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twg_000000041900 | get beneath him for the fatal snap! Mr. P. sank with him! With admirable presence of mind he kept exactly even with the fish. [Illustration.] At last they reached the bottom. Mr. P. was nearly suffocated, but he determined that he would strangle rather than rise first. The shark endeavored to crawl under him, but Mr. P. clung to the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041901 | bottom. The fish then made a feint of rising, but, in an instant, Mr. P. had him around the waist! The affrighted shark darted to the surface, and Mr. P. inhaled at least a gallon of fresh air. Never before had oxygen tasted so good! On the surface the struggle was renewed, but Mr. P. always kept undermost. At last | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041902 | they rested from the contest, and lay panting on the surface of the water, glaring at each other. The shark, who was a master of _finesse_, swam out a little way, to where the water was deeper, and then slowly sank, intending, if Mr. P. followed him again to the bottom, to stay there long enough to drown the unfortunate | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041903 | man. But Mr. P. knew a trick worth two of that. _He didn't follow him at all_! He swam towards shore as fast as he could, and when the shark looked around, to see if he was coming, he was safe within the line of surf. Need it be said that when he reached dry laud, Mr. P. became a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041904 | hero with the crowds who had witnessed this heroic struggle? That evening, as Mr. P. sat upon the portico of his hotel, there came unto him, in the moonlight, a maiden of the latest fashion. "Sir," she softly murmured "are you the noble hero who overcame the shark?" Mr. P. looked up at her. Her soft eyes were dimmed with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041905 | irresponsible emotion. "I am," said he. The maiden stood motionless. Her whole frame was agitated by a secret struggle. At length she spoke. "Is there a Mrs. P.?" she softly said. Mr. P. arose. He grasped the back of his chair with trembling hand. His manly form quivered with a secret struggle. He looked upon her! He gazed for a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041906 | moment, with glowing, passionate eyes, upon that matchless form--upon that angelic face, and then--he clasped his brows in hopeless agony. Stepping back, he gave the maiden one glance of wildest love, followed by another of bitterest despair; and sank helpless into his chair. [Illustration.] The maiden leaned, pale and trembling, against a pillar; but hearing the approach of intruders, she | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041907 | recovered herself with an effort. "Farewell," she whispered. "I know! I know! There _is_ a Mrs. P.!"--and she was gone. Mr. P. arose and slipped out into the night, shaken by a secret struggle. He laid upon the sand and kicked up his heels. _There isn't any_ Mrs. P.! Mr. P. does not wish to sweep his hand rudely o'er | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041908 | the tender chords of any heart, but he wants it known that he is neither to be snapped up by sharks in the sea, or by young women at watering places. * * * * * A DOG'S TALE. Dogmatic. I am only a dog, I admit; but do you suppose dogs have no feeling? I guess if you were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041909 | kicked out of every door-way you ran into, and driven away from every meat stand or grocery you happened to smell around, you would think you had feelings. When I see some dogs riding in carriages, looking so grandly out of the windows, or others walking along proudly by the side of their owners, I have a feeling of dislike | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041910 | for the very thought of liberty! I sometimes go with the crowd to a lecture-room, and listen to the speeches about freedom and liberty, the hatred of bondage, and all that sort of thing. I get my tail up, and wish I could tell them what liberty really is. There is nothing worse in the world than this running around | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041911 | loose, with no one to look after you, and no one for you to look after; no one to notice you when you wag your tail, and to have no occasion for so doing. You go out and you come in, and nobody cares. If you never come back, no one troubles himself about you. Every day I hear men | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041912 | reading in the papers about some lucky dogs having strayed, or having been stolen, a large reward being offered for their recovery: and I envy each lost dog! I wonder who would advertise for me if I got lost! Alas! no one. They would not give me a bone to bring me back, or to keep me from drowning myself. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041913 | But every boy in the street thinks he has a right to throw stones at me; and tie tin-kettles to my tail; and chase me when I have had the good luck to find a bone; and to set big dogs upon me to worry me when I am faint from hunger and haven't much pluck; and worse than all, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041914 | chase me and cry "Ki-yi," when I am almost dying of thirst! If you only knew how hard it is for a poor dog to make his way in the world, with no one to help him to a mouthful of food, you would feel sorry for us. But I think we might get along better if it wasn't for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041915 | the scarcity of water. I hardly know a spot in the city where I can get a drink; and many a time I have gone all day without a drop. If I happen to hang out my tongue and droop my tail, my ears are saluted with "Mad dog! Let's kill him!" You need not wonder I sometimes turn round, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041916 | and snap at my pursuers. I think you would snap, too, if you were chased through street and lane and alley, till your blood was in a perfect fever, and you hardly knew which way you were running! I have, on many such occasions, actually run past a beautiful bone that lay handy on the side-walk, and never stopped to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041917 | smell it. Oh! I wish some one would take me prisoner, and continue to own me, and keep me in bondage as long as I lived! I should only be too happy to give up my liberty, and settle down and be a respectable dog! * * * * * A Bute-Iful Idea. The Marquis of Bute denies that he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041918 | is going to return to the Protestant fold. With reference to the rumor, the Pope stated in the Ecumenical Council that "the Bute was on the right leg at last, and that he would launch his thunder against him who should dare that Bute displace." * * * * * WHAT IS IT? As the shades of night descend (in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041919 | the neighborhood of Mecklenburg, N.C.,) and harmless domestic animals begin to compose themselves to sleep, suddenly the drowsy world is awakened by a roaring like that of a lion! It proceeds from the forest, in whose bosky recesses (as the Mecklenburgers suppose) some terrible creature proclaims his hunger and his inclination to appease it with human flesh! All night long | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041920 | the quaking denizens of that hamlet lie and listen to the roaring, which is an effectual preventive of drowsiness, as the moment any one begins to be seized with it he also begins to fancy he is about to be seized and deglutinated by the horrid monster! Naturalists are positive it is not the Gyascutis, but admit that a Megatherium | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041921 | may have lately awakened from the magnetic sleep of ages, with the pangs of a mighty hunger tearing his wasted viscera. If our theory is correct, the good people of Mecklenburg (was it not in Mecklenburg that the agitation for Independence began?) may be assured that deliverance from this unreasonable Dragon is possible. We think it more than likely that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041922 | it is simply GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN practicing for the next invasion of Great Britain. Nothing could be more harmless. One Ku-Kluxian youth, armed with a double-barrelled shot-gun, four bowie-knives, and a number of revolvers, could rout him instantly, and even check the flow of his vociferous eloquence so suddenly as to put him in imminent danger of asphyxia. * * | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041923 | * * * [Illustration: RETRIBUTION. THE BOYS OF SAN FRANCISCO, EXASPERATED AT THE CONVERSION OF THEIR DOGS INTO PIE, TIE KETTLES TO THE TAILS OF THE CHINAMEN.] * * * * * Giving the Cue. "Is that one of your Chinese _belles_? asked Mr. PUNCHINELLO of Mr. KOOPMAN-SCHOOP, as one of the newly-imported yallagals passed. "Yes," replied Mr. K. "You | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041924 | can always tell a Chinese bell from a Chinese gong by the bell-pull attached to it." Mr. P. immediately presented his _chapeau_ to Mr. K. * * * * * HINTS FOR--THOSE WHO WILL TAKE THEM. Mr. PUNCHINELLO: Your invaluable "Hints for the Family," published some time since, seem destined to work a revolution in our domestic economy; as the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041925 | plans you propose must win the admiration of housekeepers by their extreme simplicity, aside from any other motives to their adoption. I have myself tested several of your methods, and find that you speak from thorough and circumstantial knowledge of your subject In bread-making, for instance, we find that when the cat reposes in the dough, it (the dough) will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041926 | not rise, though the cat does. But in the clock manufacture, we fear you have divulged one of the secrets of the trade. Your little invention for carrying a thread should be recommended to students and other isolated beings, notwithstanding their unaccountable propensity to pierce other substances than the cloth. They would find driving the needle through much facilitated by | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041927 | a skilful use of the table formerly described. Permit me to make a few additional suggestions. Get some worsted and a pair of needles; set up from twenty to forty stitches, more or less, and knit till you are tired. When finished--(the knitting)--draw out the needles and bite off the thread. You will thus have made an elegant lamp-mat, of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041928 | the same color as the worsted, and the very thing for a Christmas present to your grandmother. This is a very graceful employment, and a great favorite with ladies; in fact, some ladies seem so infatuated with work of that kind, that, according to the new theory of the Future, a fruition of fancy-work will be amongst their other blissful | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041929 | realizations. And so, after surveying Deacon QUIRK'S spiritual potato fields, or perhaps some fresh (spiritual) manifestation of Miss PHELPS'S piety and intelligence, we may have the pleasure of seeing the sun and moon hung with tidies, and a lamp-mat under each star. Take your rejected sketches and compositions, cut them in strips two or three inches wide, and as long | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041930 | as the paper will permit. Fold these strips lengthwise as narrow as possible, and smooth the edges down flat with your finger. When finished, or perhaps before, you will find you have made a bunch of excellent lamp-lighters. Get a suit of clothes--broadcloth is the best--and a pair of boots to stand them in. Button the coat, and insert in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041931 | the neck any vegetable you choose, so that it be large enough, (one of the drum-head species is the best,) and finish with a hat You will then find, doubtless to your surprise and delight, that you have a man, or an excellent substitute for one, equal, if not superior to the genuine article, warranted to be always pleased with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041932 | his dinner, and never, necessarily, in the way. Some people may object to its lack of intelligence, as compared with the original, but careful investigation has shown that the difference is very slight; yet, admitting even this to be a positive fault, it is amply counterbalanced by negative merits. Your correspondent who writes about "The Real Estate of Woman," will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041933 | be relieved to find that the threatened dearth in husbands can be so readily obviated. Very truly, ANN O. BLUE. * * * * * For Singers, Only. What is the best wine for the voice? Canary. * * * * * A Chop-House Aphorism. Customers who fee waiters may always be sure of their Feed. * * * * | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041934 | * Washy. The daily papers tell us that "Sixty-Eight Thousand persons visited the public baths during last week." They went in--a week lot--and came out sixty-eight thousand strong. * * * * * Constructive Genius. "A poor woman in Utica, who owns three houses and is building another, sends her children into the streets daily to beg." Quite right. While | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041935 | the youngsters beg in the streets, let the enterprising old lady go on and begin another house. * * * * * A Result of the Mongol. Owing to the influx of Chinamen into this country, the edict against allowing dogs to run at large during the Summer has been relaxed. * * * * * [Illustration: BOMBASTES BONAPARTE: NOW | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041936 | PERFORMING AT THE THEATRE FRANCAIS. "He who would these Boots displace Must meet BOMBASTES face to face."] * * * * * [Illustration: THE NEW PANDORA'S BOX. REPRESENTATIVE MANUFACTURER, (_springing open Chinese surprise box_.)--"THERE!--WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT LITTLE JOKER?" KNIGHT OF ST. CRISPIN.--"PSHAW! THAT'S A MEAN TRICK: WAIT TILL I OPEN _MY_ BOX!"] * * * * * | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041937 | HIRAM GREEN ON THE CHINESE. He write a letter to the North Adams Shoe Manufacturer.--New Occupation for the "Coming Man." NSBORO, NYE ONTO VARMONT, _July the 11th_, -_Seventy_. MISTER SAMPSON: Selestial sir:--I take my goose quil in hand to rite you a letter. I like your stile--you soot me. I myself have been an old Statesman, having served my country | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041938 | for years as Gustise of the Peece, raisin' sed offis to a higher standard than usual, as well as raisin' an interestin' family of eleven healthy children. Upon the linements of their countenance the features and stamp of GREEN stands out in bold relief. They are all genuine Green-bax. A little cloud no bigger than a man's hand made its | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041939 | appearance over the golden streets of San Francisco. It is growin' bigger, and afore we know it, will be bigger than a white elefant. You have ceased the dilemer by the horn which hangs suspended from the dilemer's head, like the tail of a kite. While you have set the Chinees peggin' away puttin' bottoms on shoes, a great many | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041940 | are peggin' away "putin' a head onto you." In the present statis of things you want to blow up your nerve, and stand as firm as the rox of Jiberalter, and like BYRON exclaim: "To be or not to be, there's the question;-- Whether a man feels better to pay big wages for shoemakers, Or to suffer the slings and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041941 | arrows of everybody, By hirin' Pig-tails for / price?" Poleticians of the different churches don't endorse our Selestial brother. But, sir, I'll venter a few dollars, that if the children of the son--and dorter--leaned towards either party, he would be gobled up quicker'n scat, even if he come red hot from old LUCIFER, with a pocket full of free passes, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041942 | for the whole nashun, to the Infernal regions. That's so. A vote's a vote, if it comes from Greenland's coral strand or Afric's icy mountains. I feel a good deal towards you as a nabor of mine, named JOE BELCHER, once did. JOE likes his tod, and can punish as much gin and tansy as a New York alderman can, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041943 | when drinkin' at the sity's expense. JOE went to camp meetin' last week, and, I am pained to say it, JOSEF got drunker than a biled owl. While one of the brethern was preachin', JOE sot on a pine log tryin' to make out wether the preacher was a double-headed man, or whether men were holdin' forth. "Who'll stand up | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041944 | for the carpenter's Son?" sed the preacher. This made JOE look around. The question was again repeated. Again JOE looked around for an answer. Again the preacher said: "Who'll stand up for Him?" JOE by this time had got onto his feet, and was steadyin' himself by holdin' onto a tree, while he sung out: "I say (hic!) ole feller, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041945 | Ile stand up (hic!) for him, or any 'orrer man who hain't got any (hic!) more fren's than he has (hic!) in this 'ere crowd." I feel a good deal as JOE did. Anybody who hain't got any more frends than you have, Mr. SAMPSON, has my sympathy. For bringin' these _hily morril_ and _refined_ Monongohelians to Massachusetts is a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041946 | big feather in your cap, and you will receive your reward bime-bye. "The wages of sin is death." But the wages of a Chinyman is money in a man's pocket. They work cheap. I am trying to get the Chinese substituted for canal hosses. A man here by the name of SNYDER, who runs a canal Hoss to our Co., | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041947 | talks of sendin' for a lot. Won't they be bang up with their cues hitcht to a canal bote snakin' it along at the rate of a mile inside of hours. "G'lang! Tea leaf." Then when they was restin' from their labors, by tyin' of 'em together by their cues, stand one opposite the other and hang close between 'em | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041948 | to dry, on washin' day. What an aristocratic thing Chiny close-line posts would be. The only drawback that I know of is, that the confounded posts mite some day walk off with all the close. But, sir, if they served me in that manner, I would cover the ground with broken crockery by smashin' their old Chiny mugs for 'em. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041949 | Since you've awoken to _notorosity_, I have been studdyin' out your family pedigree. I find your Antsisters are connected with long hair more or less, same as you be with Chiny pig-tails. Old SAMPSON the first's strength, like your'n of to-day, lade in his long hair. He could cut off more heads, and slay more Fillistians with the jaw bone | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041950 | of a member of Congress than the President of these U.S. can by makin' a new deal in the Custom house department. And, sir, I reckon about these days, we are getting rather more of that same kind of jaw bone than is healthy. I am afrade not. Mrs. SAMPSON worked like a kag of apple sass in hot weather, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041951 | to find out where her old man's strength was. When she found out, what did she do? Why, she got a pair of sheep shears and cropped him closer'n a state prison bird, and tryin' to lift a house full of fokes, it fell onto him and smashed him. Like LOT'S wife, she'd orter been turned into a pillow of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041952 | salt, and then the pillow had orter been sewed up and cast into the sea. Another of the SAMPSONS wouldn't even chop off MARIAR ANTERNETTE'S head until her hair had been cut off, so he could peel her top-knot off slick and cleen. Lookin' back at these cheerful antsisters of your'n, it's no wonder you go in for long haired | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041953 | labor. It runs in the SAMPSON blood. The public is cussin' you from DANIEL to BEEBSHEBER, because you've brought a lot of modern Philistines to Massachusetts. Let 'em cus. That's their lay. Your'n is, to bild up a fortin, if Poor-houses for white laborers to live in is thicker in North Adams than goose pimples on a fever and ager | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041954 | sufferer's form. As old Grandma SAMPSON cut off her old man's long hair, so she could handle him in one of them little fireside scrimmages which we married fokes enjoy, so fokes would crop you, my hi toned old Joss stick. But I've writ more'n I intended to. I would like to have you come and make us a visit. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041955 | Bring along your wife, DELIAL. Tell her to bring her croshay work. Mrs. GREEN is interestin' company among wimmen. What MARIAR don't know about her nabors, don't happen. Then her veel pot-pies and ingin puddins are just rats. She can nock the spots off from any woman who wears a waterfall, gettin' up a good square meal. Anser soon, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041956 | don't forget to pay your own postige. Hopin' you are sound on the goose and able to enjoy your _Swi lager und Sweitzer_, I am thine, old hoss, HIRAM GREEN, Esq., Lait Gustise of the Peece. * * * * * TREATMENT FOR POTATO BUGS. Mr. CLARK JOHNSON, of Pendleton, Indiana, not at all discouraged by the signal failures of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041957 | many previous campaigns against the Bug, has entered the (potato) field with a new weapon, viz.: a mixture of Paris Green and Ashes. Applied frequently, as a Top Dressing, this gentle stimulant imparts a new energy to the vine, and also to the Bug, who thus becomes so vigorous, and at the same time restless, that an uncontrollable impulse seizes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041958 | him to visit the home of his ancestors, (Colorado.) Here, as is supposed by Mr. JOHNSON, the fictitious energy that had been supplied by the Mixture deserts the immigrant, who now settles down contentedly, nor ever roams again. As (owing to the present facilities of freighting, etc.,) the Potatoes of Pendleton may eventually find the New York market, which always | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041959 | invites the superior esculent, we would like to suggest to Mr. JOHNSON that this Mixture be administered to the Bug with a spoon, and not sprinkled promiscuously on the ground. We have drank Tea with a "green flavor," and found it comparatively innocuous; but Potatoes with a green flavor, (especially if flavored by the JOHNSONIAN method,) we should consider as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041960 | doubtful, to say the least. It is the general impression that there is nothing Green in Paris; but your house painter knows there is such a thing as Paris Green, and that it is the oxyde of copper. Therefore, should one eat many of the potatoes nourished as above, we should expect to see him gradually turning into a Bronze | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041961 | Statue--a fate which, unless he were particularly Greeky and nice-looking, we should wish to anticipate, if possible, in the interests of art. * * * * * [Illustration: MR. SWACHENBACKER, OF THE AIRY 'UN SOCIETY, CREATES A SENSATION AMONG THE LADY BATHERS AT "THE BRANCH," BY APPEARING AMONG THEM AS A MERMAN, WITH A REAL LOOKING-GLASS AND A FALSE TAIL.] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041962 | * * * * * Fashionable Intelligence. Two colors that once were fashionable in the Parisian _toilette_, viz.: BISMARCK brown and Prussian blue, are now excluded from court circles, by command of the Empress. * * * * * Weather or No. Most remarkable in the history of mathematics are the calculations published by the weather-prophet of the _Express_. Arithmetic | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041963 | turns pale when she glances at them, and, striking her multiplication table with her algebraic knuckles, demands to know why the _Express_ does not add a Cube-it to its THATCHER. * * * * * Comparative Industry. It is reported that "the journeymen lathers demand four dollars per day." As a question of comparative soap, the latherers will in due | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041964 | time strike too. The ultimatum will be-"Raise our pay or we drop the Razor." * * * * * "Omnibus Hoc," etc. What is the difference between theft in an omnibus and the second deal at cards? One is a Game of the Stage, and the other is a Stage of the Game. * * * * * OUR AGRICULTURAL | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041965 | COLUMN. Memorabilia of "What I Know About Farming." Profound subjects should be well meditated upon. A man may write about "New America," or "Spiritual Wives," or any such light and airy subject, without possessing much knowledge, or indulging in much thought, but he can't play such tricks upon Agriculture. She is very much like a donkey: unless you are thoroughly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041966 | acquainted with her playful ways, she will upset you in a quagmire. Perhaps it is due to my readers that I should say here that I have read a great many valuable treatises upon this subject, among which may be named, "Cometh up as a Flour," "Anatomy of Melon-cholly," "Sowing and Reaping," one thousand or two volumes of Patent Office | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041967 | Reports, and three or four bushels of "Proverbial Philosophy." I would also add, that I invariably remain awake on clear nights, and think out the ideas set down in this column. Probably you may not be able to find traces of all that labor here, but I assure you that those books are more familiar to me than is my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041968 | catechism. However, anybody who thinks he knows more about vegetables than I do, can send me a letter containing his information, and, if I don't cabbage it, I will plant it carefully in the bottom of the waste paper basket. We now proceed to consider. PAR'S NIPS. This vegetable always flourishes in a moist soil, though it generally has a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041969 | holy horror of _aqua pura_. Some of them are of an immense size; I have seen them fill a tumbler. Producers, however, generally charge more for the large ones than for the small. The size of the nip usually depends upon the par. It may be that your par's nip is extremely small, while JOHN SMITH'S par's nip is very | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041970 | large. Four fingers is, I believe, considered to be the regulation size. This vegetable is served up in a variety of forms. Some pars like it with milk; in that case it is generally "hung up." In the winter it is often called a sling or a punch; in the summer it is denominated a cobbler or a jew-lip. Perhaps | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041971 | it would be well for those who love it, to indulge in par's nip now, for some people say, that in the days of the "coming man" there will be no par's nips. It must be admitted that the father of a family, who indulges too freely in par's nip, is very likely to run to seed, and to plant | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041972 | himself in such unfruitful places as the gutter. If he be a young par, he may become a rake, and fork over his money, and then ho! for the alms-house. Numerous efforts have been made to suppress this vegetable, among which may be reckoned, "Father, dear Father, come home with me now," Brother GOUGH'S circus, and the parades of the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041973 | F.M.T.A.B. Societies. Maine and Vermont Neal together in the front rank of its opponents. In Boston they tried to suppress this vegetable, but, if you followed your par to a store and heard him order a cracker, you could smell par's nip. Among the mild varieties of this article may be mentioned benzine, camphene and kerosene; the next strongest kind | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041974 | is called Jersey lightning; but, if you desire par's nips in their most luxuriant form, go to Water street and try the species known as "rot-gut." * * * * * OUR PORTFOLIO. Poetry is the exclusive birthright of no age of people. The dirtiest Hindoo sings to his _fetish_ the songs of the Brahmin muse, with as keen a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041975 | relish as the most devout Christian does the hymns of Dr. WATTS. Melody comes of Heaven, and is a gift vouchsafed to all generations, and all kinds of men. In proof of this, let us adduce a single extract from the great epic of the Hawaiian poet, POPPOOFI, entitled "Ka Nani E!" Ka nani e! ka nani e! Alohi puni | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041976 | no Mai luna, a mai lalo nei, A ma na mea a pau. We would call the attention of our readers particularly to the sublime sentiment of the second line. "Alohi puni no," sings the peerless POPPOOFI, and where, in the pages of that other Oriental HOMER, the Persian HAFI, can be found anything half so magnificent? There may be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041977 | critics bigoted enough to think that the last line destroys the effect of the other three; but _we_ don't. PUNCHINELLO would much rather discover the good in a thing at any time, than go a-fishing on Sundays. It is not in the nature of a properly constituted human being to lay his hand upon his heart and chant: "Ka nani | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041978 | e! Ka nani e!" in the presence of his mother-in-law, without feeling that life is not so miserable as some people would make it out. In the words of ALEXANDER SELKIRK'S man FRIDAY: "_Palmam qui meruit ferat_." * * * * * THE PLAYS AND SHOWS. Emmet is a name which has heretofore been associated in the public mind with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041979 | the Negro Minstrel business. Certain weird barbaric melodies, which defy all laws of musical composition, but which haunt one like a dream of a lonely night on some wild African river, are said to have been written by "OLD EMMET." Is there any such person? Has any one actually seen "OLD EMMET" in the flesh, and with--say a high hat | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041980 | and a cotton umbrella? For my part I disbelieve in the popular theory of the origin of these EMMETIC melodies which stir one so strangely. They are not the work of any earthly song writer, but are born of some untuned Eolian harp played upon by uncertain breezes, that murmur the memory of tropical groves and sigh with the sadness | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041981 | of exile. There is no "OLD EMMET." If there is, let him be brought forward--not to be chucked out of the window, as Mrs. F.'s AUNT might suggest,--but to be thanked and wondered at as an inchoate OFFENBACH, who might, under other circumstances, have written an American opera-bouffe, or, better still, as a possible CHOPIN, who might have written a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041982 | second "March Funbre" as hopeless and desolate and fascinating as that of the despairing and poetic Pole. (I am coming to "FRITZ" in a moment, but I won't be hurried by any one.) As for JOSEPH K. EMMET, he is an undoubted reality. If you don't believe it, go to WALLACK'S and see him. Somebody discovered this EMMET in the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041983 | Pastoral privacy of the Bowery. Mr. GAYLER was made to write a play for him, and EMMET, the Bowery Minstrel, straightway became Mr. JOSEPH K. EMMET, the renowned impersonator of "FRITZ." He plays "FRITZ" at WALLACK'S every evening, and the entertainment is something of this nature. ACT I.--_Scene, the outside of Castle Garden. Enter baggage-smashers, emigrant-runners, aldermen, and other criminals_. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041984 | RUNNER. "There's a ship a' comin' up. I'll lay for the Dutchmen." BOBBIT. (_A concert-saloon manager_.) "There's a ship coming up. I'll lay for the Dutch girls." DISSOLUTE COLONEL. "There's a ship coming up. I want you two fellows to look out for a Dutchman named "FRITZ," who is onboard. He takes care of a girl, KATRINA, whom I adore. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041985 | Carry off FRITZ and I'll carry off the girl." (_Various emigrants enter and are hustled off by the runners_. FRITZ _and_ KATRINA _finally appear_.) FRITZ. "Ja. Das ist gut. Ach himmel; zwei bier und Limburger." (_The runners seize his trunk and carry it off. The_ DISSOLUTE COLONEL _hurries_ KATRINA _into a coach and carries her off_. FRITZ _is carried away | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041986 | by his emotions. Curtain_.) ACT II.--_Scene, a boarding-house parlor. Enter_ DISSOLUTE COLONEL and KATRINA. DISSOLUTE COLONEL. "You are in my power. Be mine, and you shall have as many bonnets and things as you can wish. Refuse, and I'll send every reporter in the city to interview you." KATRINA. "Base villain! I despise you. Let the torturers do their worst." | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041987 | (_Enter_ FRITZ, _disguised as a member of the Sorosis_.) KATRINA. "You here! Be cautious. The hash is drugged. Save me, my beloved." FRITZ. "Ja. Das ist nicht gut. Herr Colonel, Ich bin KATRINA'S aunt. Ich habe gekommen to take her away wid me, ye owdacious spalpeen." DISSOLUTE COLONEL. "Glad to see you. Take some hash, madam?" FRITZ. "Ja. Das ist | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041988 | gut. Take some yourself, you murtherin' thafe of the worruld." (_The_ DISSOLUTE COLONEL _forgets that the hash is drugged. He takes it and falls insensible_. FRITZ _and_ KATRINA _escape. Scene changes to Judge_ DOWLING'S _court-room_.) FRITZ. (_Having left off his Sorosis disguise_.) "Ja. Das is nicht gut. Behold, O wise young judge, the misguided person who put my trunk in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041989 | his pocket and ran away with it." JUDGE. "Prove your case." FRITZ. "Ja. Das ist gut. Begar! I proves him _toute de suite_--what you call to wunst. You see those Limburger cheese in the villain's mouth. He got them out of my trunk. So you see I have him ein thief geproven." JUDGE. "Your case is proved. Let the prisoner | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041990 | be removed." FRITZ. "Ja. Das ist sehr gut. Now I'm a gwine to de saloon, where dis niggah has a ningagement for to sing." (_Scene changes to a concert saloon_. FRITZ _enters and goes through an entire programme of negro minstrelsy, to the wild delight of the gallery. At last the lazy curtain slowly consents to fall_.) ACT III.--The DISSOLUTE | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041991 | COLONEL _come to grief, and_ FRITZ _marries_ KATRINA. If you want to know all about it, go to the theatre. I don't intend to ruin the establishment by giving the public the whole play for the ridiculous sum which is charged for this copy of PUNCHINELLO. The third act is the last of the play, and when the curtain fells, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041992 | the audience immediately proceeds to pick EMMET to pieces. BOY IN THE GALLERY. "Ain't he just tip, though? I've seen him lots o' times at TONY PASTOR'S, and I allers knowed he'd be a big thing if the Bowery or thishyer theatre got a hold on him." YOUNG LADY. "Isn't it frightfully low? The idea of Mr. WALLACK permitting this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041993 | negro minstrelsy in his theatre. To be sure Mr. EMMET is funny; but I hate to see people funny in this place." OLD GENTLEMAN. "My dear! don't be absurd. Suppose Mr. EMMET has been a minstrel, is that any proof that he can't be an actor? The young fellow has his faults, but they will wear off in time, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041994 | he is brimful of real talent. The play isn't a model of excellence, but it was made to show EMMET'S strong points, and it answers its purpose. Shall we cry down a talented and promising young actor simply because he has been a minstrel, and now has the audacity to play at WALLACK'S? And besides, haven't we seen pantomime, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041995 | legs, and LOTTA, and DAN BRYANT at WALLACK'S? You never objected to any of the illegitimacies that have preceded FRITZ;--why then should you begin now? Give EMMET and GAYLER a chance. At any rate they can make you laugh, which is something that BOUCICAULT with his '_Lost at Sea_' did not do." MATADOR. * * * * * A PARABLE | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041996 | ABOUT THE TWELFTH OF JULY. In a far distant land, beyond the sea, there dwelt an Orange Lily. Separated from it by a very absurd and useless ditch, a Green Shamrock spread its trefoil leafage to the sun, and grew greener every day. Now, in course of time, a very ill feeling sprang up between the Lily and the Shamrock, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041997 | on account of color, the former despising the latter because it was green, and the latter hating the former because it was orange--as if both colors hadn't lived together in the rainbow ever since the aquatic excursion of old Mr. NOAH, without ever falling out of it or with each other. In time they both crossed the sea, and took | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041998 | root in a far-away land, where they became acquainted with a very remarkable animal called the American Beaver. The industry of this creature urged the Lily to toil and spin, contrary to its usual habits, while the Shamrock converted its trifoliated leaves into shovels, and took a contract for excavating the hemisphere. And so they might have jogged on very | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000041999 | well together, but for their stupid way of showing their colors when there was no occasion for it. This greatly disgusted their friend, the American Beaver, who didn't care a pinch of snuff about color, (black is not a color, you know,) but who went in for faithful and persistent work. One beautiful Twelfth of July, the Lily arose very | 60 | gutenberg |
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