with the idea that the seal-ring wasa ferule from an umbrella, at length allowed himself to be persuadedinto a gloomy recognition of it as a part of his nephew, and MONTGOMERYwas detained in custody for further revelations.

News of the event circulating, the public mind ofBumsteadville lost no time in deploring the incorrigible depravity ofSouthern character, and recollecting several horrors of human Slavery.It was now clearly remembered that there had once been rumors ofterrible cruelties by a PENDRAGON family to an aged colored man ofgreat piety; who, because he incessantly sang hymns in thecotton-field, was sent to a field farther from the PENDRAGON mansion,and ultimately died. Citizens reminded each other, that when, duringthe rebellion, a certain PENDRAGON of the celebrated SouthernConfederacy met a former religious chattel of his confronting him witha bayonet in the loyal ranks, and immediately afterwards felt a cold,tickling sensation under one of his ribs, he drew a pistol upon themember of the injured race, who subsequently died in Ohio of fever andague. What wonder was it, then, that this young PENDRAGON with anIndian club and a swelled head should secretly slaughter the nephew andappropriate the umbrella of one of the most loyal and devotedRitualists that ever sent a substitute to battle? In the mightymetropolis, too, the Great Dailies—those ponderous engines of variedand inaccurate intelligence—published detailed and mistaken reports ofthe whole affair, and had subtle editorial theories as to the nature ofthe crime. The Sun, after giving a cut of an old-fashionedparlor-grate as a diagram of Mr. BUMSTEAD'S house, and a portrait ofMr. JOHN RUSSELL YOUNG as a correct photograph of the alleged murdererby ROCKWOOD, said:—"The retention of Mr. FISH as Secretary of State bythe present venal Administration, and the official countenanceotherwise corruptly given to friends of Spanish tyranny who do not takethe Sun, are plainly among the current encouragements to suchcrime as that in the full reporting of which to-day the Sun'sadvertisements are crowded down to a single page, as usual. JudgeCONNOLLY, after walking all the way from Yorkville, agrees with the Sunin believing, that something more than an umbrella tempted this youngMONTMORENCY PADREGON to waylay EDWIN WOOD. To-morrow we shall give thepublic still further exclusive revelations, such as the immensecirculation of the New York Sun enables us especially toobtain. On this, as upon every occasion of the publication of the Sun,we shall leave out columns upon columns of profitable advertising, inorder that no reader of the Sun shall be stinted in hiscriminal news. The Sun (price two cents) has never yet beenbought by advertisers, and never will be." The Tribune said:"What time the reader can spare from perusing our special dispatchesconcerning the progress of Smalleyism in Europe, shall, undoubtedly, begiven to our female-reporter's account of the alleged tragedy atBumperville. There are reasons of manifest propriety to restrain us, assuperior journalists, from the sensational theorizing indulged byeditors choosing to expend more care and money upon local news thanupon European rumors; but we may not injudiciously hazard theassumption, that, were the police under any other than Democraticdomination, such a murder as that alleged to have been committed byMANTON PENJOHNSON on BALDWIN GOOD had not been possible. PENJOHNSON, itshall be noticed, is a Southerner, while young GOOD was stronglyNorthern in sentiment; and it requires no straining of a point to tracein these known facts a sectional antagonism to which even a long warhas not yielded full sanguinary satiation." The World said: "Acerrimaproximorum odia; and, under the present infamous Radical abuse ofempire, the hatred between brothers, first fostered by theeleutheromaniacs of Abolitionism, is bearing its bitter fruit ofprivate assassination at last. Somewhere amongst our loci communesof to-day may be found a report of the supposed death, atHampsteadville (not Bumperville, as a radical contemporary hasit,) of a young Northerner named GOODWIN BLOOD, at the hands of aSouthern gentleman belonging to the stately old Southern family ofPENTORRENS. The PENTORRENS' are related, by old cavalier stock, to theDukes of Mandeville, whose present ducal descendant combines theelegance of an Esterhazy with the intellect of an Argyle. That a scionof such blood as this has reduced a fellow-being to a condition ofinanimate protoplasm, is to be regretted for his sake; but more forthat of a country in which the philosophy of COMTE finds in a corruptradical pantarchy all-sufficient first-cause of whatsoever is rotten inthe State of Denmark." The Times said: "We give no details of theBurnstableville tragedy to-day, not being willing to pander to avitiated public taste; but shall do so to-morrow."

After reading these articles in the Great Dailies withconsiderable distraction, and inferring therefrom, that at least threedifferent young Southerners had killed three different youngNortherners in three different places on Christmas-Eve, Judge SWEENEYhad a rush of blood to the brain, and discharged MONTGOMERY PENDRAGONas a person of undistinguishable identity. But, when set at large, thehelpless youth could not turn a corner without meeting some bald-headedreporter who raised the cry of "Stop thief!" if he sought to fly, and,if he paused, interviewed him in a magisterial manner, and almosttearfully implored him to Confess his crime in time for the NextEdition.

Father DEAN, Ritual Rector of St. Cow's, meeting GospelerSIMPSON upon one of their daily strolls through the snow, said to him:

"This young man, your pupil, has sinned, it appears, and aRitualistic church, Mr. Gospeler, is no sanctuary for sinners."

"I cannot believe that the sin is his, Holy Father," answeredthe Reverend OCTAVIUS, respectfully: "but, even if it is, and he isremorseful for it, should not our Church cover him with her wings?"

"There are no wings to St. Cow's yet," returned the Father,coldly,—"only the main building; and that is too small to harbor anysinner who has not sufficient means to build a wing or two for himself."

"Then," said the Gospeler, bowing his head and speakingslowly, "I suppose he must go to the Other Church."

"What Other church?"

The Gospeler raised his hat and spoke reverently:—

That which is all of God's world outside this little church ofours. That in which the Altar is any humble spot pressed by the kneesof the Unfortunate. That in which the priest is whoso doeth a good,unselfish deed, even if in the shadow of the scaffold. That in whichthe anthem of visible charity for an erring brother sinks into thelistening soul an echo of an unseen Father's pity and forgiveness, andthe choral service is the music of kind words to all who ever found butunkind words before."

"You must mean the Church of the Pooritans," said the RitualRector.

So, MONTGOMERY PENDRAGON went forth from Gospeler's Gulch toseek harbor where he might; and, a day or two afterwards, Mr. BUMSTEADexhibited to Mr. SIMPSON the following entry in his famous Diary.

"No signs of that umbrella yet. Since the discovery of thewatch and seal-ring, I am satisfied that my umbrella, only, was thetemptation of the murderer. I now swear that I will no more discusseither my nephew or my umbrella with any living soul, until I havefound once more the familiar boyish form and alpaca canopy, or broughtvengeance upon him through whom I am nephewless and without protectionin the rain."

(To be Continued.)

CHINCAPIN AMONG THE FREE LOVERS.

MR. PUNCHINELLO: When Oratory, rising to its loftiest flightsupon the wings of Buncombe, denounces with withering scorn the effeteand tyrannical monarchies of Europe, and proclaims the glorious factthat this is a Free Country, Fellow Citizens! it hardly does usjustice. We are not only free, Mr. PUNCHINELLO, we are Free and Easy,sir. Breathes there a man so tortuously afflicted with Strabismus thathe doesn't see it? If such there be let him go and visit the OneidaCommunity.

Last week I took a run down to Oneida myself. I found theCommunists a very Social crowd, I can assure you. PROUDHON himselfmight be proud of such disciples, and DESIDERANT find nothing there tobe Desiderated. The Communists divide everything equally, particularlythe Affections, so there are no Better Halves among them. In Utah, youare aware, Mr. PUNCHINELLO, the women are Sealed to the men, but amongthese people they are not even Wafered. Your Own IDA may be anybodyelse's in the Oneida Community. The only individuals that object toDividing are the children, who are generally opposed to Division, bothlong and Short, as well as to Fractions.

Infants don't go for much among the Free Lovers, and are PutOut—to Nurse. After the age of Fifteen months they are surrendered bytheir Ma's to the Charge of the Two Hundred (the number of men andwomen in the Community,) who become their common parents, and theinfants become common property. The domestic arrangements are entrustedto two females, who are called the "Mothers of the Community." Butwhether these dual Mothers Do All the Nursing I am unable to say.

I had a little conversation with the Eminent and Aged FreeLover who acted as my guide, and I give it in the manner of the"interviewing reporter."

CHINC. Venerable Seer, tip us your views on the subject ofLove.

AGED FREE-LOVER Do you then take an Interest in our Principles?

CHINC. (Dubiously.) Then you have—

A. F. L. Yes, of our own. They are not those of a prejudicedWor-r-r-ld. Our principles are Embraced in the Communism of Love andPassional Attraction.

CHINC. (Confidently.) Ah, yes; of course—you are Free Lovers.

A. F. L. Sir-r-r?

CHINC. (Much abashed.) Excuse me. I am young, inexperienced,and but slightly acquainted with the Dictionary.

A. P. L. So I see. Know, young man, that we scorn andrepudiate the name of Free Lovers as applied to us by the newspapers.It is true we believe that Love should be untrammelled by the HatefulBonds of Marriage. With us a Lady may have an affinity for any numberof gentlemen, and vice-versa. But we are not Free Lovers.

CHINC. Oh, no! Not by no means. Not any.

A. F. L. (Growing eloquent.) We have only advanced from thesimple to the more complex form of matrimony. Why should not thefaithfulness which constitutes the wretchedly exclusive dual Marriageof the Wor-r-r-ld exist as well between Two Hundred as between two? Why?

CHINC. Why, O why? But there may be reasons—

A.F.L. Young Man, reared in the hateful prejudices of anUnprogressive Wor-r-ld, there air none.

CHINC. This system, as you, Ancient Person, observe, is muchcomplexed. Do I, then, understand you that a woman may have fiftyaffinities and yet be faithful to each?

A.F.L. Yes, my son, any number. This plurality of affinitiesyou of course cannot appreciate. A prejudiced Wor-r-r-ld cannotunderstand the Bond of Union which connects all the Brothers andSisters in a Spiritual Marriage. The results of the complex system are—

CHINC. (Interrupting.) I—I—fear the complexity of your systemis one too many for me. I feel that my Brow cannot stand the pressure.I must away. Farewell, old man—Adieu!

Such, Mr. PUNCHINELLO, is briefly the Free and Easy Doctrineof Natural Affinity and Passional Attraction. I have no doubt there aresome illiberal Persons who would give it a much harsher name. Formyself, I believe in the Biggest kind of Liberty, but not for theBiggest kind of Libertines. Reverentially yours,

CHINCAPIN.

LACONIC, BUT EXPRESSIVE.

SCENE: NEIGHBORHOOD OF THE FIVE POINTS

First Ruffian. "WHERE TO NOW, SNOOTY?"

Second Ditto. "PICNIC."

First Ditto. "WOTTERYER GOT IN YER LUNCH WALLET?"

Second Ditto. "SLUNG SHOT."

REJUVENATED FRANCE.

PUNCHINELLO has perused a draft of the next Constitution ofthe French people, or of France, if that is better. Unwilling to giveit to his readers in full, at present, he considers himself authorized,however, to cite a few paragraphs of it, which will be found bothoriginal and interesting.

FIFTY-SEVENTH CONSTITUTION OF FRANCE. (One a year, more orless.)

Paragraph 1. The French Nation is sovereign; the Frenchpeople are sovereign; sovereigns are sovereign; every Frenchman issovereign.

Paragraph 2. All men are equal, but Frenchmen arehighly superior to all other men.

Paragraph 3. In order to secure peace, it is decreedand plebiscited that all governments shall have a chance. For the nextten years, or less, the Orleans Dynasty shall rule; after that aBONAPARTE for a few years; then a Republic, "democratic and social," aslong as it can keep on its legs. After that a second Republic, for atwelvemonth at least. Then an old BOURBON, if one can be found. Afterthis, a military dictatorship; the army to decide its duration. At eachchange the people will decide by plebiscit whether they want therespective governments to be: personal, legal, orneither.

Paragraph 4.—But here we must stop.

Titans.

The Liberté says: "A lot of crazy fellows triedto proclaim the republic at Toulouse." Now there are manifestly twoerrors in this statement. The fellows alluded to were not Toulouse, buttoo tight fellows. Moreover, if they really had been crazies, as the Libertésupposes, they would have been instantly arrested and sent to Paris,under guard, by the way of the Madder line, to await the action of thePrefect of the Sane.

Astronomical.

A NEW Milky Way has been discovered. It is the way the milkproducers (farmers, not cows,) of Westchester County have of insistingupon raising their charges for milk from four cents to five cents aquart, wholesale. We fail to discern the milk of human kindness, here;but it is clear that the milk in the cocoa-nuts of these farmers ismighty sour.

WHAT SIGERSON SAYS.

SIGERSON (Dr.) of the Royal Irish Academy, has gone and saidsome mighty unpleasant things about the Atmosphere. How he found themout, we can't say, (and we hope he can't:) but nevertheless, hedeclares, with the most dreadful calmness, that if you go to visit theIron Works, you will inevitably breathe a great many hollow Balls ofIron, say about one two thousandth of an inch in diameter! What theserather diminutive ferruginous globules will do for you, we do not know;but you can see for yourself, that with your lungs full of little ironballs you must certainly be in a "parlous" state. We should say that wehad quite as lief have the air full of those iron spheres, termedCannon Balls, as it is now in France. It is true, one couldn't get manyof these inside one with impunity; and equally true, thatfoundry men do manage to live, with all that iron in their lungs; butwe can't say we desire to "build up an Iron Constitution," as the P-r-nS-r-p folks say, by the inhaling process.

But SIGERSON is not content to render the neighborhood of IronWorks questionable to the delicate and apprehensive; in "shirt-factoryair" he declares, upon honor, "there are little filaments of linen andcotton, with minute eggs" (goodness gracious!) "Threshing machines," hemore than insinuates, "fill the air with fibres, starch-grains andspores," (spores! think of that;) and (what is truly ha(i)rrowing,) in"stables and barber's shops" you cannot but breathe "scales and hairs."Good Heavens!

What he says of printers and smokers is simply horrible; inshort, this dreadful SIGERSON has gone and made life a wretched andlingering (to quote the sensitive Mrs. GAMP,) "progiss through thismortial wale."

THE WATERING PLACES.

Punchinello's Vacation.

When we visit ordinary places of summer resort, we require noparticular outfit, (it being remembered that the "we" alluded tocomprehends only males,) excepting a suitable supply of summer clothes.But when we go to the Adirondacks,—certainly a most extraordinary placeof summer resort,—we require an outfit which is as remarkable as theregion itself. Thoroughly understanding this necessity, Mr. PUNCHINELLOmade himself entirely ready for a life in the woods before he set outfor the Adirondack Mountains. Witness the completeness of hispreparations.

The railroad to the heart of this delightful resort is not yetfinished, and when Mr. P. had completed his long journey, in which theexcellence and abominabitity,—so to speak,—of every American form ofconveyance was exhibited, he was glad enough to see before him thosecharming wilds which are gradually being tamed down by the well-to-docitizens of New York and Boston. He found that it was necessary, inorder to enter the district, to pass through a gate in a highpale-fence, and, to his surprise, he was informed that he must buy aticket before being allowed to proceed. On inquiry, he discovered thatthe Reverend Mr. MURRAY, of Boston, claiming the whole Adirondackregion by right of discovery, had fenced it entirely in, and demandedentrance money of all visitors.

This was bad, to be sure, but there was no help for it, andMr. P. bought his ticket and passed in.

The Adirondack scenery is peculiar. In the first place, thereare no pavements or gravel walks.

This is a grievous evil, and should be remedied by Mr. MURRAYas soon as possible. The majority of the paths are laid out in thefollowing manner.

The scenery, however, would be very fine if the bugs weretransparent.

The multitudes of insectivorous carnivora, which arose togreet Mr. P., effectually prevented him from seeing anything more thana yard distant.

But if this had been all, Mr. P. would not have uttered a wordof complaint. It was not all, by any means.

These hungry creatures, these black-flies; midges; mosquitoes;yellow bloodsuckers; poison-bills; corkscrew-stingers; hook-tailedhornets; and all the rest of them settled down upon him until theycovered him like a suit of clothes. A warmer welcome was never extendedto a traveller in a strange land.

In case his readers should not be familiar with the animal,the accompanying drawing will give an admirable idea of the celebratedblack-fly of the Adirondacks, which, with the grizzly bear and therattlesnake, occupies the front rank among American ferocious animals.

After travelling on foot for a day and a night; drenched byrain; scorched by the sun; crippled by rocks and roots; frightened byrattle-snakes and panthers; blistered and swollen by poisonous insects;nearly starved; tired to death; and presenting the most pitiableappearance in the world, Mr. P. reached the encampment of Mr. MURRAY,proprietor and exhibitor of the Adirondacks.

Knowing that there was quite a large company in the camp, Mr.P. was almost ashamed to show himself in such a doleful plight, but hesoon found that there was no need for any scruples on that account, asthey were all as wretched looking as himself.

Mr. MURRAY welcomed him cordially, and after building a"smudge" around him to keep off the flies, he gave Mr. P. some Bostonbrown-bread and a glass of pure water from a rill.

This, with a sip from Mr. P.'s little flask, revived himconsiderably, and after a night's rest on the lee side of a tree, wherethe rain did not wet him nearly so much as if he had been on the otherside, Mr. P. felt himself equal to the task of enjoying the Adirondacks.

That morning, Mr. MURRAY conducted a melancholy party ofdisconsolate pleasure-seekers to a neighboring stream, where heinstructed them to fish for trout.. He told them they must revel in thedelights of the scene, and should tremble with the wild rapture ofdrawing from the rushing waters the bounding trout.

Mr. P. tried very hard to do this. He put his prettiest flyand his sharpest hook on his longest line, and, for hours, gentlywhipped the ripples. At last a speckled representative of the AmericanNational Game-fish took compassion on the patient fisherman and enteredinto a contest of skill with him. (A friendly match, and no bets oneither side.) The game lasted some time. The fish made some splendid"fly-catches;" and Mr. P., slipping on a wet stone at the edge of thebrook, got in once on his base. On this occasion, the line and ablack-berry bush arranged a decided "foul" between them. At last, justat the most interesting point of the game, the sudden sting of asteel-bee caused Mr. P. to give a quick bawl, when the fish took ahome-run and came back no more. Time of game, 3h., 50m.

Mr. P. 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0---1.
Trout 6 9 8 7 9 9 9 9 9--75.

That afternoon Mr. MURRAY took the party to Crystal Brook,Shanty Brook, Mainspring Brook, Tenement Brook, and more littlemountain gutters of the kind than you could count on your fingers andtoes. As an aristocratic residence, this region is certainly superiorto New York, for the Murray Hills are as plenty as blackberries. Thenext day they all went up Mount Marcy. When the ascent was completed,everybody lay down and went to sleep. They were too tired to botherthemselves about the view. At length, after a good nap, Mr. MURRAY gotup and wakened the party, and they all came down.

They came by the way of the "grand slide," but Mr. P. didn'tlike it. His tailor, however, will no doubt think very highly of it.

When all was quiet, that evening, on Dangle-worm Creek, nearwhich they were encamped, Mr. P. found the Reverend MURRAY sitting inthe smoke of his private smudge, enjoying his fragrant pipe. Seatinghimself by the veteran pioneer, Mr. P. addressed him thus:

"Tell me, Mr. MURRAY, in confidence, your opinion of theAdirondacks."

"Sir," said Mr. MURRAY, "I have no objection to give a personof your respectability and knowledge of the world my opinion of thisregion, but I do not wish it made public."

"Of course, sir!" said Mr. P. "A man of your station andantecedents would not wish his private opinions to be made too public.You may rely upon my discretion."

"Well, then," said the reverend mountaineer, "I think theAdirondacks an unmitigated humbug, and I wish I had never let the worldknow that there was such a place."

"Why then do you come here every season, sir?"

"After all I have written and said about it," said Mr. MURRAY,"I have to come to keep up appearances. Don't you see? But I hate thesemountains from the bottom of my heart. For every word I have written inpraise of the region I have a black-fly-bite on my legs. For every wordI have said in favor of it I have a scratch or a bruise in some otherpart of my corpus. I wish that there was no such a season assummer-time, or else no such a place as the Adirondacks."

(Readers of this paper are requested to skip the above, asthose are Mr. MURRAY'S private opinions, and not the statements hemakes in public, and his desire to keep them dark should be respected.)

It may be of interest to his patrons to know that Mr. P.arrived home safely and with whole bones.

RAMBLINGS.

BY MOSE SKINNER.

MR. PUNCHINELLO: The editor of the Slunkville Lyresays in his last issue:—

"Notwithstanding the calumnies of Mr. SKINNER, our reputationis still good, and we continue to pay our debts promptly."

This is the fifth hoax he has perpetrated within two weeks.His line of business at present seems to be the canard line.

I'll trust him out of sight if I can keep one eye on him. Nototherwise.

For a light recreation, combining a little business, Irecommend his funeral.

It is pleasant to reflect that men of his stamp are never bornagain. They are born once too much as it is.

He went to the Agricultural Fair last Fall. There was a bigpotato there. After gazing spell-bound upon it for one hour, he rushedhome and set the following in type:

"What is the difference between the Rev. ADAM CLARK, and thebig potato at the fair? One is a Commentator, and the other is an Uncommon'tater."

This conundrum was so exquisitely horrible, that his friendshoped he'd have judgment enough to hang himself, but such things diehard.

Colonel W-----'s Goat. Colonel W-----, is a great man in theseparts Like most village nabobs, he's a corpulent gentleman with a greatshow of dignity, and in a white vest and gold-headed cane, lookseminently respectable. He owns a hot-house, keeps a big dog that isvery savage, and his wife wears a silk dress at least three times aweek,—either of which will establish a man's reputation in a countrytown.

Everything belonging to the Colonel is held in the utmost aweby the villagers. The paper speaks of him as "our esteemed and talentedtownsman, Col. W.," and alludes to his "beautiful and accomplishedwife," who, by the way, was formerly waiter in an oyster saloon, andwon the Colonel's affection by the artless manner in which she wouldshout: "Two stews, plenty o' butter."

Like others of his stamp, the Colonel amounts to somethingjust where he is, but take him anywhere else, he'd be a first-class,eighteen carat fraud.

Awhile ago, the Colonel bought a goat for his little boy todrive in harness, and the animal often grazed at the foot of a cliff,near the house. One day, a man wandering over this cliff fell and wasinstantly killed, evidently having come in contact with the goat, forthe animal's neck was broken.

But what amused me was the way the aforesaid editor spoke ofthe affair. He wrote half a column on the "sad death of Col. W's.goat," but not a word of the unfortunate dead man, till he wound up asfollows:

"We omitted to state that a dead man was picked up near theunfortunate goat. It is supposed that this person, in wandering overthe cliff, lost his foothold and fell, striking the doomed animal inhis progress. Thus, through the carelessness of this obscureindividual, was Col. W's. poor little goat hurled into eternity."

The Superintendent asked me last Sunday to take charge of aclass. "You'll find 'em rather a bad lot" said he. "They all wentfishing last Sunday but little JOHNNY RAND. He is really a goodboy, and I hope his example may yet redeem the others. I wish you'dtalk to 'em a little."

I told him I would.

They were rather a hard looking set. I don't think I everwitnessed a more elegant assortment of black eyes in my life. LittleJOHNNY RAND, the good boy, was in his place, and I smiled on himapprovingly. As soon as the lessons were over, I said:

"Boys, your Superintendent tells me you went fishing lastSunday. All but little JOHNNY, here."

"You didn't go, did you, JOHNNY?" I said.

"No, sir."

"That was right. Though this boy is the youngest among you," Icontinued, "you will now learn from his lips words of good counsel,which I hope you will profit by."

I lifted him up on the seat beside me, and smoothed his auburnringlets.

"Now, JOHNNY, I want you to tell your teacher, and thesewicked boys, why you didn't go fishing with them last Sunday. Speak uploud, now. It was because it was very wicked, and you had rather cometo the Sunday School. Wasn't it?"

"No, sir, it was 'cos I couldn't find no worms for bait."

Somehow or other these good boys always turn out humbugs.

It is hardly good taste to introduce anything of a patheticnature in an article intended to be humorous, but the followingdisplays such infinite depth of tenderness, fortified by strength ofmind, that I cannot forbear. Although it occurred when I was quiteyoung, it is firmly impressed on my memory:

The autumn winds sighed drearily through the leafless trees,as the solemn procession passed slowly into the quiet church-yard, andpaused before the open grave, where all that was mortal of LUCY C-----was to be laid away forever, and when the white-haired old pastor, withtrembling voice, recounted her last moments, sobs broke out afresh, forshe was beloved by all.

The bereaved husband stood a little apart, and, though no tearescaped him, yet we all instinctively felt that his heart was wrungwith agony, and his burden greater than he could bear. With foldedarms, and eyes bent upon the coffin, he seemed buried in a deep andpainful reverie. None dared intrude upon a grief so sacred. At last,turning to his brother, and pointing to the coffin, he said:

"JOHN, don't you call that rather a neat looking box for fourdollars?"

Financial.

Our French editor thinks that the Imperial revenues ought tobe doubled at once, on the ground of the too evident Income-pittance ofthe Emperor.

AN EXCURSION.

Fanny. "ISN'T IT TOO BAD, FRANK; WE SHALL GET BACK TOTOWN LONG BEFORE DARK."

(Fact is, Fanny has a thick shawl, and it would be so niceto share it with Frank.)

OUR PORTFOLIO.

DEAR PUNCHINELLO: I see you have been at the White SulphurSprings; but you forgot to tell us what we were all dying to hear aboutthe waters. Several friends had suggested that I should go to somewatering place where I could get nothing else but water to drink, or tosome spring where I couldn't get "sprung." I tried the White Sulphur,and while there learned some facts that may be useful to others whoseek them for a similar purpose.

These springs differ from the European springs in that theywere not discovered by the Romans. The Latin conquerors never roamed sofar, and it was perhaps a good thing for them that they didn't, Sulphurwater could not have agreed with Romans any more than it agrees withYankees who take whiskey with it. I was asked if I would like toanalyse the water, (as everything here is done by analysis under theeye of the resident physician.) My analysis was done entirelyunder the nose.

I raised a glass of the enchanted fluid to my lips: but mynose said very positively, "Don't do it," and I didn't. I told myconductor I had analyzed it, and he seemed not a little astonished atthe rapidity and simplicity of the method. He asked me if I would bekind enough to write out a statement of the result after the manner ofDr. HAYES, Prof. ROGERS, and others who have examined these waters andtestified that they would cure everything but hydrophobia. I told him Iwould, and retiring to my room, wrote as follows:

"Sulphur water contains mineral properties of a sulphuriccharacter, owing to the fact that the water runs over beds of sulphur.Nobody has ever seen these beds, but they are supposed to constitutethe cooler portions of those dominions corresponding to the Christianlocation of Purgatory. Sinners, preliminary to being plunged into thefiery furnace, are laid out on these beds and wrapped in damp sheets bychambermaids regularly attached to the establishment. This is meant toincrease the torture of their subsequent sufferings, and there can beno doubt that it succeeds. Herein we have also an explanation of thereason of these waters coming to the surface of the earth—it is to givepatients and other miserables who drink them a foretaste offuture horrors. Passing from this branch of the subject to the analysisproper, I find that fifty thousand grains of sulphur water divided,into one hundred parts, contains,

Twenty thousand grains of the water would contain less of theabove element than fifty thousand grains, which ought to be mentionedas another one of the remarkable peculiarities of this most remarkablefluid."

I sent the foregoing scientific deductions to the "ResidentPhysician," and the bearer told me afterwards that the venerableEsculapian only observed,—"Well, the writer of that must have been amost egregious ass. There is no such thing as 'Sulphate of Bilgerius,'or 'Silica Bilgica,' or anything like them", and then the old fellowchuckled to himself over my supposed ignorance. I was willing heshould. I'm accustomed to being called an ass, and always like to berecognized by my kindred. Chemically thine,

SULPHURO.

COOL, IF NOT COMFORTABLE.

Apropos of complications arising out of the late NavyAppropriation Law, a daily paper states as follows:

"The decision of the Attorney General now forces him to turnthe balance into the Treasury, and the sailors have to go unclothed."

How this decision will affect recruiting for our navy yetremains to be seen, though it is probable that but few civilized mencan be found to join a service in which nudity is obligatory. In suchtorrid weather as we are having, JACK ashore with nothing on, except,perhaps, a Panama hat, will be a novel and refreshing object—but howabout the police?

LAW VERSUS LAWLESSNESS. THE VIRTUOUS ALLIES OF THE NEW YORK"SUN" ENGAGED IN THEIR CONGENIAL OCCUPATION OF THROWING DIRT.

HIRAM GREEN ON BASE BALL.

A Match Game between Centenarians.—"Roomatix" vs."Bloostockin's."

The veterans of the war of 1812 of this place, organized abase ball club.

It was called the "Roomatix base ball club."

A challinge was sent to the "Bloo stockin' base ball club," anold man's club in an adjoinin' town. They met last week to play a matchgame.

It required rather more macheenery than is usually allowed inthis grate nashunal game of chance.

For instance: The pitchers haden't very good eye-site, andwere just as liable to pitch a ball to "2nd base," as to "Home base."

To make a sure thing of it, a big long tin tube was made, onthe principle of the Noomatic tunnel under Broadway, New York. A largething, like a molasses funnel, was made, onto the end facin' thepitcher.

The old man ceased the ball and pitched it into the brodopenin'. The raceway was slantin' downwards, towords the "Homebase."The batter stood at his post, with an ear trumpet at his ear, and awash-bord in his two hands holdin' onto the handles.

When he heard the ball come rollin' down the tin, he would"muff" it with his wash-bord. Then the excitement would begin. The"striker" would start off and go feelin' about the "field" for thebase, while the "outs" got down onto their bands and knees and wenthuntin' for the ball.

Sometimes a "fielder," whose sense of feelin' wasen't veryacute, got hold of a cobble stun, then he would waddle, and grope hisway about, to find the base. But I tell you it was soothin' fun for theold men.

After lookin' 20 minuts for a ball, then findin' the basebefore the batter did, who just as like as not had strayed out intoanother lot, it made the old fellers laff.

Sometimes two players would run into each other and gotumblin' over together. Then the "Umpire" would go and get them ontotheir pins agin, and give 'em a fresh start.

On each side of this interestin' match game, was two old menwho went on crutches.

It was agreed, as these men coulden't run the bases, that aman be blindfolded and wheel these aged cripples about the bases in awheel-barrer.

The minnit these old chaps would "strike," they dropped theircrutches, and the umpire would dump them into the vehicle, andaway went mister striker.

A player was bein' wheeled this way once, and the "outs" wasdown onto their marrow-bones tryin' to find the ball, when a splash!was heard. The wheel-barrer man had run his cart into a goose pond, andmade a scatterin' among the geese.

"Fowl!" cride the Umpire.

The wheel-barrer man drew his lode ashore.

"Out!" hollers the Umpire.

And another victim went to the wash-bord.

Bets were offered 2 to one, that "The Roomatixs" would passmore balls—on their hands and knees—than the "Bloostockin's." Thesebets were freely taken—by obligin' stake-holders.

A friend of the "Bloostockin's" jumped upon a pile of stunsand said:

"15 to 10 'the Roomatix' have got more blinds than the'Bloostockin's.'"

No takers—I guess he would have won his bet, for just at thisjuncture a "Roomatix" was at the bat.

The Umpire moved his head.

The old man thought it was the ball, and he "muffed" the"Umpire's" head with his wash-bord.

The Umpire turned suddenly and wanted to know: "Who was firin'spit balls at his back hair?"

One "innins," the ball was rolled through, it struck thebatter in the rite eye.

"Out on rite eye," cride the Umpire, and the batter was minusan eye.

Next man to the bat.

His eyes were gummy. He coulden't see the ball.

He heard the ball rollin'.

He raised his wash-board.

His strength gave way.

Down came the bat, and the handle of the wash-bord entered hiseye.

"Out! on the left eye," screams the Umpire.

Old man No. 3 went to the wash-bord.

The ball came tearin' along.

It was a little too swift for the old man.—Rather too much"English" into it. It "Kissed" and made a "scratch," strikin' the"Cushion" between the old man's eyes.

This gave him the "cue." Tryin' to make a "draw" with the washbord, so as to "Uker" the ball, and "checkmate" the other club, he was"distansed," and his spectacles went flyin', smashin' the glass andshuttin' off his eyesite.

"Out! agin," bellers the Umpire.

This was the first Blind innin's for the "Roomatix."

The "Bloostockin's" bein' told how this innin's stood, byaddressin' them through their ear-trumpets, made a faint effort toholler "Whooray!"

And, I am grieved to say it, one by-stander, who diden'tunderstand the grate nashunal game, wanted to know:

"What in thunder them old dry bones was cryin' about"

It was a crooel remark, altho' the old men, not bein' used tohollerin' much, and not havin' any teeth, did make rather queer worktryin' to holler.

Ime sorry to say, the game wasen't finished.

Refreshments were served at the end of this innin's,consistin' of Slippery Elm tea and water gruel.

The old men eat harty.

This made them sleepy, and the consequence was, that theminnit they was led out on the grass, "Sleep, barmy sleep," got thebest of 'em, and they laid down and slept like infants.

Both nines were then loaded onto stone botes and drawn off ofthe field.

The friends of both sides drew their stake money, andthe Umpire, drawin' a long breath, declared the match a drawgame.

Basely Ewers, HIRAM GREEN, Esq.,

Lait Gustise of the Peece.

Bad Eggs.

The following suggestive item appears in an evening paper:

"Illinois boasts of chickens hatched by the sun."

Well, New York can beat Illinois at that game. The chickenshatched by the Sun, here, are far too numerous for counting,and they are curses of the kind that will assuredly "come home toroost."

Disagreeable, but True.

The restoration of the Bourbon dynasty is reckoned possible inFrance.

In this country the Bourbon die-nasty has never been playedout. It is a malignant disease, sometimes known as delirium tremens.

Musical.

Mlle. Silly, the daily papers inform us, has been engaged forthe Grand Opera House in opera bouffe, and will make her débutabout the middle of September. The lady should not be confounded withany of our New York "girls of the period" who bear, (or ought to bear,)her name.

Caution to Readers.

Seven steady business men of this city, four solid capitalistsof Boston, eighteen Frenchmen residents of the United States, but doingbusiness nowhere, and a German butcher in the Bowery, have just beenadded to sundry lunatic asylums, their intellects having becomehopelessly deranged from reading the conflicting telegrams about thewar in Europe.

A Parallel.

In one of the reports of the Coroner's investigation of theTwenty-third street murder, it was mentioned that "Several ladies andsome young children occupied chairs within the railing."

When REAL was hanged, it was noticeable that a great number ofwomen appeared in the morbid crowd that surrounded the Tombs, many ofthem with small children in their arms.

Fifth Avenue and Five Points! Six of one and half-a-dozen ofthe other! Blood will tell!

THE HAZARD OF THE HORSE-CARS.

THIS IS STUBBS, (an incorrigible old bachelor,)WHO TAKES AN OPEN CAB, FOR GREENWOOD, AND IS COMPELLED TO DO THE WHOLEDISTANCE SO.	AND THIS IS THE WAY IN WHICH DOBBS, WHO WOULD HAVE BEENDELIGHTED WITH STUBB'S LUCK, IS MADE TO SUFFER MARTYRDOM ON hisLITTLE EXCURSION.

THE POEMS OF THE CRADLE.

CANTO V.

These lines the observant student of nursery literature willperceive are satirical. Was there ever a poet who was not satirical?How could he be a genius and not be able to point out the folly he seesaround him and comment upon it. In this case, the poor poet,—who livedin a roseate cloud-land of his own, not desiring such mundane things assleep and food, was undoubtedly troubled and plagued to death by havingbrothers and sisters who were of the earth, earthy; and who neverneglected on opportunity to laugh at his poems; to squirt water on himwhen in the heavenly mood, his eyes in frenzy rolling; to put spidersdown his back; to stick pins in his elbows when writing; or upset hisinkstand.

Fine natures always have a deal to bear, in this world, fromthe coarse, unfeeling natures that cannot appreciate their delicacy;and this one had more than his share.

Many a time has he been goaded to frenzy by the cruel sneersand jokes of those who should have been proud of his talents; andrushed with wild-eyed eagerness down to the gentle frog pond, intendingthere to bury his sorrows beneath its glassy surface. He saw inimagination the grief-stricken faces of those cruel ones as they gazedupon his cold corpus, with his damp locks clinging to his noble brow,the green slimy weeds clasped in his pale hands, and the mud oozingfrom his pockets and the legs of his pants; and he gloried in theremorse and anguish they would feel when they knew that the Poet of thefamily was gone forever.

All this he pictured as he stood on the bank, and, whilethinking, the desire to plunge in grew smaller by degrees andbeautifully less, till at last it vanished entirely, and he concludedhe had better go home, finish his book first and drown himselfafterwards, if necessary. It would make much more stir in the world,and his name and works might live forever.

A happy thought strikes him as he slowly meanders homeward. Hewould have revenge. He would punish these wretches by handing down—toposterity their peculiarities. He would put it in verse and have itprinted in his book, and then they'd see that even the gentle wormcould turn and sting.

Ah! blessed thought. He flies to his garret bedroom, seizeshis goose-quill and paper, and sits down. What shall he write about? Henibbles the feather end of his pen, plunges the point into the ink,looks at it intently to see if he has hooked up an idea, sees none, andfalls to nibbling again. Ah! now he has it. There is TOM, thedunderhead, who is always sleepy and he will put that down about him.Squaring his shoulders, he writes:

Gleefully he rubs his hands. Won't that cut TOM. Ah! Ha! Iguess TOM won't say much more about staring at the moon. Now for DICK,the old stupid. What shall he say about him? The end of the pendiminishes slowly but surely, and then he writes:

That will answer for DICK. Now let him give HARRY somethingscorching, withering, and cutting—so that he'll never open his mouthagain unless it is to put something in it. Oh, that is it, he is alwayshungry—rub him on that. He thinks intently. Determination shows inevery line of his face; the pen is almost gone only an inch remains,and then the Poet masters his subject. He has got the last two lines.

He throws down the stump of the pen and bounces up. His objectin life is accomplished; he is master of the situation, now, and holdsthe trump card. See the quiet smile' and knowing look as he folds thepaper up, and thrusts it into his pocket. He is going down-stairs toread it to the family. Now is the time for sweet revenge and for theoverthrow of those Philistines, his brothers. He descends slowly, likean avenging angel, enters the room, and—gentle reader, imagine the rest.

A Ridiculous Rub-a-dub.

A quiet gentleman who occupies lodgings immediately oppositeone of the city armories, writes to us asking whether the drum corpsthat practice there two or three evenings in the week should not besupplied with noiseless drums, as PUNCHINELLO has suggested regardingthe street organs. PUNCHINELLO thinks the suggestion a good one. Hewould like to see the beating of drums after night-fall abolishedaltogether In fact, it is the only kind of Dead Beat to which he wouldlend his countenance.

A Clear Case.

Some wiseacre has been trying to demonstrate, through thepublic press, that POE did not write "The Raven."

The man must be a Raven lunatic.

THE BALLARD OF THE GOOD LITTLE BOY, AGED TEN, AND HIS BADBROTHER.

An obituary notice of a boy, 10 years old, in TheWilmington Commercial, contains the following statement: "In hisdying moments he charged his brother WILLIAM not to dance, or sing anymore songs. Funeral services preached by the Rev WM. R. TUBB."

HINTS FOR THE CENSUS.

DEAR PUNCHINELLO: I have always been in favor of the Census,the system is questionable, perhaps, though that depends on how youlike it. I have found that it answers very well where the parties arehighly intelligent-like myself, for example.

I drew up the following proclamation to read to the U.S.official in my district:

Q. What is your name? A SARSFIELD YOUNG. Whatis yours?

Q. What is your age? A. A., being asked how oldhe was, replied: If I live as long again, and half as long again, andtwo years and a half,—how old shall I be?

Q. Where is your residence? A. I live at homewith the family, have often thought that, amid pleasures and palaces,there is no place like home, unless it be a boarding house with hot andcold water.

Q. What is your occupation? A. Taxpayer. Thistakes my whole time

Q. Where were you born? A. Having made nominute of it at the time, it has passed out of my memory.

Q. What kind of a house do you live in? A. Amortgaged house, painted flesh color, a front exposure, brick windowsand a brass lightning rod. A good deal of back yard, (and back rent,)to it.

Q. At what age did your grandfather die? A. Ifhe died last night, (I saw him yesterday at a horse race,) he wasturning ninety-eight, perhaps he got tipped over in the turn.

Q. Do you hold any official position: if so, what? A.Inspector of fish,—every Friday.

Q. Are you insured? A. I am agent for half a dozencompanies. So are all my neighbors. My life is insured against fire forseveral thousands.

Q. Are you troubled with chilblains? A.Quitely. I soak my feet in oil of vitriol.

Q. Were you in the war? A. I have the scar onmy arm which I got in the service. I was vaccinated severely, whileclerk to a substitute broker at Troy, N. Y.

Q. Are you a graduate of any College. A. Yes,of one. I forget which one. I only remember that I was one of the mostremarkable men they ever turned out.

Q. Have you suffered from the potato rot? A,Not myself. My uncle had it bad. He found that whiskey and warm waterwas a very good thing. I've made an independent discovery of the samefact, also.

Q. Are you in favor of Free Trade or Protection? A.I can only say that, if elected, gentlemen, I shall endeavor to do mywhole duty. I am.

Q. What do you think of deep plowing? A. In ascanty population, I should say it has a bad effect. I can recommendit, however, in a sandy soil, where school privileges are first-class.

Q. Does anything else occur to you which it isimportant for the Government to know? A. Yes: a hay feveroccurs to me regularly once a year. I have no policy to enforce againstthe will of the people: Still I would call the attention of themedicine-loving public to my friend Dr. EZRA CUTLER'S "Noon-dayBitters." For ringing in the ears, loss of memory, bankruptcy,teething, and general debility, they are without a rival. No familyshould live more than five minutes walk from a bottle. They gild themorning of youth, cherish manhood, and comfort old age, with the nameblown on the bottle in plain letters. Beware of impositions-at allrespectable druggists.

* * I believe in taking things easy, and I shall cheerfullyassist the Administration, when it calls at my door on Census business.

SARSFIELD YOUNG.

Facilis Descensus

The daily papers frequently have articles respecting the "HellGate Obstructions." We do not, however, remember having seen thatsubject handled in the Sun. Perhaps it is that DANA and DYER,conscious of their deserts, do not anticipate any obstructions in thatquarter.

ARISTOCRACY IN THE KITCHEN.

Lady, (responsively.) "THAT FASHIONABLY DRESSED WOMANWHO HAS JUST PASSED, DEAR? OH, THAT'S MY COOK, TAKING HER SUNDAY WITHTHE GROCER'S YOUNG MAN. SHE NEVER ACKNOWLEDGES ME ON SUCH OCCASIONS."

WHAT SHALL WE CALL IT?

Having made up my mind to become a novelist, I naturallystudied the productions of my predecessors, and found out, I assureyou, in a very brief period of time, the little tricks of the trade. AsI do not wish to have the business flooded with neophytes, I refrainfrom informing your readers how every man can become his own novelwriter. One very curious thing, however, which I discovered, I willhere relate.

I was very much puzzled by the curious titles which novelistsselected for their books, and very much annoyed by my inability todiscover where they picked them up. I persevered, however, anddiscovered that they found them in the daily papers. In fact, Ishrewdly suspect that I have discovered, in these veracious sheets, thevery incidents which suggested the names of a number of volumes. Let meplace before you the extracts, which I have culled from the papers.

"Put Yourself in his Place."--READE.

"Yesterday morning an unknown man was found hanging from thelimbs of a tree in JONES' Wood. He was quite dead when discovered."

"Red as a Rose is She."

"Bridget Flynn was arrested for vagrancy. When brought beforethe Court she was quite drunk. She had evidently been a hard drinkerfor years, as her face was of a brilliant carmine color."

"Man and Wife." COLLINS.

"Married.—At Salt Lake City, on the 1st day of August, 1870,BRIGHAM YOUNG, Esq., to Miss LETITIA BLACK, Mrs. SUSAN BROWN and MissJENNIE SMITH."

"What will he do with it?" BULWER.

"It is stated by the police authorities, that the descriptionof Mr. NATHAN'S watch has been spread so widely, that the robber willbe unable to dispose of it to any jeweler or pawnbroker."

"Our Mutual Friend"—DICKENS.

"England is supplying both France and Prussia with horses."

"John."—Mrs. OLIPHANT.

"Mr. SAMPSON has sent to California for another cargo ofChinese shoemakers."

"Friends in Council."—HELPS.

"Mr. Drew and Mr. Fisk were closeted together for more than anhour yesterday."

"A Tale of Two Cities."—DICKENS.

"The census will show that our city has a population of atleast 500,000."—Chicago paper.

"St Louis has undoubtedly a population of 400,000."—St.Louis paper.

"Chicago, 300,000; St. Louis, 190,000."—Census returns.

"Stern Necessity."--F.W. ROBINSON.

"It is stated that a well-known yacht failed to win the prizein the late race, because her rudder slipped out of her fastenings andwas lost."

ITEMS FROM OUR RURAL REPORTERS.

A German farmer, living not one hundred miles from Cincinnati,is raising trichinated pork for the supply of the French army.

The artist who drew the Newfoundland dog (out of the water,)at Newport, R.I., has received a medal from the Royal Humane Society ofEngland, on condition that he will not Meddle with dogs any more.

Near Ashland, in Virginia, a spring has been discovered thatruns chicken soup. So great was the commotion in culinary arrangements,when the discovery was made public, that "the dish ran after the spoon."

The curious crustacean known as the "fiddler crab" isunusually numerous in the marshes of Long Island, this summer. Itdiffers from impecunious persons inasmuch as it is a burrowing, not aborrowing, creature. It differs from ordinary fiddlers by two letters,in that it bores the earth, but not the ear.

It is an established fact that persona who sleep on mattressesstuffed with pigeon's feathers never die. Near Salem, Mass., there isnow a woman nearly two hundred years old, who has been bed-ridden andconfined to a pigeon-feather bed for one hundred and fifty years. Oneof her descendants a shrewd man-has discovered that the pigeon feathersare growing musty, and proposes to replace them with the plumage ofgeese.

There is a wild man at large in the woods of Sullivan County,N.Y. He was once a fast man of New York City, and is so fast, still,that nobody can catch him.

A gentleman residing in the vicinity of Glen Cove had aNewfoundland dog that was very expert at catching lobsters. Thefaithful animal has been missing for some time, but a clue to its fatewas yesterday obtained by its owner, who found the brass collar of thedog inside a large lobster with which he was about to construct a salad.

An English nobleman has taken up his residence in the centreof the Dismal Swamp, Va. Blighted affections are supposed to be thecause of his trouble, as he always wears at the top buttonhole of hiscoat a chignon made of red hair.

"That's what's the Matter."

Among the lectures announced for the coming season is Mrs.CECILIA BURLEIGH'S "Woman's right to be a Woman." We quite agree withMrs. BURLEIGH'S remark. Woman is right to be a woman, but thematter just now is that woman wants to be a man.

Couplet from a Shaker Song.

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PUNCHINELLO.


The first number of this Illustrated Humorous and Satirical WeeklyPaper was issued under date of April 2, 1870. The Press and the Publicin every State and Territory of the Union endorse it as the best paperof the kind ever published in America.

A. T. Stewart & Co.

Are offering several lots of

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MUCH BELOW
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Brown and Bleached TABLE DAMASK, all linen, from 40 to75c. per yard.

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