Chapter 1

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NEARLY READY.

ALASKA and its RESOURCES.

By W. H. DALL,

Director of the Scientific Corps of the Western Union Telegraph Expedition.

Full Octavo, with nearly One Hundred Elegant Illustrations, engraved by the late JOHN ANDREW, from drawings by the Author. This volume contains not only the record of a THREE YEARS residence in Alaska—made under the most favorable circumstances for explorations—but a complete history of the country gathered from every available source. It is very full in details of Productions, Climate, Soil, Temperature, Language, the Manners and Customs of its peoples, etc., etc.; and is the most valuable, as well as the most authentic, addition to the history of Alaska. And is one of the most elegant books issued in America.

LEE & SHEPARD, Boston. TO NEWS-DEALERS. PUNCHINELLO'S MONTHLY. THE FIVE NUMBERS FOR APRIL, Bound in a Handsome Cover, Will be ready May 2d. Price, Fifty Cents. THE TRADE Supplied by the AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, Who are now prepared to receive Orders. HARRISON BRADFORD & CO.'S STEEL PENS.

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PUNCHINELLO

Vol. I. No. 6.

SATURDAY, MAY 7, 1870.

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Illustration: YE YONGE MANNE OF MANHATTAN

Ye Yonge Manne is born, and his parents hasten with him to ye abode of ye BROWN, praying that he may be christened among ye upper tenne.

And when ye Yonge Manne takes a daughter of ye upper tenne to wife, ye BROWN sees that he is married in ye BROWN his church.

Ye BROWN demands if ye parents put in their coal in ye Summer time; and, being told that they do, he has ye Yonge Manne christened in his church, and when he grows up ye BROWN introduces him into Society.

And when ye Yonge Manne he dies, ye BROWN arranges with all ye gardeners and black-goods men. And so, ye Yonge Manne, he is done entirely BROWN.

THE BACHELOR'S MOVING-DAY.

AHA! A mere half-hour's bother! Suppose I were a father— A luckless wight, called "Pa"! I'd say, "Now curse the restless rover That first (despising clover!) Invented Moving-day!" O yes! Especially, if moving Was likely to be proving (As usual) a mess! Why, look! You've got no end of articles. Sure to be smashed to particles, Or "snaked off" with a "hook"! You've got Chairs, bedsteads, tables, crockery— (Recital seems a mockery!) You've got—what have you not? What's worse, Your things won't fit new places, Your wife won't like new faces— Your very maid will curse! Your hat And other things _do_ fall so! And children they _do_ bawl so! Good heavens! think of that, And think Of possible colds and fevers— Cartmen that prove deceivers— Nothing to eat or drink! Small bliss For bachelors so lonely—. Tired of one thing only: But they escape all this! And pray, What man with sons and daughters Don't sigh for bachelor quarters About the First of May?

Printed, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by the PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York.

THE DELIGHTS OF DOUGHERTY.

At the Banquet of the Army of the Potomac in Philadelphia, Mr. DANIEL DOUGHERTY made one of the most extraordinary speeches on record, if we except certain forensic efforts of Mr. PUNCHINELLO delivered during the earlier stages of his career from his box. Mr. DOUGHERTY is a Soarer, and a Spreader, and a Screamer. Speaking metaphorically, be goes higher, measures more from the tip of one wing to the other, and is more suggestive of the warbling of a locomotive in his speech than any other Eagle in Philadelphia, which is saying a great deal. DANIEL is a Giant of Rhetoric, and would remind us of the Big Gentleman from Cardiff, only that mysterious personage is too heavy to Soar; for which reason he usually occupies the ground floor, which Mr. DOUGHERTY does not do by any manner of means.

It was this extraordinary capacity of Mr. DOUGHERTY for Soaring which caused him to be called upon by the Army of the Potomac for a speech. The great D. begins by declaring that he would rather speak for his country than for Pennsylvania, which, considering that he also declared that he came "as a modest spectator," does not strike us as the depth of humility. However, "my bosom," said Mr. D., "is not confined to any locality;" and we believe that Mr. PECKSNIFF said something like this of his own frontal linen. Yet, we should like to know what Mr. DOUGHERTY does for a chest when his own has gone upon its extensive journeys; something temporary is done, we suppose, with a pad. But the Bosom was at the Banquet, and the proprietor was there to thump it, until it must have sounded and reverberated; and if Mr. DOUGHERTY had also thumped his head, there would have been equal evidence of hollowness within. "May my tongue never prove a traitor!" cried the orator. Mr. PUNCHINELLO hastens to reassure him. The tongue is well enough, and is likely to be. It's something a little higher up that is likely to give out.

If the applause of the brave men before him was what Mr. DOUGHERTY wanted, (besides his dinner,) then of applause he got the Stomach under his Bosom full. The speech was received, according to the reporters, with a roaring which has not been equalled since the Lions in the Den roared at the other DANIEL, until they found that the good man was neither to be roared or sneezed at with impunity. The cheering was "tremendous." The cheering was "terrific." The cheering was "prolonged." And there stood "the Bosom not confined to any locality," but just then swelling, and expanding, and dilating—shall we for once be fine, and say like an Ocean Billow? Voices which shouted at Gettysburg now hailed Mr. DANIEL DOUGHERTY as a Conquering Hero—the conqueror of their cars! Once in a while there was "great laughter" when Mr. D.D. hadn't said any thing specially funny—that is, if Mr. PUNCHINELLO is a judge of fun; and if he isn't, who in all the world is? There are two kinds of laughter—the laughing at and the laughing with; and we have known "tremendous" and even "vociferous" applause to be very suspicious.

It must be a source of calm satisfaction to General GRANT to know that he is considered the "great and glorious GRANT" by Mr. DANIEL DOUGHERTY; although DANIEL once considered Mr. BUCHANAN, poor man! to be equally "great and glorious." So DANIEL also considers SHERMAN to be "immortal," and SHERIDAN "unconquerable," and MEADE "glorious." Adjectives are cheap, you know; and D.D., Esq., has evidently a great stock of them in his Wandering Bosom. Only, great soldiers, who know the precise value of Mr. DOUGHERTY'S military opinions, might not care to have them laid on too thickly.

Mr. PUNCHINELLO has written to Mr. DOUGHERTY'S Family Doctor to inquire into the state of Mr. D's health after this tremendous effort, and he sends us a bulletin that Mr. D. is "as well as could be expected." We do not know what he means by this; it seems to us to lack scientific precision. The point upon which we wished to be informed was, whether Mr. D. did or did not break any thing—not the tumblers on the table, for that we should expect; but any thing in the way of blood-vessels. Not to put too fine a point upon it, How's the Bosom?

AMERICAN CUTLERY IN FRANCE.

The great pride, the _dulce decus_ of Americans, has long been in their pocket hardware, and the skill with which they use it. But we must henceforth look to our laurels. France is competing alarmingly with us in the use of the revolver. They were always a revolutionary people, were the French, and revolving seems, therefore, to suit their temper to a T, (Gunpowder T, of course.) Since the slaying of NOIR by BONAPARTE, the affectation of readiness with the pistol has become quite the thing in Paris. New-York and Paris will soon be exactly alike in the bullet business—especially Paris. PAUL DE CASSAGNAC, it seems, has been invited by some anonymous person to meet him at a certain hour in front of the _mairie_ of the Seventeenth _arrondissement_, for the purpose of having his brains removed with a revolver. PAUL declined to go, however. The _Mairie_ mentioned in the cartel was not the one for PAUL. Probably he would have gone to VIRGINIA, had he been invited to do so; but never a MAIRIE for the faithful PAUL. And might have come by way of New-York, where he would soon have grown so used to having his brains removed with a revolver that the process would have become a pleasure to him.

PHILADELVINGS.

PUNCHINELLO cannot help liking Philadelphia, and always feels a pang of sympathy whenever any thing happens to that plain old city. One reason for this is, (and he is not ashamed of the weakness,) that Philadelphia likes PUNCHINELLO and takes, weekly, he would not be vain enough to say how many hundred copies of his journal. And now Philamaclink, as her natives love to call her, is afflicted with a terrible disease—a fearful attack of chronic Legislature. Even when the active symptoms of this dread malady have subsided, the effects linger, and the consequent suffering is excruciating. One of the direst of the effects of the last attack is a dreadful bill—not a bile—which has caused a utilization sewage company to appear upon her body corporate. It is almost impossible for sister cities to understand the torments of such an affliction. Nobody can now clear away their own dirt—Councils, Board of Health, or any body else. If rooms are swept, the sewage company must take up the dust; if a pig-pen or a stable needs cleaning, the company must do it; if the lady of a house throws the slops out of her breakfast cups, the company must carry them away; if a man knocks the ashes from his cigar, he must save them for the company; if, anywhere in the city, a foul word is spoken, the company must have the benefit of it. Even the birds in the squares must not cleanse their nests without a printed permit from the company. If a bedstead is cleaned, the company must have the bugs. Only one dirty thing is safe from this all-powerful corporation, and that is the legisiative delegation from the city. If the refuse matter were taken from that, there would be nothing left. It has been proposed that the Legislature itself should be purified; but this idea is Utopian, PUNCHINELLO fears. If Niagara were squirted through its halls, the water would be dirtied, but the halls would not be cleansed. Alas, poor city! Trampled under the heels of the aristocratic HONG and PENNY BUNN, what is there to hope for it?

But all has not been told. There are about eight hundred thousand inhabitants in the place. Some twenty thousand of these owe small sums for unpaid taxes, averaging about nine and a quarter cents to a man. To collect these sums, an army of seventy-two thousand able-bodied men, at salaries of one thousand dollars per annum, has been commissioned by the PENNY BUNN Legislature.

Alas, poor city! But all has not been told. A private firm has prevailed upon the imbecile old farmers from the western and interior counties to give them the right to build a private freight railroad through many of the principal streets of the Quaker City. This road will run through several school-house yards, and the time-tables are to be so arranged that trains shall always be due at those points at recess time. Every fiftieth private house along the lines is to have a road-station and freight-depot in its front-parlor, and all male residents on said routes are to serve in turn, without pay, as brakesmen and switch-tenders. The owners of all vehicles injured by the trains are to be heavily fined, and the families of individuals allowing themselves to be killed are to be mulcted in heavy damages.

Alas, poor city! But all has not yet been told. A counterfeit tax-bill has been passed by the Legislature. All the sums handed in to the State Treasury by the tax collectors have been found to be "bogus" money. This action has been indorsed by the Legislature, and the action of that body is hereafter to be of the same character as the funds paid in by its creatures.

Alas, poor city! But all has not yet been told. Colonel FORNEY intends resuming his "Occasional" letters in the _Press!_

Enough! Humanity can bear no more.

Query by a Constitutional Student.

When the Governor or President V-toes a bill, is he supposed to put his foot on it?

THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.

SPECTACLES are proverbially fit for old eyes. Probably that is the reason why the spectacle of the _Twelve Temptations_ is so dear to the aged eyes of the gray-haired old gentlemen who occupy the front seats at the Grand Opera House. It is certainly a brilliant spectacle, though, like the ideal scene to which Mrs. NICKLEBY's eccentric and vegetarian lover once referred, it consists principally of "gas and gaiters." Not that it is exclusively an Old Folks' entertainment; for, as the critics say of portentously dull juvenile books, "it will be found as interesting to the young as to the old." Though the dullest of dramas, it is so brightened by brilliant legs that it dazzles every beholder. Why, then, should the stern advocate of the legitimate drama refuse to acknowledge that the _Twelve Temptations_ has its redeeming legs? How runs the ancient proverb, "Singed milk is better than it looks;" or that equally ancient philosophical maxim, "There is no use in crying over spilt cats"? The stupid story of ULRIC'S folly is made more attractive than one would suppose that it could be, and we need not weep over the fact that it is a spectacle, and not a SHAKESPEAREAN tragedy.

The bold explorers who have reached the remote Opera House, fought their way past the misanthropic door-keeper, and gained their seats, are first reduced to a state of mental chaos by the performance of a maddening overture, and are then fitted to appreciate the play, which proceeds after the following pattern:

_Act 1. Curtain rises upon a score of Unintelligible Demons_, who sing this impressive chorus:

"Oh! um um um um For um um um um And um um um um To um um um um."

_Exeunt Demons. Enter_ RUDOLPH THE TEMPTER. _He remarks to the surrounding scenery_—"ULLERIC'S soul must be mine, or else the dark abodes of torment await me. I will tempt him. Great Master, appear."

_The Great Master—a major-general of fiends—appears, and, approving of_ RUDOLPH'S _virtuous resolve, they descend to—well, they descend below the Erie Building, to drink to his success. Scene changes to_ ULRIC'S _home. Enter_ ULRIC _and family, including Aged Mother, Virtuous Heroine, Hated Rival, and Demoniac Servant._

ULRIC. "Motherr, this slife is intollerrabble; I will do any thing to escape frrrom it."

_Enter_ RUDOLPH _and Unintelligible Demons (disguised.) They sing as before._

"Oh! um um um um," etc.

ULRIC. "The song says terruly. I will go with you, though you were the fiend himself."

_Consternation on the part of every one. Demoniac Servant remarks, "Ha! ha!"_ ULRIC _and the Demons sink through the floor. Scene changes to the Studio of Eblis._

RUDOLPH. "Take this collar. Behold these stripes painted upon it. Whatever you wish you shall have at the price of five years of your life. A stripe will vanish each time your wish is gratified. (_Aside._) The stripes are only cloth, you know, and you can pull 'em off when your back is turned to the audience. Is it a bargain?"

ULRIC. "It 'er is." (_Malignant crash from the orchestra._)

RUDOLPH. "ULLERIC, 'tis well. Now thou shall behold our sports."

_Enter ballet girls, dressed in red gaiters and torches. They dance the Demon Cancan, waving their torches and scattering the flames. Old Gentleman, in the front row hears such charming little asides as, "Drat you,_ MARY SMITH, _you've burnt my hand." "I'll slap your face, Miss, if you step on my foot again." "O_ NELLY! _my hair's a-coming down."_

Curtain finally falls upon a blaze of light and a bewildering wealth of legs.

_Old Gentleman, in front row._ "Well, he! he! that's pretty good; he! he! Devilish pretty girls some of 'em; he! he!"

_Virtuous Matron._ "My dear, isn't it shameful. I never saw any thing so disgusting."

_Sceptical Husband._ "Then perhaps we'd better go at once."

_Virtuous Matron._ "N—no. I'll sit through one more act, and see if it gets any worse."

_Fast Young Man._ "They're all padded, you know. You can't feel sure about one of 'em. There were gals in the _Crook_ who used to pad their's from here to here"—(_adds explanatory pantomime._)

_Travelled Man, who has been to Paris._ "These girls can't dance, I assure you. Now, at the Châtelet they do these things differently."

_Admiring Friend to Travelled Man._ "What spectacles did you see at the Châtelet?"

_Travelled Man,_ (who was in Paris only two days, and never saw even the outside of the theatre.) "It was—let me see—Oh! _Moses in Egypt_ was the name of the piece. It was gorgeous; full of Egyptian scenery, and Egyptian dancing girls and things."

_Admiring Friend, (with aggravating persistence.)_ "Do you mean Rossini's _Moses_?"

_Travelled Man, (quite desperate.)_ "Of course! He's the rival of OFFENBACH, you know. But come, let's go and take something."

(_They go, the faith of the Admiring Friend in the Travelled Man's veracity being, however, perceptibly shaken._)