corner-house on the Twenty-fifth Avenue, and wanted to know how I should like it? Like it? I should like to see him in Sing-Sing! He own a house?—a brass foundry more like, and that in his face! Keep a sharp eye on BLUSTER and his blarney. He's what our neighbor GINGER calls a "beat," whatever that is—a squash, no doubt.

Don't spare any pains, my dear, for a market. I was only twenty-six when I married the late lamented Mr. WIGGINS. And a dear good man he was—only I wish he had paid his bills at the corner groceries. How he did love, my dear—that favorite demijohn in the corner! And then when he came home at night with such a smile—he'd been taking them all day. Don't fail to catch somebody. GUSHER, depend, is the man. Money is everything. Never mind what he hasn't got just under the hat. It is the pocket you must aim at. What is life and society—what New York—without money? Say you love him to distraction. Declare your existence is bound up in his. (Greenback binding.) Throw yourself at his feet at the opportune moment, and victory must be yours. Impale him at all hazards. Remember you are thirty-seven and well on in life. Your own loving

MARIA ANASTASIA WIGGINS.

THE PUMP.

An Old Story with a Modern Application.

Like rifts of sunshine, her tresses
Waved over her shoulders bare,
And she flitted as light o'er the meadows,
As an angel in the air.

"O maid of the country, rest thee
This village pump beside,
And here thou shalt fill thy pitcher,
Like REBECCA, the well beside!"

But a voice from yonder window
Through my shuddering senses ran,
And these were its words: "MARIA-R!
MA-RIA-R! don't-mind-that-man!"

LUCIFERS LITTLE GAME WITH HIS ROYAL PUPPETS.

HIRAM GREEN'S EXPERIENCE AS AN EDITOR.

Lively Times in the Editorial Sanctum.—The "Lait Gustise" handled Roughly.

"Whooray! Whooray!" I exclaimed, rushin' into the kitchen door, one mornin' last spring, and addressin' Mrs. GREEN. "I've been invited to edit the Skeensboro Fish Horn. Fame, madam, awaits your talented pardner."

"Talented Lunkhead, you mean," said this interestin' femail; "you'd look sweet editin' a noose paper. So would H. WARD BEECHER dancin' 'shoo-fly' along with DAN BRYANT. Don't make a fool of yourself if you know anything, HIRAM, and respect your family."

The above conversation was the prelude to my first and last experience in editin' a country paper.

The editor of the "Fish Horn" went on a pleasure trip, to plant a rich ant who had died and left him some cash.

Durin' his absence I run his paper for him. Seatin' my form on top of the nail keg, with shears and paste brush I prepared to show this ere community how to run a noosepaper.

I writ the follerin' little squibs and put 'em in my first issue.

"If a sertin lite complexion man wouldn't run his hands down into sugar barrels so often, when visitin' grosery stores, it would be money in the pocket of the Skeensboro merchants"—

"Query. Wonder how a farmer in this town, whose name we will not rite, likes burnin' wood from his nabor's wood-pile?"—

"We would advise a sertin toothles old made to leave off paintin' her cheeks, and stop slanderin' her nabors. If she does so, she will be a more interestin' femail to have around."—

"Stop Thief.—If that Deekin, who trades at one of our grocery stores, and helps himself to ten cents worth of tobacker while buyin' one cents worth of pipes, will devide up his custom, it would be doing the square thing by the man who has kept him in tobacker for several years."

These articles was like the bustin' of a lot of bombshells in this usually quiet boro.

The Deekins called a church meetin', and played a game of old sledge, to see who would call and demand satisfaction for the insult. As they all smoked, they couldn't tell who was hit, as their tobacker bill was small all around.

Deekin PERKINS got beat when they come to "saw off."

Said this pious man:

"If old GREEN don't chaw his words, I'll bust his gizzard."

The farmers met at SIMMINSES store. After tryin' on the garment about steelin' wood, it was hard to decide who the coat fit the best, but each one made up his mind to pay off an old grudge and "pitch into the Lait Gustise."

All the old mades met together in the village milliner shop, where the Sore-eye-siss society held meetin's once a week, and their false teeth trembled like a rattlesnake's tail, when they read my artickle about old mades.

It was finally resolved by this anshient lot of caliker to "stir up old GREEN."

Headed by SARY YOUMANS, the crossest old made in the U.S., and all armed with broom-sticks and darnin'-needles, the door of my editorial offis was busted open, and the whole caboodle of wimmen, famishin' for my top hair, entered.

They foamed at the mouth like a pack of dissappinted Orpheus—C—Kerrs, as they brandished their wepins over my bald head.

"Squire GREEN," sed a maskaline lookin' specimen of time worn caliker, holdin' a copy of the Fish Horn in her bony fingers, "did you rite that 'ere?"

"Wall," sed I, feelin' somewhat riled at the sassy crowd, "s'posen I did or didn't, what on it?"

"We are goin' to visit the wrath of a down-trodden rase upon your frontispiece, that's what we is, d'ye hear, old Pilgarlick?" said the exasperated 16th Amendmenter, as she brought down her gingham umbrella over my shoulders.

At this they all rushed for me. With paste-brush and shears I kept them off, until somebody pushed me over a woman who had got tripped up, when the army of infuriated Amazons piled onto my aged form.

This round dident last more'n two minutes, for as soon as they got me down, they all stuck their confounded needles into me, and then left me lookin' more like a porkupine than a human bein'.

I hadent more'n had time to pull out a few quarts of needles, before in walks 2 big strappin' farmers.

"Old man, we've come for you," said one of 'em. "We'll larn you to slander honest fokes."

At this he let fly his rite bute at my cote skirts.

I was home-sick, you can jest bet. Then t'other chap let me have it.

"Down stairs with him," sed they both, and down I went, pooty lively for an old man.

Just as I got to the bottom I lit on a man's head. It was Deekin PERKINS comein' to "bust my gizzard."

"Hevings and airth," sed the Deekin as he tumbled over in the entry way. I jumped behind a door, emejutly, and as the farmers proceeded to polish off the Deekin, I was willin' to forgive both of 'em, as the Deekin groaned and yelled.

Yes siree! it was soothin' fun for me, to see them farmers welt the Deekin.

Steelin' up stairs agin, I was brushin' off my clothes, when in walks EBENEZER.

"Sawtel," said he, ceasin' me by the cote coller and shakin' me, "Ile larn you to rite about steelin' sugar; take that—and that," at which he let fly his bute, and down stairs I went agin—Eben urgin' me on with his bute.—

Suffice to say, the whole village called on me that day, and I was kicked down stairs 32 times by the watch.—Hosswhipt by 17 wimmen—besides bein' stuck full of needles by a lot more.

I got so used to bein' kicked down stairs, that evry time a man come in the door, I would place my back towards him and sing out:

"Kick away, my friend, I'm in the Editorial biziness to-day—to-morrow I go hents—there's rather too much exsitement runnin' a noosepaper, and I shall resine this evenin."

When I got home that nite, I looked like an angel carryin' a palm-leaf fan in his hand, and clothed in purple and fine linen. My body was purpler than a huckleberry pie, and my linen was torn into pieces finer than a postage-stamp.

"Sarved you rite, you old fool," said Mrs. GREEN, as she stood rubbin' camfire onto me. "In ritin' noosepaper articles, editors orter name their man. A shoe which hain't bilt for anybody in particular, will get onto evrybody in general's foot. When it does, the bilder had better get ready for numerous bootin's, from that self-same shoe."

Between you and I, PUNCHINELLO, MARIAH is about 1/2 rite. Too-rally ewers.

HIRAM: GREEN, ESQ.,

Lait Gustise of the Peece.

COMIC ZOOLOGY

Order, Cetacea.—The Right (and wrong) Whale.

The largest of the Cetacea is the Right whale, of which—so persistently is it hunted down—there will soon be but few Left. Some flippant jokist has remarked that there is no Wrong whale, but this is all Oily Gammon. There is a right and a wrong to everything—not excepting the leviathan of the deep.

By the courtesy of the Fisheries, the planting of a harpoon in the vitals of a Right whale gives the planter a pre-emption claim to it. If subsequently appropriated by another party it becomes, so far as that party is concerned, the Wrong whale, and on Trying the case its value may be recovered in a court of law,—with Whaling costs.

The sperm whale, or cachalot, (genus physeter) is a rare visitor in the higher latitudes. Now and then a solitary specimen is taken in the Northern Atlantic, but the best place to catch a lot is on the Pacific coast. It may be mentioned incidentally, as a curious meteorological coincidence, that Whales and Waterspouts are invariably seen together, and hence it was, (perhaps,) that the long-necked cloud pointed out by HAMLET to POLONIUS, reminded that old Grampus of a Whale.

The favorite food of the great marine mammal of the Pacific is the Squid, and as this little creature swarms in the vicinity of Hawaii, the cachalot instinctively goes there at certain seasons to chew its Squid by way of a Sandwich.

Although the capture of the whale involves an immense amount of Paying Out before anything can be realized, it has probably always been a lucrative pursuit. The great fish seems, however, to have yielded the greatest Prophet in the days of JONAH. No man since then has enjoyed the same facilities for forming a true estimate of the value of the monster, that were vouchsafed to that singular man. Perhaps during his visit to Nineveh he entertained the Ninnies with a learned lecture on the subject, but if so, it has not turned up to reward the research of modern Archaeologists. LAYARD found the word JONAH inscribed among the ruins of the old Assyrian city, but the name of the ancient mariner was unaccompanied by any mention of the whale.

All the whale family, though apparently phlegmatic, are somewhat given to Blowing up, and, when about to die, instead of taking the matter coolly and philosophically, they are always terribly Flurried. In fact, the whale, when in articulo mortis, makes a more tremendous rumpus about its latter end than any other animal either of the sea or land.

The Right whale, though many people make Light of it, is unquestionably the heaviest of living creatures. Scales never contained anything so ponderous. But while conceding to Leviathan the proud title of Monarch of the Deep, it should be remarked that it has a rival on the land, known as Old King Coal, that completely takes the Shine out of it.

THE WATERING PLACES.

Punchinello's Vacations.

At Newport, one cannot fail to perceive a certain atmosphere of blue blood—but it must not be understood, from this expression, that the air is filled with cerulean gore. Mr. P. merely wished to remark that the society at that watering place is very aristocratic. He felt the influence himself, although he staid there only a few days. His aristocratic impulses all came out. Whether they staid out or not remains to be seen.

But no matter. He found many of the best people in Newport, and he felt congenial. When a fellow sits at his wine with men like JOHN T. HOFFMAN, and AUGUST BELMONT, and PARAN STEVENS; and takes the air with Mrs. J.F., Jr., behind her delightful four-in-hand, he is apt to feel a little "uppish." If anyone doubts it let him try it. At the Atlantic Hotel they gave Mr. P. the room which had been recently vacated by Gov. PADELFORD. He was glad to hear this. He liked the room a great deal better when he heard that the Governor wasn't there any more.

The first walk that he took on the beach proved to him that this was no place for illiterate snobs and shoddyites. Everybody talked of high moral aims, or questions of deep import, (especially the high tariff Congressmen,) and even the little girls who were sitting in the shade, (with big white umbrellas over them to keep the freckles off,) were puzzling their heads over charades and enigmas, instead of running around and making little Frou-Frous of themselves. Mr. P. composed an enigma for a group of these young students. Said he:

"My first is a useless expense.
My second is a useless expense.
My third is a useless expense.
My fourth is a useless expense.
My fifth is a useless expense.
My sixth is a useless expense,
and so is my eighth, ninth, tenth, and eleventh, and all the rest
of my parts, of which there are three hundred and fifty.

My whole is a useless expense, and sits at Washington."

The dear little girls were not long in guessing this ingenious enigma and while they were rejoicing over their success, Mr. P. was suddenly addressed by a man who had been standing behind him. Starting little, he turned around and was thus addressed by his unknown listener.

"Sir," said that individual, "do I understand you to mean that the Congress of the United States is a useless expense?"

"Well, sir," said Mr. P., with a smile, "as it costs a great deal and does very little, I cannot but think it is both useless and expensive."

"Then sir," said the other, "you must think the whole institution is a nuisance generally."

"You put it very strongly," said Mr. P., "but I fear that you are about right."

"Sir!" cried the gentleman, his face beaming with an indescribable expression. "Give me your hand! I am glad to know you. I agree with you exactly. My name is WHITTEMORE."

But Mr. P. did not waste all his time in talking to strangers and concocting enigmas. He had come to Newport with a purpose. It was none of the ordinary purposes of watering place visitors. These he could carry out elsewhere.

His object in coming here was grand, unusual and romantic. He came to be rescued by IDA LEWIS!

It was not easy to devise a plan for this noble design, and it was not until the morning of the second day of his visit, that Mr. P. was ready for the adventure. Then he hired a boat, and set sail, alone, o'er the boundless bosom of the Atlantic.

He had not sailed more than a few hours on said boundless bosom, before he turned his prow back towards land,—towards the far-famed Lime Rocks, on which the intrepid heroine dwells. He had thought of being wrecked at night, but fearing that IDA might not be able to find him in the dark, he gave up this idea. His present intention was that Miss LEWIS should believe him to be a lonely mariner from a far distance, tossed by the angry waves upon her rock-bound coast But there was a