PUNCHINELLO

CONANT'S PATENT BINDERS for "Punchinello," to preserve the paper for binding, will be sent, post-paid
on receipt of One Dollar, by "Punchinello Publishing Company," 83 Nassau Street, New-York City.

THE WARNING OF THE BELLE

LOOK OUT FOR THE TRAIN.

PATRIOTIC ADORATION.

A TALE OF PHILADELPHIA.

People of the Quaker City,
How the world must stand aghast
At your wondrous veneration
For those relics of the past,
Kept in such precise condition,
Fostered with such tender care—
Don't, oh! don't the Philadelphians
Love old Independence Square?

Splendid are its walks and grass-plots
Where the bootblacks base-ball play,
And its seats resembling toad-stools,
On which loafers lounge all day,
Waiting for their luck, or gazing
At the office of the Mayor—
Don't, oh! don't the Philadelphians
Love old Independence Square?

Then, behold the fine old State-house
Cleanly kept inside and out,
Where the faithful office-holders
Squirt tobacco-juice about:
Placards highly ornamental
Decorate its outward wall—
Don't, oh! don't the Philadelphians
Love old Independence Hall?

O! ye gods and little fishes!
Could bill-sticker be so vile
As to paste up nasty posters
On the sacred classic pile?
Greece and Rome yet have their relics,
But what are they? very small.
Never half so venerated
As old Independence Hall.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE.

PUNCHINELLO has hitherto refrained from criticising the periodicals of the day, from the mistaken idea that superlative excellence was not expected in every number of every daily or weekly journal in the land. He did not know that, if every such journal was not edited so as to suit the comprehension of all classes of cursory critics, it should be unqualifiedly condemned. Supposing that a painter should not condemn a paper for publishing a musical article beyond his comprehension, and that an architect ought not to get in a rage because he finds in his favorite journal a paper on beavers which makes him feel insignificant, PUNCHINELLO has generally looked around upon his fellow-journalists, and thought them very good fellows, who generally published very good papers. He did not find superlative excellence in any of their issues, but then he did not look for it. He might as well pretend to look for that in the journalists themselves, or in society at large. But he has lately learned, from the critics of the period, that he ought to look for it, and that it is the proper thing nowadays to pitch into every journal which does not, in every part, please every body, whether they be smart or dull; those quick of appreciation, or those slow gentlemen who always come in with their congratulations upon the birth of a joke at the time its funeral is taking place. And so, PUNCHINELLO will do as others do, and will occasionally view, from the loop-hole in his curtain, the successes and failures of his neighbors, and will give his patrons the benefit of his observations.

The first thing he notices to-day is, that the Evening Snail of last night is not so good as it was a fortnight ago; or, let us think a bit—it may have been a good number at the beginning of last month that he was thinking of; at all events, this last issue is inferior. The matter on the first page is not printed in nearly as good type as the original periodicals had it, and while the letters in the heading are quite fair, it is very noticeable that the I's are very defective, and there is no C in it. The "Gleanings" are excellent, and it would be advisable to have more of them—if indeed such a thing were possible in this case. The spider-work inside shows no acquaintance with the writings of BACH or GLIDDON, and there is nothing about the Spectrum Analysis in any part of the paper. Besides, the paper is too stiff and rattles too much, and PUNCHINELLO could never abide the color of the editor's pantaloons. Why will not people dress and write so that every body can admire and understand them. Especially in regard to witty things and breastpins They ought to be loud, overpowering, and so glaring that people could not help seeing them. And they ought to be a little cheap, too, or average people won't comprehend them. In both cases paste (and scissors) pays better than diamonds. The reports of private parties in the Snail are, however, very good, and if it would confine its original matter to such subjects, it could not fail to succeed.

A Query for Physicians.

Are people's tastes apt to become Vichy-ated by the excessive use of certain mineral waters?

"Behold, how Pleasant a Thing 't is," etc.

Boston has a couple of clergymen who have fallen out upon matters not precisely theological. In the summer, the Rev. Mr. MURRAY leaves his sheep, to shoot deer by torchlight in the Adirondacks. This the Rev. Mr. ALGER, in addressing the Suppression of Cruelty to Animals Society, denounces as extremely wicked. From all which Mr PUNCHINELLO, taking up his discourse, infers,

First. That it is a great deal more wicked to shoot deer by torchlight than by daylight.

Secondly. That the Rev. MURRAY and the Rev. ALGER are of different religious persuasions.

Thirdly and lastly. That the Rev. Mr. ALGER doesn't love venison.

P. S. Persons desiring to present Mr. PUNCHINELLO with a fine haunch, (in the season,) may shoot it by daylight, moonlight, torchlight, or by a Drummond light, as most convenient.

We are indebted to Mr. SARONY for a number of brilliant photographs of celebrities of the day. Lovely woman is well represented the batch, with all the characters of which PUNCHINELLO hopes to present his readers, from time to time.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by the PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New-York.

ALL ABOARD FOR HOLLAND

PUNCHINELLO understands that a performance is soon to take place at the Academy of Music, for the benefit of GEORGE HOLLAND, the well-known and ever-green "veteran" of "the stage." It pleases PUNCHINELLO to know that a combination of talent and beauty is to be brought together for so worthy a purpose. Seventy-four years ago, when GEORGE HOLLAND was a small child, PUNCHINELLO used to dandle him upon his knee. Hardly four years have passed since PUNCHINELLO was convulsed by the Tony Lumpkin of HOLLAND. He distinctly remembers, too, administering hot whiskey punch to little boy HOLLAND with a tea-spoon, which may in some measure account for the Spirit subsequently infused by the capital comedian into the numerous bits of character presented by him. Considering these facts, it is manifestly an incumbent duty on the part of PUNCHINELLO to request the earnest attention of his readers to the subject of GEORGE HOLLAND'S benefit, all particulars concerning which will be given due time through the public press. It used to be said, long ago, that "the Dutch have taken Holland," Well, let our own modern Knickerbockers improve upon that notion, by taking HOLLAND'S tickets. Remember how, in the early settlement of the country, it was Holland that made New-York, and see that New-York now returns the compliment, and makes HOLLAND. Convivial songsters frequently remind us that—

—"a Hollander's draught should potent be,
And deep as the rolling Zuyder Zee."

Mind this, all ye Hollanders who would give your support to our HOLLAND. Let your drafts be potent, your cheeks heavy, your attendance punctual. Make the affair complete; so that when, here-after, a comparison is sought for something that has been a sued people will say of it—"As big as that Bumper of HOLLAND'S."

ASTRONOMICAL CONVERSATIONS.

(BY A FATHER AND DAUGHTER RESIDING ON THE PLANET VENUS.)

No. I.

FATHER (to DAUGHTER, who is looking through a telescope.) Yes HELENE, that is the Planet Tellus, or Earth. The darker streaks are land; the bright spots, water. We begin with a low power, which shows only the masses; presently you will have the pleasure of discriminating not only rivers and chains of mountains, but cities—single houses—even Human Beings! Yes, you shall this very night read page of PUNCHINELLO, a paper so bright that every word appears surrounded by a halo!

DAUGHTER. O father! do that now. How delightful, to actually read the works of these singular creature's, and become familiar with their extraordinary ideas! Were the scintillations you spoke of the other night, that were seen all over the Western Continent, the result of the flashing of these radiant pages?

F. Undoubtedly, my child; they began with the first issue of the paper, and have since regularly increased in brightness, just as It has.

D. It really seems as though Earth would answer for a Moon, by and by, at this rate!

F. You are quite right, HELENE; it will. Or say, rather, a Sun. For you will observe that it is a warm light; not cool, as reflected light always is. It is Original.

D. Well, this shows that PUNCHINELLO must have some Heart, as well as Head. Come, put on your highest power now, and let us seem to pay good old Tellus a visit!

[The indulgent Father complies, and, is at some pains to adjust the focus.]

F. Now, dear! take a good look.

D. (Looking intently.) Oh! how splendid—how splendid! Do see the beautiful things in those Shop Windows! It must be the Spring Season there! Do see those lovely lumps on the backs of those creatures' heads! What place is it, Father?

F. That? It's New-York; and the street is the famous Broadway.

D. O dear! how I would like to go shopping there, this minute!—for I see it is afternoon in that quarter. Is there no way of getting there?(!!!)

F. (Laughing heartily.) Well, well, HELENE! That's pretty good, for the daughter of an astronomer! Do you know that at this precise moment you are Forty-five Million, Six Hundred and Fifty-four Thousand, Four Hundred and Ninety-one Miles and a half from those Muslins! I'll tell you, Sis, what could be done: Drop a line to the Editor of PUNCHINELLO, and tell him what you want. He'll get it, some way.

D. That I will, instantly! [Turns to her portfolio, while her father turns to the telescope.]

"DEAR MR. EDITOR: Pardon the seeming boldness of a stranger: you are no stranger to me! Long, long have I deceived that good man, my father, by pretending to know nothing of the Earth, or of his instrument! Many and many a night, unknown to him, have I gone to the Telescope, to satisfy the restless craving I feel to know more of your Planet, and of a person of your sex whom I have often beheld, and watched with eagerness as he came and went. How thrilling the thought, that he cannot even know of my existence, and that we are forever separated! This, good and dear Editor, is my one Thought, my one great Agony.

"It has occurred to me that, in this dreadful situation—my Passion being sufficiently Hopeless, as any one may see—you might at least afford me some slight alleviation, by undertaking to let Him know of the interest he excites in this far-off star! Let me describe my charmer, so that you will be able to identify him. He is of fair size, with a rolling gait and a smiling countenance, has light hair and complexion, wears often a White Hat, (on the back of his head—where Thoughtful men always place the hat, I've been told by observers,) and now and then carelessly leaves one leg of his trowsers at the top of his boot. I have often seen him, with a bundle of papers in his pocket, entering a large building with the words