Chapter 4

A curse rose to my lip, as I sailed, As I sailed; A curse rose to my lip, as I sailed; A curse rose to my lip as on the Yankee ship Through the darkness I did slip, as I sailed.

And I ran the Yankee down, as I sailed, As I sailed; And I ran the Yankee down, as I sailed; Ay, I ran the Yankee down, and I left the dogs to drown, While to Yokohama town on I sailed.

They say they showed a light, as I sailed, As I sailed; They say they showed a light, as I sailed; They say they showed a light, to tell their hopeless plight, But "I served them bloody right," as I sailed!

For my name is Captain EYRE, as I sail, As I sail; My name is Captain EYRE, as I sail; For my name is Captain EYRE, and it's d-----d absurd, I swear, That for Yankees I should care, as I sail!

* * * * *

"Arcades Ambo."

As there seem to be some disorganizing elements just now at work in the ancient and honorable order of the Knights of Pythias, might it not be well for them to compromise by a fraternal secession of the discontented spirits, who could form a kindred order under the title of the Deys of Damon?

* * * * *

USEFUL MATERIAL FOR FANCY CLOG-DANCERS--Sandal-wood.

* * * * *

* * * * *

PUNCHINELLO IN WALL STREET.

That it is not PUNCHINELLO'S intention to overlook Wall street, may be absolutely taken at par. To look over Wall street is quite another matter, and P. knows how to do it to a T. Many a time at midnight, from his perch on the tip of the spire of Old Trinity, (a tip-top point from which to look over Wall street--you see the point?) has PUNCHINELLO beheld the ghosts of dead speculations floating hopelessly through the murky air. It could not be said of them that there was "no speculation in those eyes." The ghost of a dead speculation was never so utterly damned, the eyes of a ghost of a dead speculation were never so absolutely dimmed, but that speculation of some kind might be discerned fluttering like a mummy-cloth from the shadowy outline of the former, and gleaming feebly from the gloomy goggles of the latter. Gleam on, poor ghosts! Goggle while you may, and gibber. PUNCHINELLO watches you with interest, (25 per cent.,) as you are weighed down to the very dirt of The Street by the night-fog of Despair, flapping your wings on a very small "margin," as if attempting vainly to "operate for a rise." Go down, poor ghosts; repair to your incandescent place below, for there is no hope for you. As we sit here upon our spire, we can not say to you, _Dum spiramus speramus_. Alas! no. We would like to do so, of course; but our sense of truth revolts against the enunciation of such a taradiddle.

Soon after daylight has been fully turned on, it is the wont of PUNCHINELLO to descend from his perch on the church, (rhyme,) and roam waywardly and invisibly among the denizens who occupy the dens of The Street. He knows all the ins and outs of the place, and has long been disgustingly familiar with its ups and downs. Gently has he dabbled in stocks, and no modern operator is half so conversant an he is with the juggles of the Stock Exchange. PUNCHINELLO, though as fresh and frisky, in mind and body, as a kid on a June morning, is older than he chooses to let every body know. Bless you all, readers dear! he was by when the Tulip Mania was hatched, (mixed figure,) and it was he who punctured the great South Sea Bubble, and sent it on a burst. Ha! ha! he-e-e!--how he laughs when he recurs to those days of the long, long ago, with their miserable little swindles, no better than farthing candles, (allowable rhyme,) and their puny dodges devised for flagellating LUCIFER round a stump.

Just think of a lot of fellows pretending to play at Tulipmaniacs bolting Bubble-and-squeak, and not a jockey among them all had ever heard of "puts" and "calls." Deuce a one of them know a "corner" from a cockatrice's egg, and if you had mentioned a "scoop" to the most intelligent of them, he'd have sworn that you had been and gone and swallowed a Scandinavian dictionary. (N.B. In this application the nave in Scandinavian might properly be spelt with a k.) Ah! yes, yes: What-d'ye-call him was wide-awake when he remarked to Thingumbob that "the world _does move_."

How strong the contrast to PUNCHINELLO as he glides, invisible, to and fro among the bulls and bears on 'Change, observing the "modern instances" of their improved manner of doing business, and taking all their devices into the corner of his brightest eye! (The only safe "corner" _he_ knows of on The Street.) How he chuckles as he observes the ways of 'em--sees a bear selling that which he hasn't, and a bull buying that which he doesn't want--all "on a margin" and to "settle regular," of course. Bless you! children of the modern Mammon. Go in and win, or lose if you find it more exciting. Learn to control finances, if you would fain grow to be good men and contribute hereafter good men to the taxable population. Proceed with your virtuous transactions on 'Change. Never mind each other's toes; they who have corns must not care for being cornered. (Meant playfully.) Inflate the market with your heavy purchases. Blow the market, and "corner the shorts." Be a "bear," if you will; and when you play at "bull," remember the frog in the fable, who would be an ox, and went on inflating until he burst.

You bloated stockmonger there, with your hands in your pockets and your eye on the mean chance, what care you how much capital is represented by certificates issued? "That's played out," you say? You know it is, you slimy salamander, and so does PUNCHINELLO. You know that by the use of convertible bonds capital can be increased or diminished _ad infinitum_. Loan your millions to Erie, to save it from destruction or the Sheriff, (synonymous terms,) and you will derive sweet consolation from the consciousness of your power to add or diminish at will.

Look at the "Great Waterer." When he chose to "snake away" Erie from its friends, and make it tributary to New-York Central, the printing-press was at work--a fact which he did not discover until he had paid out ten millions. Then the foreigners purchased ream after ream of certificates to control Erie, and to-day their stock is declared not worth a row of pins, owing to the piles of money swallowed by the afflictive suits on the stamped certificates.

Observe SNIGGER and SNAGGER, too; mark the goings and comings of these partners in business and iniquity. How regularly they have kept swearing that their business never paid, and yet their dividends always increased when they wished to distribute their stock.

And here is one who--more audacious, far, than King CANUTE of old--would control even the ocean. This man starts a Pacific Mail with a capital of ten millions, increases the amount to twenty millions, and swears it is worth thirty. Then he "puts his foot in it" and shows the knave in his deal, (dealings--jocular,) by selling the stock at thirty-five.

This from PUNCHINELLO, as he looks over The Street--and through it--from his lofty pinnacle. Don't strain your precious eyes and necks in fruitless endeavors to discover him there, since he can make himself invisible at will. But listen, ye men of The Street, with all your ears, (Erie,) and you will hear a solemn chant like unto that of the _muezzin_ from the minaret. 'Tis the voice of PUNCHINELLO wafting sonorously from his tower the instructive moral--

"Whoe'er sells stocks as isn't his'n, Must pay up or go to pris'n."

* * * * *

A New Conglomerate Pavement.

It was well said by a saucy Frenchman, "that England had fifty religions but only one sauce." Paraphrasing this loosely, we may say of New-York, that she has a dozen different pavements and deuce a good one. There was the "Russ," on which the horses used to be "let slide," but couldn't trot; the "Belgian," of dubious repute; the "Nicholson," which, from its material, must have been invented by "Nick of the Woods;" the "Mouse-trap," set to catch other things than mice; the "Fiske," a pavement pitched in altogether too high a key to be pleasant; The "Stafford," the "Stow," and several others which it would be painful to enumerate here. Why doesn't the daily press look lively, and devise a better pavement than any of these? There's STONE, of the _Journal of Commerce_; WOOD, of the _News_; MARBLE, of the _World_; and BRICK, of the _Democrat_. Let them put their heads together and give us a good conglomerate.

* * * * *

A Hopeful Anticipation.

Now that the darkeys are about to take part in national legislation, we shall probably be able to negrotiate a postal treaty with France.

* * * * *

On one Drowned.

He left a large circle, etc.!

* * * * *

* * * * *

PUNCHINELLO'S LYRICS.

No. 1.

Ho! I am the jolly repeater, And I train with the magical band, Who the legerdemain of the ballot With the skill of a wizard command.

Once a year every poll I explore, Honest voting is Greenland to me; Free suffrage is ever my motto, To my amnesty judges agree.

The trickster inspector I loathe, sir! Or the canvasser's pencils that thieve; Voting early and often is nobler Than ballots to change from one's sleeve.

No eight hours' labor I ask for, Votes from sunrise to sunset I cast; They are bread on political waters, And my sinecures follow them fast.

WILLIAM B. and his millionaire crew Will only vote once, sir; while I (Who to scorn laugh the honest assessors) Plump a score to their one--on the sly!

Who asks for my name? I repeat it-- Ho! the jolly repeater am I; Each book of the registry knows me, And I'm now in the market--Who'll buy?

(The above may be sung _da capo_, which is Italian for "repeat.")

* * * * *

Music and Morals in Chicago.

The _Marriage of Figaro_ did not interest the Chicago people when it was produced in that peculiar city. Had it been called the "Divorce of Figaro," it would have aroused their warmest admiration.

* * * * *

MR. GREELEY'S AIDS TO LITERARY EFFORT.

On the general principle that "no one is a hero to his valet," not even a valetudinarian, it may be safely asserted that the divinity that doth hedge most great writers is lost the moment their admirers become acquainted with their habits of thought and methods of composition. The popular delusion that H.G. "knows every thing" is calculated to work indefinite injury to some modest men who are supposed to "know something." GREELEY'S mind, like a _camera obscura_, may be said to retain its impressions while in the dark, and to lose them when exposed to the light. He has never, to any extent, heeded the scriptural injunction against walking in darkness, which explains why so many _Tribune_ readers are in the dark concerning the truth and justice of popular questions. Consequently, as in the case of other great men, when GREELEY'S mind becomes pregnant with a theme, moved to pity by the neglected education and limited mental resources of many of his readers, he repairs to one of his numerous literary lairs, and ransacks the pages of the Past for plunder befitting his pen and party. When he is about to write an editorial article on Protection, he invariably prepares his mind by reading several chapters on the "Manly Art of Self-Defense," which accounts for the wisdom and brilliancy displayed by him on the subject of tariffs. In order to approach a discussion of the subject of vegetarianism without prejudice, H.G. repairs to the wheezy WINDUST'S, where, for hours at a time, he literally "crams" with his favorite dish of pork and beans. The Amelioration of the condition of the Working Classes is another favorite theme with GREELEY, and, in order to discuss clearly and cogently the many phases and ramifications of this lively and exciting topic, he devotes several hours to the study of "Idleness as a Fine Art." Before writing a particularly funny or spirited article upon Politics, the Fine Arts, or the Drama, H.G., it is said, may be seen for several hours at the Astor Library, poring over BURTON'S _Anatomy of Melancholy_. While in the throes of literary labor upon _The Great Conflict_, he had numerous dogmatic discussions with Mr. KIT BURNS, participated in several flights of the "fancy" to the bird-battling haunts of New Jersey, and even pursued the ministers of muscle to the scene of their bucolic pastimes in the P.R. It is, perhaps, unnecessary to remark that Mr. GREELEY'S _Recollections of a Busy Life_ were inspired almost directly by frequent collusion with the pages of DE QUINCEY and COLERIDGE, whose wild lives and turbulent experiences possess a peculiar charm for the Triton of the _Tribune_. When Mr. GREELEY wishes to write against capital punishment--which he does about every time the moon changes--he naturally turns over a few pages of _Thirty Years in Washington_. When he purposes to tempt the bounding bean of the kitchen garden of Chappaqua, or humble the hopeful harrow of agriculture, he may be found either at the Italian Opera, serenely sleeping under the soporific strains of _Sonnambula_, or at the Circus, benignly blinking at the agglomerating Arabs. The inspiration for that thrilling story in real life, entitled, _What I Know about Farming_, is said to have been received almost wholly from the state of somnolency induced by that clever clairvoyant, the Rev. Dr. CHAPIN. A curious notion exists in the minds of a few ignorant persons, to the effect that Mr. GREELEY vexes his mellow mind for essays on the temperance question with frequent and numerous imbibitions of "soda straight;" but it is high time that this popular error was exploded. All who have seen Mr. GREELEY in the bar-room of a certain city hotel, dashing down brandy or pouring down whisky, and have next morning perused a Tribune editorial on "The Evils of Intemperance," need not be reminded of the chief source of H.G.'s animated style and vigorous diction. An extended walk along the beautiful avenues of the city, or a drive through Central Park, invariably prepares Mr. GREELEY's mind for the birth of an article on the advantages to young men of leaving the metropolis and seeking homes in the West. Some months ago, Mr. GREELEY purchased a small, select library, which contains, among other choice works, the sweet pastoral productions of SYLVANUS COBB, Jr.; the quaint and exhilarating narratives of EUGENE SUE; the wholesome and harmless fictions of NED BUNTLINE, together with the complete poetical works of MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER, and it was from the perusal of these comforting and pellucid contributions to American literature that Mr. GREELEY caught the spirit and the style which distinguish his thrilling work on Political Economy. But something too much of this. We would not embitter the life of Mr. GREELEY, at present, by any farther revelations, and therefore we let the subject drop.

* * * * *

CONDENSED CONGRESS.

SENATE.

At the opening, Senator SUMNER rose to a personal explanation. In fact, he always does. He said that General PRIM had disowned having had any thing to do with him upon the Cuban question. General PRIM was perfectly correct. (Applause.) He did not know much about the Cuban question; but he flattered himself that he was familiar with the gurreat purrinciples of Eternal Justice, and he intended to apply them to the solution of all our political problems. He said that Lord COKE had justly and eloquently observed _de minimis non curat lex._ He thought this would apply to our relations with the Island, where, although the sugar-cane lifts its lofty top and the woodbine twineth, the accursed spirit of caste still prevails. He begged to bring to the attention of the Senate and the country the amended lines of the sacred poet:

"What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Cuba's isle; Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile?"

The Senate would say with CICERO, _de non apparentious et non existentibus, eadem est ratio_, and they would remember with reference to the revolutionists of Cuba the great saying of Lord BACON, "Put a beggar on horseback, and he will go to the Senate from Massachusetts." Whatever the issue of the Cuban contest might be, he could lay his hand upon his heart, and say with the Mantuan bard, "_Homo sum_." or, in the language of our own Shakespeare, that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. These were all the sentiments he could find in his library which bore directly upon this subject.

Senator SUMNER then introduced a bill to provide for the resumption of specie payments. The bill sets forth that it shall hereafter be a felony for any person to make tender of any thing other than gold and silver to any person of African descent, in any of the States lately in rebellion. In moving the bill, the senator said that its passage was imperatively demanded by several negroes whom he knew, and that he would not consent to deliver these helpless persons into the hands of their late masters without some such guarantee as this bill furnished. He quoted from ARISTOTLE, LOCKE, and BURKE to prove that classes liable to oppression were apt to be oppressed.

Senator TRUMBULL wished to know what that had to do with the resumption of specie payments.

Senator SUMNER considered the inquiry impertinent. The great principles of justice were always in order.

Senator GARRET DAVIS took the floor, and made a neat speech of three days and a half in opposition to the bill. He said he was a Democrat, and he always had been a Democrat. The founders of the republic would weep if they could see what the government had come to. What would CLAY and CALHOUN have said to seeing such men as his honorable friend from Nevada (Mr. NYE) and himself in the Senate? If he might be permitted to infringe upon the domain of the senator from Massachusetts, he would quote Shakspeare, "What should such fellows as I do, crawling between heaven and earth?" (Loud applause.) At the close of Mr. DAVIS'S speech his friends came in from WELCKER'S, and congratulated him on having got through. Exhausted nature made the Senate adjourn.

HOUSE.

After some general sparring, of which a set to between Mr. GARFIELD and Mr. HAIGHT formed the most conspicuous feature, the cadetship question came up. Mr. VOORHEES explained that he never had sold any cadetships. Mr. LOGAN wished to know who said he had. Mr. VOORHEES remarked that Mr. LOGAN was another. Mr. VOORHEES explained that he had appointed the son of a constituent, and that subsequently to the appointment he had taken a drink at the expense and the request of the constituent. He always took his straight, and the cost to his constituent was only fifteen cents. Which one of his colleagues would have acted otherwise? (Voices, "Not one.")

Mr. BUTLER denounced the course of Mr. VOORHEES. For his part, he saw no impropriety in selling cadetships or any thing else. What do gentlemen suppose that cadetships exist for, if it is not for the emolument of congressmen? He considered his patronage as a part of his perquisites. This had been the guiding principle of his life, alike in his military and his political career. He considered the action of Mr. VOORHEES to be an act of deliberate treachery to this House. If he accepted a pitiful drink in return for his official influence, he was guilty of a gross offense in cheapening the price of patronage. A cadetship was worth $500 if it was worth a cent. If, on the other hand, he gave his cadetship away, his conduct was even more culpable; for other congressmen might be weak enough to follow his baleful example, and the market would be broken down. He advocated the formation of a Congressional Labor Union to determine the value of these appointments, and to expel all members who took less than the standard rate. This was what was done in other branches of business, and if his colleagues wished to be like him, the little busy B.F.B., and improve each shining hour, this is what they would do.

And then the House adjourned.

* * * * *

READY-MADE EPITAPHS.

On a Departed Clown.

Though lost to sight, to mummery dear.

On a Faithful Book-keeper.

Posted up.

* * * * *

Wring the Belles.

American belles ought to make good housewives, because they put up with little or no waist.

* * * * *

To whom it may Concern.

Persons who take music by the wholesale are informed that they can procure it of the street organ-grinders, who dispose of it by the Barrel.

* * * * *

Voice in the Air.

"What is honor? Air."--Sir JOHN FALSTAFF.

"What is dishonor? EYRE."--Every body.

* * * * *

The "Cumming" Man.

The "sensation" editor of the _Sun_.

* * * * *

* * * * *

A Huge Sell.

The appointing to cadetships at West-Point.

* * * * *

The Most Religious Editor in New-York.

C.A. DANA--because every week-day is observed as a _"Sun"_ day by him.

* * * * *

A Good General Idea.

A neat practical joke was that perpetrated by one of our contributors, who, having been requested to bring us "something pat," walked into our office a day or two after with a couple of Fenian generals in tow.

* * * * *

A Happy Thought.

The Elevated Railway is worked by means of what is known to engineers as an "endless rope." Might it not be well to work the murderers and robbers of New-York on the same principle?

* * * * *

Abnormal.

One of the strangest anomalies in color known is to be observed at Mobile and other places on the Southern coast, where black men are frequently Bay pilots.

* * * * *

KING OAKEY THE FIRST, OF IRELAND.

BY ALDERMAN ROONEY.

HOORAH! the dawn begins to break, Ould Ireland's sons at last awake, And from their sowls the shackles shake That long have kept them under. Arise, then, brave Phoenicians all, Obey your noble gineral's call; From off the steps of City Hall You hear his voice of thunder!

O OAKEY, darlin'! you're the wan To take ould Erin by the han'; We'll pummel the Britishers every man, And make you King of Ireland!

Go rowl the news across the say, Of how we spint the glorious day, A hundred thousand on Broadway, And more upon the Island. Go tell the lords in Parlamint, Of how Saint PATRICK'S day was spint, And see if they don't reduce the rint On every fut of dry land.

O OAKEY, darlin'! you're the wan To take ould Erin by the han'; We'll pummel the Britishers every man, And make you King of Ireland!

Go tell them how you raised the flag, The green above their crimson rag, And should they talk of Yankee brag, We'll tache them how to rue it. Go tell them how all day you stud, Wid both your nate feet in the mud, As if it had been Saxon blood And you wor fightin' thro' it!

O OAKEY, darlin'! you're the wan Who've tuk ould Erin by the han'; We'll pummel the Britishers every man. And make you King of Ireland!