Chapter 4

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IMPORTANT TO PUBLISHERS.

One of our corps of Philosophers (a trifle visionary, perhaps) has been speculating as to certain possible (or, perhaps, impossible) results flowing from the practice among publishers of ante-dating their monthly issues. Thus, supposing that the world should be destroyed by fire (and why not? it is bad enough) on the 15th of May, 1870, and a cover of, say, _Putnam's_ for June, carried up by an air-current, should, after floating about ever so long in space, finally descend on some friendly planet--we will say, Venus. Here it would naturally get picked up by an archaeologist, (who would be on the spot looking out for it,) and the interesting relic would be promptly and reverently deposited among the other Vestiges of Creation, in the Royal Cabinet. In the course of years, some historian would probably have occasion to turn over these curiosities, and would presently light on the scorched but still legible waif. "Why," says he, in astonishment, "I thought the earth was burnt on the 15th of May! To be sure, it was _in the night_, and nobody saw it go, [think of that, conceited Worldling!] but it was missed by somebody the day after. But here we have a document from the late unfortunate planet dated the first of June!"

Of course, upon this the History of the Universe would have to be rewritten, or that odd fortnight would play the mischief somewhere!

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A Boston Boy.

HUB-BUB.

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"Curses Come Home to Roost."

They are putting the Fifth Avenue pavement in front of the City Hall.

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To Politicians.

Will the working of the Fifteenth Amendment oblige a candidate to show his Color before election?

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So We Go!

We notice, with much agitation and a reasonable amount of grief, that somebody in Philadelphia (possibly Miss ANNA DICKINSON) has invented a machine for the laundry called The King Washer! A few years ago it would have been The Queen Washer; but in these days the name seems to indicate that to Man, unhappy Man, will speedily be committed the destinies of the weekly washing. Oh! the rubbing, the rinsing, the wringing. But Mr. PUNCHINELLO has already communicated to Mrs. PUNCHINELLO his sentiments upon this subject. Under no circumstances will he get at the family linen. He must make a stand somewhere, and he makes it here.

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Let them Bark.

Miss BARKALOW has been admitted to practice at the bar in St. Louis. We have frequently before seen young ladies at a bar, where others practiced more than they did; but we do not see why, if Miss BARKALOW wishes to bark aloud, she should not be allowed to bark, aloud or otherwise. Barking may be particularly good in a cross-examination; but we presume that a lady attorney's bark will be always worse than her bite.

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"She Stoops to Conquer."

The girl with the Grecian Bend.

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Query.

Is it allowable for a Temperance man to be Cordial to his friends?

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Weak as Water.

Our cynical friend A. QUARIUS writes us from Philadelphia, that considering the manner in which the Sunday liquor law is enforced in that city, he thinks his native place is still entitled--perhaps more than ever entitled to be called the city of Rye-tangles. This is ungrateful.

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SPIRITUAL SUSCEPTIBILITY OF CATS.

DEAR PUNCHINELLO: Our Society has been very learnedly debating as to whether Cats are susceptible of spiritual impressions; and, although the burden of opinion inclines to the negative of the question, I am firmly persuaded there is much to justify a contrary judgment.

As I slept the other night, neither dreaming nor holding psychological intercourse of any description with outsiders, I was awakened suddenly about the first hour of the morning by a noise. I am quite certain it was a noise, and have therefore no hesitation in so recording it. The new moon hung athwart the western sky, and a few fleecy clouds were chasing each other like snow-drifts across the blue vault of the night. I may likewise note the fact that the stars were doing what they usually do, notwithstanding the difference of opinion that sometimes exists as to what that is. It was the evening after "wash-day," and family linen, in graceful curves and undulating outlines, everywhere met the eye as it turned from contemplating the stars to contemplating the clothes-lines in the gardens. But I wander. The noise? Ah! yes. Well, it was not like the collision of two hard substances, but rather of the heavy "thud" order of sound, like the descent of a solid into a soft substance; say, for instance, of a flat-iron into a jar of unrisen buck-wheat batter. I glanced along the ghostly battalions of family linen; along the fences traversed by feline sentries; along the latticed arbors; but nothing to indicate the origin of the alarm could be discovered, and as at that moment a breeze stirred in the apartment, producing a chilling sensation, I thought it prudent to jump back into bed.

Next morning, upon making my usual visit to note the progress of the early bulbs in the flower-beds, I encountered at the further end of the garden the remains of a cat--a portly and ancient grimalkin of the sterner sex. Close at hand was a bottle lying face downward, and corked. I raised it--first in my hands, and then to my lips. The cork fell out, accidentally as it were, and, as a consequence, death. "Poor thing!" I murmured; "poor--" and a portion of the contents glided carelessly down my throat. I perceived that the liquid was "Old Rye." As I stooped down, tears would have come to my eyes; but it was useless, seeing that the breath had left the unfortunate's body. Nevertheless, I rested my hand a moment upon his head, and then glided it in a semi-professional manner along the line of dorsal elevation, until I came to a deep depression in his backbone, which corresponded exactly with the convexity of the bottle. Then I saw at once how it was; this missile, (in the heat of passion, being mistaken for an empty one, probably,) had been hurled by some treacherous hand upon the unsuspecting Tom, striking him midway between the root of the tail and the base of the brain, causing instant suspension of his vertebral communications, "Poor thing! You were the victim of a Catastrophe. You were also the victim of the bottle. The 'Rye' was too heavy for you, and should have been drawn milder." This said, I turned sadly away to find a burial spade, and it then occurred to me that this little incident was kindly meant to confirm my view that cats are susceptible, even to a fatal extent, of spiritual impressions--especially when conveyed by spirits of "Old Rye."

GOBBO.

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From the Tombs.

When a drunken man has been locked up for beating his wife, it is reasonable to suppose that he must feel rather the worse for lick her.

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A BIT OF NATURAL HISTORY.

Naturalists tell us that the _Aye-aye_ is a small animal of Madagascar, with sharp teeth, long claws, and a tail; which eats whatever it can grab, and says nothing day or night but _aye-aye_. Now, we find that, AGASSIZ to the contrary notwithstanding, this strange and not very useful animal is indigenous to the State of Pennsylvania. It especially frequents Harrisburg; and may be seen and heard any day there, in the Senate or House. Being an active member of that House, your correspondent has been present during the passage of three hundred bills within a week or two, in about one hundred and ten of which he had some personal interest.

Lifting his eyes one day from his newspaper, when the Speaker took the vote on an "Act to amend the Incorporation of the City of Philadelphia," which your correspondent happened to know included the presentation of a three-story brownstone front to each of a committee of six members of the House, he found there was not one member in his seat; but, in the place of a few, there was a company of these remarkable _Aye-ayes_, responding duly to the call for a vote; but never a _no_ among them. No, no!

Now, your correspondent holds the deliberate opinion that, in several respects, these aforesaid small animals of Madagascar might be an improvement upon the average Pennsylvania legislators. And, if your correspondent had to do with getting up the other one hundred and ninety bills, as he did the one hundred and ten, all right: Otherwise, _not_. How does PUNCHINELLO regard it?

Yours, LEGISLATOR.

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An Augean Job.

PUNCHINELLO has telegraphed to Governor GEARY his approval of the "Sewage Utilization" bill at Harrisburg, on one condition: that the first piece of work be finished up by the members of the Pennsylvania Legislature with their own hands; that work to be, to make up into _decent_ manure, _deodorized_ and _disinfected_, all bills passed at the late session of their House and Senate. Since, however, complete deodorization is probably _impossible_, PUNCHINELLO advises also that the said members be required to cart all their stuff out to the Bad Lands of Nebraska, and remain there to make the best use of it; or else make a contract with Captain HALL to ship it and them to the Arctic regions at once.

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On the Finances.

Says Crispin, "Did not somebody say it was BOUTWELL in the Treasury now? A great mistake. About well, to be sure! When the newspaper men have 111-1/2 of gold, and I haven't a round dollar! Where did they get it? And then the legal tender question. I never asked but _one_ tender question in all my life, and that was to SUSAN and she said, Yes. And then we were legally married. Nobody ought to ask such questions _out loud_; it's not _decent_. And _fine answering_ an't much better. Financiering, is it? Ah! well. _Specious assumption_, too; but that requires brass, and I want _gold_. Meantime, who's got a twenty-five cent note?"

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Massachusetts Flats.

Massachusetts must abound in Flats. Its Legislature is annually agitated from the sands of Cape Cod to the hills of Berkshire over the question. It is said to be wisdom to set a rogue to catch a rogue. Is it equally so to set a flat to catch one?

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NATIONAL TAXIDERMY.

PUNCHINELLO has for some time past carefully considered the subject of our national tariff of imposts, (_that is to say, he happened to see, in a Tribune, the other day, that lucifer matches were now to be stamped separately, and not by the box, as heretofore_) and he has come to the conclusion, after duly weighing in his mind all the arguments for and against the present system of taxation, (_that is to say, he made up his mind the minute he read the article_,) that what the present tariff needs, is a more thorough application and a better classification; or, what the technologists call Taxonomy, which term is suggested to him by a work on the subject which he has been recently studying. (_That is to say, he looked in the dictionary to find out what Taxidermy meant, and seeing Taxonomy there, snapped it up for a sort of collateral pun_.) As an illustration of what our impost legislators (or imposters) ought to be, let us take the Taxidermist. He is one who takes from an animal every thing but his skin and bones, and stuffs him up afterward with all sorts of nonsense. Now, our National Taxidermists ought to take a lesson from their original. Many of the good people of the United States have much more left them than their skin and bones. Why is not all that taken? The condition of the ordinary stuffed animal of the shops is strikingly significant of what should be expected of loyal communities. (_That is to say, communities which vote a certain ticket which need not be named here_.) It is often said that there are things which flesh and blood will not bear. Now, a thorough system of Taxidermy remedies all this. A stuffed 'possum, for instance, having no flesh or blood, will bear any thing. When the people of this country are thoroughly cleaned out, they will be just as docile. Among the things which PUNCHINELLO would recommend as fit subjects of taxation, is a man's expenses. They have not been taxed yet. If he pays for his income, why not for his outgoes? The immense sums that are annually expended in this country for this, that, and the other thing ought certainly to yield a revenue to the government. (_That is to say, there ought to be a new army of collectors and assessors appointed. P. knows lots of good men out of office_.) And then there's a man's time. Why not tax that? Nearly every man spends a lot of time, and he ought to pay for it. As it would be our tax, it could not be a very minute tax, although it is only the second tax which we have suggested. (_That is to say--- something pun-ny_.) And besides these things, there's energy. We often hear of a man's energies being taxed; but, so far as the matter is apparent to the naked eye, it is difficult to see whose energies are taxed for the good of the government at the present day. This subject should certainly be investigated. (_That is to say, a committee of Congressmen should be appointed, with power to send for persons, papers, and extra compensation_.) Politics, too. Every man has his politics, (_that is to say, every man except Bennett_,) and they ought to be taxed, if for no other reason than the great impetus the measure would give to the erection of fences throughout the land. And letters, too. If every one sent by the mail should yield one cent to the Treasury, how the currency would be inflated in that locality! (_That is to say, in the locality to which the collectors would abscond_.) But it is impossible, with the limited time at his disposal, for PUNCHINELLO to enter into a full examination and elucidation of this subject. (_That is to say, he can't think of any more illustrations just now, and the printer wouldn't stand any more, if he could_.) But it must be admitted that the great task of opening up the country, of which we hear so much, will never be complete until the Washington skinners and stuffers get us all into the prepared specimen condition. (_That is to say, when the people are all willing to_ "_dry up_.")

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JOHN CHINAMAN'S BILLING AND COOING.--Pigeon English.

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CABLE NEWS.

(EXCLUSIVELY FOR PUNCHINELLO.)

QUEEN ISABELLA has sent her compliments to Señor CASTELAR, as well as to General PRIM, informing them that, on the whole, she thinks she will _not_ return to the throne of Spain. It does not agree with her quiet and refined tastes and habits to live so much in public. All she wants now is a little _château en Espagne_. She proposes to send her son, Prince of ASTURIAS, to Professor CASTELAR, to study modern history. Is it not odd, by the way, that a country so long _Mad-rid-den_ as Spain, should have now a governor with such a name as PRIM? But, what's in a name? BOURBON, by any other name, would smell as sweet. Some, however, prefer Old Rye. I prefer _water_ to both; _especially_ to BOURBON.

It's an old story that _two positives make a negative_. Paris news tells us that a late will case has exemplified this. COMTE, you know, was a _positive_ philosopher. He had a positive wife. She had a will of her own. He wrote a will of his own. Consequently, it got into court. Mme. COMTE it seems, who did not agree with the philosophy while the philosopher lived, wanted his MSS. after his death. Positively, the court did not see it in that light; and so the negative came out. It was a case of no go, or _non-ego_, as HEGEL might have called it. Did you ever read HEGEL? I didn't; and I advise you not to begin. It won't pay. I am told that he divided all things into Egos, She goes, and Non-egos, or No-goes. The latter particularly; So do I.

But to return to Spain; or rather to Paris. Don FRANÇOIS D'ASSISSI has, it appears, suddenly discovered that his wife is not Queen of Spain so much as she was. Much less so. So, he has found her company rather expensive than agreeable; and proposes to abdicate it. Not so _very_ much of an ass, is he? Bravo for Don FRANÇOIS!

In London, _to-morrow_ will be made famous in literature by _the_ great dinner in honor of the advent of PUNCHINELLO. Mr. PUNCH is talked of to preside. An unprecedented rush for tickets has begun. More about it in my next.

PRIME.

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Cutting.

We see extensively advertised the "Saxon Razor;" but have not yet summoned up sufficient courage to try this article, which "no gentleman's dressing-case should be without." We cannot dispossess our minds of the apprehension of cutting ourselves, remembering that line descriptive of the combat between FITZ-JAMES and RODERICK DHU, in which it is said, that,

"----thrice the Saxon blade drank blood."

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Musical.

The vocal abilities of hens are admitted; but they rarely attempt the Chro-matic scale.

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De Jure.

No man can now be a juror who knows any thing about the case which he is to try. Thus a juryman was challenged in the MCFARLAND case merely because he belonged to Dr. BELLOWS's church. It was held that he might possibly have got Wind of the matter while listening to the Doctor's discourse.

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BOOK NOTICES.

AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL. By LOUISA M. ALCOTT. Boston: ROBERTS BROTHERS. New-York: D. APPLETON & Co.

The author of "Little Women" seeks, and not without success, to draw from her "Old-Fashioned Girl" a contrast and a moral. She presents to our view two young ladies of opposite "styles." One is fresh and rural: the other isn't. The difference between country and city bringing-up is the point aimed at; and the difference is about as great as that between the warbling of woodside birds and the jingle of one of OFFENBACH'S tunes on a corner barrel-organ. The book is neatly set forth, with illustrations by Messrs. ROBERTS, BROTHERS, of Boston.

RED AS A ROSE IS SHE. By the author of "Cometh up as a Flower," etc. New-York: D. APPLETON & Co.

A readable book, notwithstanding that there are several naughty characters in it, or perhaps _because_ there are. Probably it depicts with truth the kind of society presented. If so, all the worse for society. Shall we never again have healthful, virtuous novels of the old school, such as "Tom Jones?" The book is published in tasteful form by Messrs. D. APPLETON & Co.