apothecary's scales about your premises, dump me on and give me the figgers."

I then tried to jump through a winder, but the man caught me by the cote tails, and haulin' me back, sot me down into a cheer.

I soon got cooled down, when I told the man how I'de been swindled, and asked him what I had better do.

"Do?" said he, laffin' as if heed bust. "My advice is, for you to take the next train for your home, and then charge your loss to the acc't of seein' the elefant."

It hain't often I git took in, but that time I was swallered, specturcals, white hat and all, as slick as if I'de been buttered all over.

I don't intend to let Mrs. GREEN know anything about this little adventoor, but just as like as not, some day when I hain't thinking she will worm it out of me, when Mariar will no doubt say:

"Sarved you rite, you old ignoramus; that's what you git for stoppin' takin' the weekly noosepapers, because they won't print the darned nonsents you set up to rite, when you orter be to bed and asleep."

Ewers, lite as a fether,

HIRAM GREEN, Esq.,

Lait Gustise of the Peece.

A Serious Complication.

The English language is a "mighty onsartin" one. Here, now, in a magazine sketch, we find it stated that one of the characters of the story was "as rich as CROESUS, and a good fellow to boot." Vernacularly, this is correct; and yet so equivocal is it that it puzzles one to think why the acquisition of wealth should subject the holder of it to the liability of being kicked.

Enough Said.

"Modern physiologists," said the Doctor, "have arrived at the conclusion that man begins as a cell."

"And what about woman?" returned the Scalper, "doesn't she begin as a sell, continue as a sell, and depart as a sell?"

"She does," replied the doctor.

A Relative Question.

Would the marriage of a Daughter of a Canon to a Son of a Gun come within the laws prohibiting marriage between relatives too nearly connected?

THE (JOHN) REAL DEMOCRACY OF NEW YORK CITY.

A CRABBED HISTORY.

Most people have a peculiar fondness for crabs. A dainty succulent soft shell crab, nicely cooked and well browned, tempts the eye of the epicure and makes his mouth water. Even a hard shell is not to be despised when no other is attainable. We eat them with great gusto, thinking they are "so nice," without considering for a moment that they have feelings and sentiments of their own, or are intended for any other purpose than the gratification of our palate. But that is a mistake which I will try to rectify in order that the bon vivant may enjoy hereafter the pleasures of a mental and bodily feast conjointly.

Most crabs are hatched from eggs, and begin life in a very small way. They float round in the water, at first, without really knowing what they are about. They have but little sense to start with, but after a while improve and begin to strike out in a blind instinctive way, which, after a few efforts, resolves itself into real genuine swimming. They commence walking about the same time. Awkward straggling steps, to be sure, but they get over the ground, and that is the most they care for.

When they are about a month old they begin to feel that life has its realities, and that they must do something towards the end for which they were made. The thought is faint at first, but by degrees grows weightier, till at last they can stand it no longer, and, making a great effort to throw off the incubus of babyhood that weighs so heavily upon them, they burst open the back door of their shell and slowly creep out backwards. It takes about five minutes for them to get entirely out, head, legs and all, and then for a moment or two they gaze in stupefaction at their old shell, amazed to find that they have, by their own efforts, unaided and alone, accomplished such a wonderful change.

The thought is overwhelming. It fills them with pride; rejoicingly they exult, and swell with gratification. This state of self-gratulation lasts about twenty minutes, at the end of which time they have increased their bulk to nearly double its former size, and they remain so.

They can't get back into the old shell now, for it won't fit them, and as there is no other for them to go into, the only thing left for them to do is to build another house.

It takes three or four days before they get fairly to work, and during this time they are called soft-shell crabs. This stage is particularly dangerous to the delicate creatures, for they, in their tender beauty, are so attractive to hungry fishes that it is really a wonder any escape. Tender, helpless, innocent and beautiful, they are almost sure to be victimized and gormandized.

Some, however, escape the fate intended for them, and in a few days begin to enjoy life in a crabbed sort of a way. Another month passes on. They become restless and uneasy, and feel that it won't do to stay too long in one place. They think they had better make another change, and so this time, in a more self-confident manner, they pack up and move out at the back door again. They are no more provident now, however, than they were at first, for, after having given up the old house, they have no new one to move into. They are not troubled as we are with house-hunting; they are good builders, and can make one to suit themselves. A wise provision of nature, for these interesting creatures are really obliged monthly to go out doors to grow.

This state is to them doubly dangerous. Mankind they always have to fear, but now they are tempting to their own race. A wicked old crab goes out for a stroll. The walk gives him an appetite; he looks around for something to eat and spies a younger brother just moving. Treacherously be plants himself behind a stone or shell, and watches the process, chuckling in his inmost stomach over the dainty meal in prospect. The youthful one has just got clear of his old home and its restraints, and is delighting in his freedom, when up walks the vampire, strikes him a blow on his defenceless head, knocks the life out of him, and then sits down to a dinner of soft-shell crab. He is an old sportsman, and enjoys exceedingly the meal gained by his own prowess.

Dinner over, he wipes his claws on the muddy table-cloth and walks out for his digestion. Off in the distance he spies a young gentleman crab making love to a beautiful female. He looks at her with a discriminating eye. Sees she is fair to look upon, and thinks he would like to be acquainted. He makes several sideway moves in the direction, ungraceful, but satisfactory to himself, and as he advances his admiration increases, his courage improves; he feels almost heroic. The observant lover with staring eyes perceives the advancing strides of another gentleman crab, and instantly, seized with jealous fears, clasps his inamorata to his shelly breast with his numerous little legs, holds her tightly so that she can't fall, and walks off on his hands.

The old cannibal observes the change of base, feels insulted at the implied distrust, and resolves to have satisfaction. Increasing his efforts, he soon overtakes the runaway lovers, challenges his rival by giving him a dig with his claw, and tells him to "come out and show himself a crab." Of course no crab of spirit is going to receive an insult before his beloved and not resent it; with one painful quiver of his little legs, he sets the lady crab down, and then the two amorous lovers proceed to deadly combat. Love strengthens the young crab's heart. Justice nerves his arm; and soon a lucky blow from the sharp claw pierces in a vital part the hardened sinner, who, with a gulp, gives up the contest and his life at once.

An exultant shout bubbles up in the water, and then the heroic defender of crabbed maidenhood leads his beloved to view the remains of this ravager of hard-shell rights.

They rejoice over the fallen adversary a while, and then, to make their happiness more complete, and to prosper his wooing, the victor invites his love to dine on the tender part of the victim.

The invitation is gladly accepted, and they enjoy a delicious meal, rendered doubly tasteful from the fact that they are feasting on an enemy.

The facts deduced from the above history prove that crabs have tastes and feelings just as mankind have. They are gallant to their females; never engage in combat with the weaker sex; fight and kill each other when angry; love good eating, and are cannibalistic—which last habit they may have learned from their ancestors of the Feejee Islands.

BAITED BREATH.—That of the boy who had "wums fur bait" in his mouth.

OCTOBER JOTTINGS.

ttracted by the dulcet strains of a brass band, a day or two since, PUNCHINELLO ascended to the summit of the N.E. tower of his residence, looking from which he beheld a target company all with crimson shirts ablaze marching up the Bowery. Then, glancing over towards Long Island, he observed that Nature was already assuming her russet robes, which circumstance, combined with that of the target company, reminded him that the shooting season had just commenced. A few hints to young sportsmen, then, from so old a one as PUNCHINELLO, will not, be hopes, be taken amiss—not even though, in shooting phrase, a miss is generally as good as a mile.

Before taking the field, look well to your shooting-irons. Fowling-pieces are far more apt to Get Foul while they are lying away during the off season, than when they are taken out for a day's sport by the fowlers.

On releasing your gun from its summer prison, always examine it carefully, to ascertain whether it is loaded. This you can do by looking down into the barrel and touching the trigger with your toe. If your head is blown off, then you may be sure that the gun was loaded. Otherwise not.

Should your gun be a breech-loader, always load it at the muzzle. This will show that you know better than the man who made it, or, at least, that he is no better than you.

If you are a novice in gunnery it will be safest for you to put the shot in before the powder. By doing this you will not only provide against possible accidents, but will secure for yourself the reputation of being a very safe man to go out shooting with.

When you go out with your gun, always dress in a shootable costume. For instance, if you want to bag lots of Dead Rabbits, TWEED will be the best stuff you can wear—especially about November 8th, on which day you will be certain to find Some Quail about the polling places. (N.B. They are beginning to quail already.)

The best time to acquire the art of shooting flying is fly time. Always carry a whiskey flask about you, so that you can practice at Swallows.

When you hear the drum of the ruffed grouse, steal silently through the thicket and let drive in the direction of the sound. Should you bring down a target company instead of a ruffed grouse, so much the better. It will only be bagging ruffs of another kind, and by silencing their drums you will have conferred an obligation upon humanity.

There is much diversity of opinion regarding the best kind of dog for fowling purposes. It all depends upon what work you want your dog to do for you. If you want to have birds pointed, a pointer is best for your purpose. If set, a setter. But if you want a dog that will go in and kill without either pointing or setting, be sure that the Iron Dog is the dog for your money. You can procure one of Staunch Blood by application at Police Head-Quarters.

Before going out for a day's sport, resolve yourself into a committee of one for the preservation of choice ornithological specimens. By this we do not mean that you are to set up in business as a taxidermist, but that you are bound—if a true sportsman—to protect the song birds, and the birds that are useful in destroying noxious vermin, and all the beautiful feathered creatures that ornament our woods, and fields, and parks, from the depredations of the ignorant, loutish, pestilent, pernicious pot-hunter. The Sportsmen's Clubs that have been organized throughout the country should be supported by every true sportsman; and if you lay a thick stick vigorously across the back of the first fool you see about to kill Cock Robin, you will have established a very efficacious Sportsman's Club of your own, and will have earned the best regards of Mr. PUNCHINELLO to boot—by which he means, if you choose, that you have his leave and license to boot the fellow into the bargain.

MORE ABOUT CHIGNONS.

The chignon is coming to the front again. By this we do not mean that it is worn, or likely to be worn before—in saying which the word "before" is not used by us in its acceptation of previously, but in that of front; although, now that we come to think of it, the chignon certainly has been worn before, as may be seen by consulting old-fashioned prints, in which it is shown worn behind. This, to the ordinary mind, may seem rather confused; and so it is; but what else could you expect from a writer when he has got chignon upon the brain?

For newspapers the chignon is just now a teeming subject. Every day or so somebody writes to a paper, saying that be has discovered a new kind of parasite, hatched by the genial warmth of woman's nape from some deleterious padding or other used in the manufacture of her chignon. Sometimes it is vegetable stuff, sometimes animal, but it always teems with pedicular creatures akin to that low and vulgar kind not usually recognized in polite society. All these horrors come and and don't make much difference in the chignon market; but PUNCHINELLO has a new one that is calculated to create a sensation—about the nape of the female neck—and here it is.

In the beech forests of Hungary, as is well known to Danubian explorers, there exists a very remarkable breed of pigs, one of their peculiarities being that they are covered with wool instead of with bristles. These pigs are shorn regularly every year, like sheep. Their wool, which is very stiff and curly, is used for stuffing cushions and mattresses of the cheap and nasty kind. Since chignons have come into fashion, a vast amount of pig's wool has been imported for their manufacture. By microscopic investigation the wool of the Hungary pig has been found swarming with trichinae; to a fearful extent. Now, it is easy to imagine that the trichinae obtained from a hungry pig must be of a very insatiable and ravenous disposition, and this is but too often realized by the silly wearers of the porcine chignons, into whose brains, (when they happen to have any,) the horrible little parasites worm their way in myriads, rendering their hapless victims pig-headed to an extent that defies description either with pen or pencil.

The Pig-faced Woman exhibited some time ago in Europe was once a very pretty girl, her hideous deformity being the result of wearing a chignon stuffed with Hungary pigs' wool.

In purchasing a pig chignon, then, the Girl of the Period had better look out that she does not get "too much pork for a shilling."

MATCHING THE MATCHLESS.

Matchmaking has always been traditionally supposed to be the chief end of woman. No wonder that, with the spread of the new theories of woman's rights, therefore, we find them invading departments of industry which were formerly supposed to be peculiarly the domain of the stronger sex. We have recently seen running matches, swimming matches, rowing matches, and other fancy matches, made by