You are here

قراءة كتاب Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 35, November 26, 1870

تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"

‏اللغة: English
Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 35, November 26, 1870

Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 35, November 26, 1870

تقييمك:
0
No votes yet
المؤلف:
دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 1


CONANT'S

PATENT BINDERS

FOR

"PUNCHINELLO,"

to preserve the paper for binding, will be sent post-paid, on receipt of One Dollar, by



PUNCHINELLO

PUBLISHING COMPANY,

83 Nassau Street, New York City.

We will Mail Free

A COVER
Lettered & Stamped,
with New Title Page

FOR BINDING

FIRST VOLUME,

On Receipt of 50 Cents,

OR THE

TITLE PAGE ALONE, FREE,

On application to

PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING CO.,

83 Nassau Street.

HARRISON BRADFORD & CO.'S

STEEL PENS.

These pens are of a finer quality, more durable, and cheaper than any other Pen in the market. Special attention is called to the following grades, as being better suited for business purposes than any Pen manufactured. The

"505," "22," and the "Anti-Corrosive."

We recommend for bank and office use.

D. APPLETON & CO.,
Sole Agents for United States.

PUNCHINELLO

Vol. II. No. 35.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 26,1870.



PUBLISHED BY THE



PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,




83 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.



PRANG'S LATEST PUBLICATIONS: "Joy of Autumn," "Prairie Flowers," "Lake George," "West Point," "Beethoven," large and small.
PRANG'S CHROMOS sold in all Art Stores throughout the world.
PRANG'S ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE sent free on receipt of stamp,
L. PRANG & CO., Boston.

See 15th page for Extra Premiums.


Bound Volume

No. 1.


The first volume of PUNCHINELLO, ending with No. 26, September 24, 1870,

Bound in Extra Cloth,


is now ready for delivery,

PRICE $2.50.

Sent postpaid to any part of the United States on receipt of price.


A copy of the paper for one year, from October 1st, No. 27, and the Bound Volume (the latter prepaid,) will be sent to any subscriber for $5.50.


Three copies for one year, and three Bound Volumes, with an extra copy of Bound Volume, to any person sending us three subscriptions for $16.50.

One copy of paper for one year, with a fine chromo premium, for $4.00

Single copies, mailed free .10

Back numbers can always be supplied, as the paper is electrotyped.


Book canvassers will find
this volume a

Very Saleable Book.

Orders supplied at a very liberal discount.

All remittances should be made in

Post Office orders.

Canvassers wanted for the paper,

everywhere.

Address,

Punchinello Publishing Co.,

83 NASSAU ST.,

N. Y.

P.O. Box No, 2783.

APPLICATIONS FOR ADVERTISING IN

"PUNCHINELLO"

SHOULD BE ADDRESSED TO

JOHN NICKINSON,

Room No. 4,

No. 83 Nassau Street, N.Y.

FACTS FOR THE LADIES.

I have a Wheeler & Wilson machine (No. 289), bought of Mr. Gardner in 1853, he having used it a year. I have used it constantly, in shirt manufacturing as well as family sewing, sixteen years. My wife ran it four years, and earned between $700 and $800, besides doing her housework. I have never expended fifty cents on it for repairs. It is, to-day, in the best of order, stitching fine linen bosoms nicely. I started manufacturing shirts with this machine, and now have over one hundred of them in use. I have paid at least $3,000 for the stitching done by this old machine, and it will do as much now as any machine I have.

W.F. TAYLOR.

BERLIN, N.Y.

TO NEWS-DEALERS.

Punchinello's Monthly.

The Weekly Numbers for August,

Bound in a Handsome Cover,

Is now ready. Price, Fifty Cents.



THE TRADE


Supplied by the



AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY,


Who are now prepared to receive Orders.

GEO. B. BOWLEND,
Draughtsman & Designer,
No. 160 Fulton Street,
Room No. 11, NEW YORK.

HENRY L. STEPHENS,

ARTIST,

No. 160 FULTON STREET,
NEW YORK.

GEORGE WEVILL,

WOOD ENGRAVER,

208 BROADWAY,

NEW YORK.

FOLEY'S
GOLD PENS.

THE BEST AND CHEAPEST.
256 BROADWAY.

Bowling Green Savings-Bank


33 BROADWAY,

NEW YORK.

Open Every Day from

10 A.M. to 3 P.M.

Deposits of any sum, from Ten Cents
to Ten Thousand Dollars will be received
.

Six per Cent interest,
Free of Government Tax

INTEREST ON NEW DEPOSITS
Commences on the First of every Month.


HENRY SMITH, President

REEVES E. SELMES, Secretary.

WALTER ROCHE,
EDWARD HOGAN,
Vice-Presidents.

The only Journal of its kind in America!!

THE AMERICAN CHEMIST:

A MONTHLY JOURNAL
OF
THEORETICAL, ANALYTICAL AND TECHNICAL CHEMISTRY.

DEVOTED ESPECIALLY TO AMERICAN INTERESTS.

EDITED BY
Chas. F. Chandler, Ph.D., & W.H. Chandler.

The Proprietors and Publishers of THE AMERICAN CHEMIST, having purchased the subscription list and stock of the American reprint of the CHEMICAL NEWS, have decided to advance the interests of the American Chemical Science by the publication of a Journal which shall be a medium of communication for all practical, thinking, experimenting, and manufacturing scientific men throughout the country.

The columns of THE AMERICAN CHEMIST are open for the reception of original articles from any part of the country, subject to approval of the editor. Letters of inquiry on any points of interest within the scope of the Journal will receive prompt attention.

THE AMERICAN CHEMIST

Is a Journal of especial interest to

SCHOOLS AND MEN OF SCIENCE, TO COLLEGES, APOTHECARIES, DRUGGISTS, PHYSICIANS, ASSAYERS, DYERS, PHOTOGRAPHERS, MANUFACTURERS,

And all concerned in scientific pursuits.

Subscription, $5.00 per annum,
in advance; 50 cts. per number.
Specimen copies, 25 cts.

Address WILLIAM BALDWIN & CO.,
Publishers and Proprieters
424 Broome Street, New York






Entered, 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.






MAN AND WIVES.

A TRAVESTY.

BY MOSE SKINNER.

CHAPTER FIRST.

CROQUET.

A croquet party has assembled in Mrs. TIMOTHY LADLE'S front yard, located in one of the most romantic spots in that sylvan retreat, the State of Indiana.

"Who's going to play," did you say?

Come with me, and I'll introduce you.

This austere female, with such inflexible rigidity of form, such harrowing cork-screw curls, and chronic expression as of smelling something disagreeable, is Mrs. LADLE, the hostess. A widow. Her husband, the late TIMOTHY, was a New York detective. Amassing a competency, he emigrated to Indiana, became a Bank Director and Sunday-School Superintendent, and died beloved by all.

Produce your very best bow for Mrs. LADLE, and trot out your company talk, for she's in the mother-in-law business, and thoroughly up to snuff.

This old male party, with the remains of a luxuriant growth of very red hair, clinging fondly, like underbrush round a rock, to the sides of his head, with a seedy-looking patch far under the chin to match, whose limp dickey droops pensively as if seeking to crawl bodily into the embrace of the plaid gingham which encircles his neck, and in whose nose is embodied that rare vermilion tint which artists so love to dwell upon;—this is the Hon. MICHAEL LADLE, brother of the late TIMOTHY, a Western Member of Congress, and a grass widower.

This girl of the period, whose saucy black eyes bear down on you like a twenty-four gun frigate; looking as it were through you, and counting the hairs on the back of your neck, is Miss BELINDA LADLE, daughter of the deceased TIMOTHY, and step-daughter to the hostess who was TIM'S second matrimonial venture, you understand.

This young woman mounts a lager-beer cask, and stops the buzz of conversation by bringing her mallet down with a smart rap upon the head of the nearest bald-headed gentleman.

"Attention, company," said she—"Stand up straight, and look as well as you can.—Take—mallets."

While the guests are boisterously laughing, with that rare appreciation of refined humor peculiar to the West, Mrs. LADLE, the proper, attempts an indignant remonstrance, but is interrupted by the Hon. MICHAEL.

"Oh, let the little gal have her tantrums, sister-in-law," said he. "Mebbe you was young once, though nobody now living could swear to it."

"Come," interrupted BELINDA, "we've had gassin' enough. Choose your partners. Mildewed age, before infantile beauty. Mother-in-law, go in."

The extremely respectable and highly dignified female last alluded to shook her fist at BELINDA on the sly, and said:

"I'll take ANN BRUMMET."

The lady who stepped forward at this summons was greeted with a wide stare, and every eye-glass was focussed.

She was a remarkable-looking female. She wasn't exactly handsome, but there was a sort of a something about her, you understand, that—ah—riveted the gaze of folks generally, you see, and a fellow—ah—caught himself looking the second time, as you may say—and ah—it wasn't style either, for one shoulder was higher than the other, and her hair was done up in a bob, and she took awful long steps, and swung her arms as far as they would go each way; and her collar looked as though she'd slept in it, and she wore rubbers like a school-ma'am.

And you couldn't say 'twas regularity of features exactly, either, for her eyes were too limited in circumference, and her nose too numerous in diameter; and her mouth monopolized too much latitude, and she had a hair-mole on one cheek, and faint dawnings of a moustache on her upper lip. But in spite of these trivial eccentricities, you felt when you looked at her, as I said before—ah—a sort of—as it were—a—

By Jove, I can't describe it.

The general impression was that she was an heiress, and the comments were numerous.

"How graceful!" "Look at that swan-like neck!" "What a perfect form!" "What a dove-like expression!" "Do introduce me!" "Who is she?"

"She's a poor relation of Mrs. LADLE'S."

"There, I thought so!" "What an object!" "Forcing herself into genteel society, too!" "The audacity of these creatures is perfectly horrid."

It was BELINDA'S turn to choose next, and she pointed straight at the man she wanted, and said:

"JEFFRY MAULBOY."

It was natural she should choose him, for he was greatly respected by all present, and the ladies especially regarded him as simply a hero; for he was one of the Great Masters in the noble Art of Muscle.

Let me explain.

At the time of which I write, there had been a contest in the Universities of America between Brains and Muscle, and the latter had conquered. Brains were accounted a very good thing in their way, but what we want, sir, is Muscle. If a man can master his Greek, and his Latin, and his Theology, and his Law, and such frothy trifles between times, well and good, but he musn't neglect his Muscle.

And so base-ball clubs were organized, and the Long Heels challenged the Short Heels, and the leading journals published cards of defiance from the Knockers to the Hitters, together with labored editorials on the same. And boat-races and sculling matches were set on foot, and once a year the students repaired with their friends to a city afflicted with a lake, where, pending the contest, they organized a Reign of Terror, during which the harmless inhabitants locked themselves in their houses and clasped their offspring to their bosoms, or gazed terror-stricken from an attic-window upon the classical marauders below, as they indulged in a post-mortem examination of a private dwelling, or the rare pleasantry of roasting a policeman. But dared complain, for public excitement waxed high on the subject of Muscle.

And when the day arrived which was to decide the momentous question, the banks of the lake were decked with the beauty and culture of the land, and fair hands "staked their odds," and fair lips became familiar with "home-stretches," "spurts," and "fouls."

A body of students crossed the ocean to win a boat-race, and the public Press told us in very large capitals what they ate and drank, and the exact condition of a boil belonging to one of the party. But the heart of the nation beat high with hope, until the appalling intelligence was flashed across the wires that they were defeated. It was a cruel blow. Strong men looked at one another in mute agony, or spoke as if there was a corpse in the next room. The Press sent up a wail that resounded through the land. An eminent divine pronounced it a "National misfortune," and the pictorials containing wood-cuts of the lamented heroes were put away, as we put away the playthings of a child that has died.

No wonder that Mr. JEFFRY MAULBOY was looked up to and courted, for he had a medal bestowed upon him as a Champion Paddler, and had lost a bet of fifty dollars on the "Great International Contest."

But his towering ambition remained unsated. He realized that he lived in a progressive age, and his superior talents enabled

Pages