Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 36, December 3, 1870

In all of these city parks the contrast between past and present is very striking and agreeable. But a few short months ago they were the domiciles and dormitories of outcast roughs and vagrants of the worst description, whose "'owls," as a Cockney explorer observed, "made night 'ideous." The only muss now common to them is the mus tribe, comprising the mus ratus, or ordinary rat (so called from its haunting ordinaries, we suppose), and the timid mouse, with which the Bird of Wisdom is contented to put up when the sparrows decline to come to his claw.

Central Park offers numerous attractions now to all who love to keep up their animal spirits by studying animal life. There is a fat little Asiatic pig there, who is the very picture of content. A red pig he is, and exceedingly well behaved. The best red pig, in fact, that we remember ever to have seen, beating the learned pig by several trumps and an ace. When we last saw him he was very busy with his pen, and our surmise was that his mind was fully occupied with arrangements for editing the works of BACON, or, possibly, those of HOGG.

The young elephant has increased immensely, since last year, in stature and girth. He is remarkably neat in his person, wisping himself all over with hay for hours at a time. Whether he does this for cleanliness or to obtain a flavor of elephant for the hay is doubtful, however, for he always eats it after having made use of it as a flesh-brush for a good while. Notices requesting visitors "not to feed or annoy the animals" are posted on the compartments. In the case of the elephant, though, it might be as well also to caution persons against making jokes about his trunk—a low kind of ribaldry in which every carpet-bagger, who never had one, seems to think himself bound to indulge.

There is a cinnamon bear in one of the outside cages, whose claws remind one sharply that cinnamon and cloves go together, and that clove is a tense of the verb "to cleave." But we do not want such a fellow as that to cleave to us, since it is evident that a grocer kind of brute than a cinnamon bear cannot be found in all the ursine family. "Sugar and spice, and all things nice," are stated in song to be the materials that "little girls are made of," but if we thought that cinnamon bear figured upon the list of groceries thus used for modelling young maidens, we would either fly to the desert with Dr. MARY WALKER or immure ourselves in a nunnery with SUSAN B. ANTHONY, and all the other females of the anti-sugar-and-spice persuasion.

Fattest of all the beasts in the Central Park collection is the larger of the two grizzly bears. From the easy way in which he takes life, he reminds one of a successful politician, who had worked his way up from being a slim and impecunious "repeater" to the position of Alderman, or Custom House official, and President of the Fat Men's Club. There is a drunken leer in this beast's eye, an inebriate roll in all his movements, that lead one mechanically to peer into the darkness of his den with the view of seeing what the Bar fixings are like. It would be a rare freak to treat the huge fellow to a cask of rum and sugar, and then stand by with a comic artist, and take down for PUNCHINELLO the traits of BRUIN the Grizzly on a "bender," and with all his repressed nature brought out by the strong drink.

"Carnivorium" is the word now properly applied by the Park authorities to the establishment in which the wild beasts are kept. That is, the term will be correct when applied only to the particular department allotted to the fierce flesh-devouring animals. At present camels are accommodated in the Carnivorium, and so are cows, which is a sort of slur upon the habits of these poor innocent vegetarians. The new word, however, is likely to find considerable extension, and if any provider for the public maw should choose hereafter to call his dining-saloon a Carnivorium, none would have a right to cavil at him on philological grounds, at least.

By and by the Park will have a new and sensational attraction. The antediluvian monsters of that great FRANKENSTEIN of the period, Mr. WATERHOUSE HAWKINS, will soon be advanced enough to "give fits" to the nursery-maids and their tender charges. Accipitrine in features as in name, Mr. HAWKINS is a living illustration of the Darwinian theory. Certainly his remote ancestors must have been of the falcon family. He revels in birds; though, when he cannot obtain those, he can put up with lizards, which he usually prefers manufactured, and of a length not less than from sixty to one hundred feet. This reminds us that a saurian of a hundred feet should not be confounded with a centipede.

It will be seen, then, that the landscape-gardens of our great city are in a fair way of being able to afford some illustrations for students of Natural History more interesting than the oyster-shells and old boots with which most of them have hitherto been stocked.

FRUIT FOR BALLOONISTS. Currents in the air

FASHION CORRESPONDENTS REPORT THAT "NETS ARE TO BE WORN MUCH LONGER." PUNCHINELLO SUGGESTS, THEN, THAT THEY MIGHT BE PROFITABLY ADAPTED FOR CATCHING FISH AS WELL AS BEAUX.

THE AVERAGE THANKSGIVING

NINE O'CLOCK A.MI'm thankful I was bright enough, this year,To have my turkey bought a week ahead!Oh, what a bird it is! 'Twas awful dear,—But, thank the Lord! the turkey's been well fed.TEN O'CLOCK A.MThere! I've forgot the oysters. Thank the Lord,There's time enough with early church; Old GRIMES,I hope, will pity us to-day; he's boredA hungry crowd so many, many times.ELEVEN O'CLOCK A.MOh, what a crowd! Hallo! Another man!Well, thank the Lord, 'twill be a change, at least;I s'pose he'll aggravate us all he can:And that's so easy just before a feast.TWELVE O'CLOCK MOh, what a bore! He's worse than Grimes by half;So slow!—That turkey will be done to rags!—I'm famished! I could eat the fatted calf.There! Thank the Lord! He's winding up; he fags.ONE P.MGive me the knife. Be quick, my love, be quick!I never was so hungry in my life!Well, thank the Lord, that tedious old stickDid let us off.—Oh, hang this carving-knife!TWO P.MI wish I had not eaten quite so much;But, really, the mince-pie was so prime!You gave it just the real, old, fancy touch.There! (Thank the Lord, I got the meat in time.)THREE P.MMy eyes! how sleepy I have grown since noon!Some wine or music, now, would make me gay;Come, ANNA, let us have a little tune—There! thank the Lord, there's no more work to-day.FOUR P.MWhat was it, ANNA? I was sound asleep;I rather think I had the nightmare, too.I feel half sick; cold chills around me creep.Well, thank the Lord, Thanksgiving is all through!

A Pen and an Inkling

A certain HERR BISSENGER, of Pforzhelm, has presented BISMARCK with a golden pen, set with jewels, with which to sign the treaty after the capture of Paris. Foresight is well enough in its way; but if the treaty which is to end this war is not a very different one from any BISMARCK has yet suggested, penning his signature to it will be merely a preliminary to his repentance for being so short-sighted as not to see that Sedan, not Paris, was the place at which to make a lasting peace.

A Chance for Metaphysicians to be Useful

The German metaphysicians who have been so long bothering the world with reports of their searches after the undiscoverable, should now exercise whatever skill they have gained in this pursuit, in looking for signs of republican protest in Germany against the growing tyranny of their Prussian masters. Such a course would do their own country good, and, if successful, would be most grateful to the rest of the world.

A Twist of the Cable

Telegrams per cable state that "VON DER TANN is retreating"—also that "a Prussian bark has been blown up."

Combining these two statements, we obtain an excellent quality of Tan Bark, which may or may not be suggestive of further "Hidings" of the Prussians by the French.

Grant-ed

Recent disclosures concerning the President's Cabinet would go to show that this piece of administrative furniture is a cabinet with Drawers.

Bad for their Health

Travel is so impeded by the terrible state of affairs at present existing in France, that the Prussians cannot take Tours.

New Occupation for the President

A display heading in the World of November 18th has the following astounding line:—

"GRANT cuts SCHURZ."

NONE THE BETTER FOR TOO MUCH NURSING.

Dr. W.G. Bryant.—"MR. KELLEY, THAT POOR CHILD PENNSYLVANIA HAS BEEN FED TOO EXCLUSIVELY WITH PIG-IRON PAP. SUPPOSE YOU TRY SOME OF MY FREE-TRADE MIXTURE, AND SEE IF THAT WON'T RESTORE IT TO HEALTH."

HIRAM GREEN SURPRISED

His Fellow-Citizens Present Him with a Silver Tea Service.

When the Hon. BILL SOOWARD allers gets home from a voyige, the sitezens of Auburn give him a warm recepshen.

When Goyenor HOFFMAN visits the home of his childhood days, a spontaneous bust of friendship throws her lovin embrace about him.

When a few sundry other peeple, whose names shall be nameless in this communication, have arroven to their long home on tother side of the River Sticks, they will get a recepshen so warm, that, settin on top a red hot koal stove and sokin their feet in a kittle full of b'iling water, will be full as cheerin to 'em as a Mint Jewlip is to an inhabitant of the Equinoxial line.

Recepshens and presentashens bein the order of the day, I took it into my head, a short time since, to have my feller sitizens of Skeansboro' give me some of it.

Consekently I hired 1/2 dozen of my nabors, whom I supposed wouldent make turnal fools of their selves, to call at the Old Green manshon with a crowd of peeple, at the hour when I was supposed to be to bed, for the purpuss of presentin me with a silver tea sarvice, which our Joowiler had lent me for the occasion. I writ up an impromptu speech, and practiced it for over a week, out in my barn, so as to be reddy for the cerprise.

My 3 oldest darters had agreed to be dressed up in white, representen the 3 graces—Faith, Hope, & Charity—and arrangin their selfs in a tabloo in the back parler, they was to throw open the foldin doors at a signal from me. I also tride to get my wife to rig up; says she:

"Me rig up? No, sir! I wouldent encourage sich a lot of tom foolery to save your consarned neck. And I know of a sartin Old Noosants who'l ketch Hail Columbia if he musses up these ere parlers to freely."

The noosants referred to was no doubt the undersined; I know it was.

Mariar was allers full of pet names, and this was one of them.

When she called me pet names, I dident stop to argue with her. It is no use; shee'l allers have the last word, if she sets up all nite for a week for it. You mite just as well try to make Bosting fokes think the hul United States don't resolve around Masserchussetts Bay and Bosting Common once every 24 times an hour, as to undertake to stop a womans clack when she gets on a talkin fit.

The appinted nite came, and I was standin behind the winder curten, peekin out the upper hall winder, anxiusly awaitin the arrival of the crowd.

All of a sudden a percession, hove in site, headed by a drum and fife. Their onsartin way of marchin, by gettin their legs mixed all up together, made me think that by the time they got up to my house, the painful duty would devolve on to me of goin down and getten their legs ontangled.

The fifer was continually mistakin his head for a drum stick, as he fell over and let it strike vilently agin the sheep skin head of the base drum. Whilst the drummer, hisself, was mistakin evry bodys head for his musikle instrument, as he dealt out blows rite and left, to all who come within hittin distance of his intossicated drum sticks.

Arrivin before my domisil, the leeder sung out and says:

"Now boys (hic!) let's rattle up bald head, (hic!) if old 2-and-ninepence don't (hic!) shell out with his 'freshments, we'll (hic!) smash this 'ere borrered tea sarvice over his (hic!) figger head." Sayin which he gives the door bell a yank, which was enuff to pull the roof off from over our heads.

Slippin on my red nite cap, I poked my head out of my winder, and in fained cerprise, Bays to 'em:

"My good peeple, what's the meanin of this demon-stration?"

"A lot of fellers, who you hired to come and pay you a visit, has got here. So come down and let us in, old hoss," says a voice.

I went down stairs, with doubts in my mind as to the way the thing would turn out.

Unboltin the door, the assemblige filed in. A casual glance convinced me that I was not receivin into the buzzum of my family manshon a deputashun from the Skeensboro Lodge of Good Templers, for a skalier lot of whiskey-soked human beins I never sot eyes on.

There was JOB BIGLER, who useter leed the Skeensboro brick meetin house quire, tryin to pick his teeth with the corner of a pictur-frame, while standin before the lookin glass was WILLYAM DUNBAR vainly endevorin to ascertain if he was the Siameese Twins, or else was the lookin-glass a double-plated one.

Old JIM SPENCER insisted on standin with his cow-hide butes on top the mahogony senter table, for the purpuss of presentin me with the tea sarvice, while his son-in-law had no sorter hesitation, whatsomever, of planten his muddy feet into my wife's work basket, which was settin on a stool in the sou'-west corner of the front room. Others had piled theirselfs in heeps, in various parts of the room, presentin a picter which JOHN B. GOFF could work up to sich an affectin pitch, that tears could be got out of the eyes of a perfessional grave-digger.

"SQUIRE GREEN, yer (hic!) feller sitisens, wishin to do the square thing by you, hereby (hic!) take this opportunity of presentin you with this (hic!) tea sarvice, which you hired down to GRIZ'LES jooliry (hic!) store, for this momentous occassion. Take it and be 'appy. Now trot out yer (hic!) benzeen," says SPENCER. At this pint I give the signle, and the foldin doors was throde quickly open, revealin my 3 gals in a classic tabloo. I then said:

"Feller Sitizens: When I say I'me hily pleased at this onexpected cerprise, I but reiterate the pent up feelins of an overflowin heart."—

"Oh, cork up on that ere spoutin, and sound yer supper bell," said JOE BIGLER, interuptin me. I again went on.

"As I casts my eyes about me, I see the smillen faces of my feller sitizens, who have been tride and not found wantin—"

"That's a lie! We are wantin some vittles, with a little (hic!) opedildock to wash her down. When you hired us to do this job, you (hic!) 'greed to fill up," says a voice.

I pertended as how I dident hear the raskle's insultin remarks, but I was secretly itchin to be a silent spectator to his funeral, and see his miserable carciss sunk down under about 6 foot of free sile. I continnered;

"You see before you, Faith, Hope & Charity, otherwise called the 3 graces," said I, pintin to my darters, who looked as sheepish as if they was jest let loose from a femail convenshun, or some other loonatick asylum.

"Yer cant cram that stuff down our gullets, no more'n I can stand on this sugar bole without mashin it" said a vile youth, ceasin the sugar bole from the silver tea sarvice and settin his foot onto it. "Them gals haint no more faith in hoops and charity, than I have that the french peeple can live under a Republican form of government." Said another chap: "Oh, no, old GREEN, them tow-headed maidens is your darters, JOHANNER, BETTY, and MARIAR, Jr."

"Leed us to the bankett halls," says some one else.

"Come, do as yer (hic!) 'greed, and give us some pirotecknicks," some one else yelled; at this juncture all was hollerin vociferously for vittles and whiskey.

I assure you, Mr. PUNCHINELLO, it was very affectin.

In fact, I don't believe there was a dry mouth in the crowd.

"I blush for every drunken soul of you," said I, wishing to get rid if em; "and I want you to understand this meetin is adjourned to sober off."

I noticed that the 3 graces had left the room, while the assemblage was vainly endeavorin to git hold of the silver tea sarvice.

Suddenly the back parler door was busted open, and Mrs. GREEN and my 3 gals rushed in with pans of hot water and broomsticks, and if ever I enjoyed seein a lot of people baptized, it was that ere crowd, who was a yellin "bloody murder," as the hot water made their hides curl up.

"Go It, My Sweet Dears," Said I, "Peel Off Their Skins, And You Shall All Have A Bran New Caliker Apiece To-Morrer Mornin."

Well, sir, in quicker time than I can write this, the house was cleared and the front door locked agin em; but my troubles had only just commenced, for I had, figerately speakin, jumped from the fryin pan into the fire.

"HIRAM GREEN," said MARIAR, backin me up into a corner, "you old sinner, you, look at that senter table, all scratched up with heels of a pair of drunken cow-hide butes. Look at my work basket; it looks as if a percession of hogs had been marchin into it.—See that nice rag carpet which took me over 6 months to make; what is it? eh! it's covered with old tabacker cuds, mud, segar stumps, broken whiskey bottles, and dish water. Haint you a sweet venerable head of a family? Haint you a saperb copy bound in calf, of ex-legal jewrisprudence?

"Presented you with a tea sarvice, did they? Oh! yool be the ruination of this family with your confounded efforts seekin arter fame. You—you—"

I dident wait to hear no more, but left the house with my feelins in a hily mixed up state. I have made up my mind to one thing, that if I ever get up another cerprise, I will hire good moral men, sich as editors, noosepaper men, and literary folks ginerally, whose conducts is above suspishon, to conduct the preceedins.When this you spy,

Remember HI,

Ewers, truly,

HIRAM GREEN, Esq.,

Lait Gustise of the Peece.

BABY'S PHOTOGRAPH.

SONG OF THE OYSTER.

"PUT ME IN MY LITTLE BED."

OUR PORTFOLIO

An Exciting Interview with King William.—"Seeing" Thiers and Going him Better.—The Influence of Monkeys In Diplomacy.

VERSAILLES, EIGHTH WEEK OF THE REPUBLIC, 1870.

"I don't believe a word of it," said the King, with an impatient stamp of the foot and a deprecatory wave of the hand—"not a word of it."

You see, dear PUNCHINELLO, the situation was thus: I had undertaken, not indeed without grave misgivings, to propitiate his Majesty, after the failure of the THIERS-BISMARCK negotiations, and, if possible, procure such terms as would save Parisians from the galling necessity of immolating the monkeys of the Jardin des Plantes to the popular demand for something to eat. I thought, as an American citizen and your correspondent, my propositions might have some chance of being favorably entertained, especially as I knew that the English Minister's presents of Stilton cheese and many dozens of BASS' bottled ale to BISMARCK had failed to prevent the current of the Chancellor's prejudice from running strongly in favor of Americans. Thus morally armed, and bearing in my pocket a passe-partout from Prussian Headquarters, I approached Versailles on the second evening after the departure of M. THIERS, and found the King occupying the apartment in the central pavilion of the palace, which had once been the sleeping-chamber of Louis XVI. and his unhappy spouse MARIE ANTOINETTE. Many alterations had taken place since I was last there and saw the wretched Queen from the balcony endeavoring to assuage the fierce mob that surged beneath. The room was not like the room in which I once helped Louis to pull off his boots, and the delicate perfume that usually pervades the apartments of French royalty had succumbed to the amalgamated odors of Schweitzer Kase and Saur Kraut.

"It is apparent, sire," said I to WILLIAM, who was sitting there "that Count BISMARCK has wholly misunderstood the situation in Paris."

"Not a bit of it," said the King; "don't I know well enough they've got down to two ounces a day for each man, and horse meat at that?

"You forget, sire, their vast supply of asses."

"Do I, indeed? when they've done nothing but develop an unlimited number of them ever since the war began."

I had an idea then that his majesty must have meant this for sarcasm though my own experience told me that it was only too true; and it also occurred to me that I was not in my true station as the representative of a government of "asses." Nothing but a stern sense of duty prevented me from clearing out at once under this last harrowing reflection. Accordingly, I returned to the charge with diminished vigor, assuring the King that if his army kept on blockading Paris in this cruel sort of way, the population would soon be dying by thousands. It was very strange why he wouldn't draw off his troops. What did he want with Paris? What had Paris done to him? Weren't there plenty of other cities in this world that didn't care a cent how much he bombarded them? (I began to think that possibly I might be growing childish in my method of stating the case, but it was only a momentary weakness that made me think so.) Where was Tyre? Let him go and bombard Tyre. Nobody cares for Tyre now. Where was Sidon? If he wanted to throw away his ammunition, let him "go" for Sidon. Where was Tuckahoo, New Jersey? Would New York care if Tuckahoo was reduced to the level of its original swamp? Moreover, there were lots of cities away off in China, yearning to have the rays of modern civilization let into them. Would it be anything out of his way to travel in that direction with a few big KRUPP guns, and give civilization a fair opening to get in at? Wasn't it cowardly to be punching all the time at one poor, miserable little town like Paris, that ain't big enough to help itself, and wouldn't have done the same by him no matter if it got ever so many high old chances? "Think of it, oh! think of it, my royal brother," I said, laying a hand on each of his royal shoulders. He took my hands off, and told BISMARCK to bring him a wisp-broom. It was a cruel insult, but I stood unmoved in the midst of it. "Perhaps at some future hour and place, Your Majesty, we may meet under different circumstances." That was a proposition he exhibited no disposition to deny. At this juncture a courier arrived from the front, breathless with excitement, and speechless too. The King seized him by the back of the neck and shook him violently, but the poor fellow couldn't articulate a word, I suggested that cold keys be put down his back, and his feet thrust into the fire. That brought him to so fast that I got behind an arm-chair for protection. In a few seconds he gathered voice enough to say:

"S-S-Sire, P-P-P-Paris is e-eatin' u-u-up the m-m-mon-monkeys."

Fatal news! It was all up with my museum.

Paris reduced to monkeys, and no treaty signed!

Horrible catastrophe!

I offered myself to Satan for a good lie—anything, I didn't care what, to clinch matters, and bring the King to terms. The Old Boy served me.

"Your Majesty, I forebore to tell you the worst; but it can be kept back no longer. You must fly from here; fly from Paris. Your worthy queen, the great, the good, the patriotic AUGUSTA, is now lying at the point of—"

"Liar!" shouted the King, as he seized a boot-jack from the hands of BISMARCK and hurled it at me with all his strength. I burst the back of my coat dodging the missile, which did not, however, interrupt the rapid utterance of my dreadful communication.

"Spare one moment more to hear what I have just received by telegraph from Berlin, which is to say that your grandmother—"

"I never had a grandmother!" roared the King, upon the verge of madness, as the Crown Prince, at the head of six Army Corps surrounded the building and captured me without firing a shot.