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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.

mmet is a name which has heretofore been associated in the public mind with 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 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 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 second "March Funébre" 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 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.

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. 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 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."

(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 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 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 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 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, 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 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 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 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 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, 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 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 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 early in the morning, and, shaking out her orange leaves, defied the Shamrock to "come on." The Shamrock came on. There was a vegetable howl, and clash, and clangor in the air, and the Lily, having knocked off several of the Shamrocks' greenest leaves, went to its friend, the American Beaver, for comfort and support. But the American Beaver, instead of countenancing the Lily, said: "Look here, Lily, I guess you are about the greatest fool I ever did see, except, perhaps, the Shamrock. As long as you two stick to your work, instead of sticking out your colors and sticking your knives into each other, I am very glad to have you for neighbors, but now that you have shown yourselves to be jack-asses instead of vegetables, I would not give an American Beaver dam for the two of you."

CONDENSED CONGRESS.

SENATE.

pleasant philosopher tells us that blessings brighten as they take their flight. The flight of Congress may be regarded as a blessing. But Congressmen do not brighten. PUNCHINELLO listens in vain for the swan song of SUMNER, and looks longingly, without being gratified by the spectacle of the oratorical funeral pyre of NYE. Almost the only gleam of humor he discerns in his weekly wading through the watery and windy wastes of the Congressional Globe is a comic coruscation by Mr. CAMERON.

Mr. McCREERY had had the abominable impudence to introduce a bill relieving the disabilities of a few friends of his in Kentucky. Mr. CAMERON objected upon the ground that one of these persons was named SMITH, and used to be a New York Street Commissioner. Any man who had been a New York Street Commissioner ought to be hanged as soon as any decent pretext could be found for hanging him. (Murmurs of approbation from the New York reporters.) Still this was not his main objection to SMITH. The SMITH family had furnished more aid and comfort to the rebel army than any other family in the South. No SMITH should, with his consent, be permitted to participate in the conduct of a Government which so many SMITHS had conspired to overthrow. Moreover, this was an incorrigible SMITH. It was an undisputed fact that SMITH had given up a lucrative office to follow his political convictions. Such a man could not be viewed by Senators with any other feelings than those of horror and disgust. Let them reflect what would be the effect of polluting this body, as by this bill it was proposed to make it possible to do, with a man so dead to all the common feelings of our nature that he would set up his own conceits against the practice of his fellow-Senators, and the rewards of a grateful country. This settled the fate of SMITH, but the rest of Mr. McCREERY's friends, being obscure persons, were let in, in spite of the "barbaric yaup" of DRAKE, who said that the next thing would be a proposition to enact a similar outrage in Missouri, and thereby abet the efforts of the bold bad men who were trying to get him out of his seat.

HOUSE.

SCHENCK insisted upon the Tariff. He had been visited by delegations from the great heart of the nation, who assured him that the great heart of the nation yearned for an immediate increase of the duty on various articles which competed with the articles manufactured by the members of the delegation. No longer ago than yesterday a manufacturer of double-back-action jack-planes had assured him that the single-forward-action jack-planes poured upon our shores by the pauper labor of Europe, were, so to speak, shaving off the edge of the national life. A gentleman whose name was known to the uttermost parts of the civilized world, who had shed new lustre upon the American name by the great boon he had bestowed upon mankind in the American self-filling rotary Bird of Freedom inkstand with revolving lid, had said, with the tears of patriotic shame and sorrow in his eyes, that there were recreant writers who preferred to purchase the Birmingham inkstand, which required to be filled, did not rotate, and had no revolution to its lid, at fifty cents, than to secure his own triumph of American ingenuity at ten dollars. Such misguided men must be taught their duty to their native land. Mr. SCHENCK