he has much to do for other people. His editors, his printers, his binders, his artists, his engravers, his corps of clerks, his office and errand boys, and all connected with his extensive establishment, come to him from time to time for advice in regard to the investment of their surplus earnings, and between assisting in the purchase of a farm for this one, a house for the other, and all sorts of stocks and bonds for the rest, he is often terribly pressed for time.

No one who is not looked up to by a crowd of grateful dependents, all fattening in the shadow of his prosperity, as it were, can understand Mr. P's. feelings of responsibility at such times.

Such an unusual demand upon his time occurred last week, and Mr. P. found that he would not be able to spend a few days as usual at some fashionable watering place. But be must have some recreation, so he determined to have a day's fishing among the celebrated Thousand Islands of the St. Lawrence. He put some luncheon in a basket, and set off quite early in the morning. Finding that some twenty hours were consumed in the transit, Mr. P. thought that, considering his hurry, he had better, perhaps, have gone to Newark for a day's fishing off the piers. But he was at the St. Lawrence now, and it would not do to complain. He hired a boat, lines, bait and two navigators, and set out bravely.

He sailed among a crowd of islands where either the bowsprit or the boom was continually getting caught in the shrubbery and rocks, until he came to island No. 18. Here was a picnic party.

For reasons which the accompanying view may render obvious, Mr. P. and his men declined the invitation of the picnickers to stop and join them. The boat continued on until it reached the channel between islands No. 87 and No. 88, and there Mr. P. got out his lines and commenced to fish, trolling his bait behind as the boat slowly sailed, under the hot sun, among those lovely isles, where, to be sure, burning's half o' the sport, but where "burning SAPPHO" would have lost herself utterly, and probably have tumbled into some of the watery intricacies and have put herself out.

Mr. P. did not have much luck at first. He caught one muskallonge, after a period of patient waiting which he feels he also must call long, and once, when he thought he was hauling in a fine bass, he turned very red when the boatmen laughed at seeing him "cotch an eel." But after a while he got a royal bite. He hauled in manfully, and although, owing to the intricacies of the channel, he could not see what he had caught, he knew it was a fine fellow from its weight. At last, after tremendous tugging, he got it in over the stem.

It was one of the thousand islands!

What could be done now?

The steersman, who had slipped under a seat when he saw the great mass above him, and the man who managed the sails, were both Canadians, and after a great deal of excited talk, they agreed if Mr. P. would make it worth their while, they would endeavor to put the island back in its place and make no remarks in public which would tend to produce a misunderstanding between the governments of Great Britain and the United States, on the ground of undue acquisition of territory. By the payment of a sum, which it will require a club of thirty subscribers to make good to him, Mr. P. concluded the arrangement, and they sailed back to replace the island. But what was the horror of the party, when they perceived on the unfortunate bit of British territory, a plate, which had stuck fast by reason of a covering of the juice of plum-pie, and a fork which was rammed firmly into the earth!

It needed but few collateral evidences to convince Mr. P. and his men that this was the island where they had seen the picnic.

And where were the picnickers?

If any of Mr. P's. subscribers in Prince EDWARD Island, Costa Rica, the Gallipagoes, or other outstanding places, receive their paper rather late this week, they are informed that, in consequence of his having spent three entire days exploring the labyrinth of these islands in order to find the bodies of the unfortunate party of pleasure, (which bodies he did not find,) Mr. P. was very much delayed in his office business. His near patrons received their papers in due time, but those at a distance will excuse him, he feels sure, when they consider what his feelings must have been, while grappling for an entire picnic.

The island was dumped down anywhere, without reference to its former place. When the Alabama claims are settled, Mr. P. will go back and adjust it properly.

Mr. P. gained nothing by this trip but the knowledge that there are but 980 of these islands, which an unscrupulous monarchy imposes upon a credulous people as a full thousand, and the gloom which would naturally pervade a man, after an occurrence of the kind just narrated.

On his way home, he stopped for supper at Albany, and there he met CYRUS W. FIELD and Commodore VANDERBILT. One of these gentlemen was looking very happy and the other very doleful.

(The tall gentleman in the picture is Mr. FIELD—not that he is really so very tall—but he is elevated. The short one is the Commodore—so drawn, not because he is short, but because he is depressed.)

After the compliments of the season, (warm ones,) Mr. P. asked his friends how the war in Europe affected them.

"Gloriously!" cried Mr. FIELD. "Nothing could be better. The messages fly over our cables like—like—like lightning. Why, sir, I wish they would keep up the war for ten years."

"And you, sir?" said Mr. P. to the Commodore.

"Oh, I hate it!" said VANDERBILT. "They send neither men nor munitions by our road. It is an absolute dead loss of hundreds of thousands of dollars to me that my railroad is on this side of the ocean. I shall never cease to deplore it."

"But sir," said Mr. P. "the war may cause a great exportation of grain from the West, and then your road will profit."

"Don't believe it," said the Commodore. "The war will stop exportation."

"It goes against the grain with him, any way you fix it," said Mr. FIELD, with a festive air. "He can't carry any messages."

"On a cabalistic cable," remarked Mr. P.

CYRUS smiled.

"No, air," said the Commodore, reverting to his grievances. "Never has such a loss happened to me, since I went into New York Centrals."

"Well, I tell you, VANDY," said Mr. FIELD, "if you and other grasping creatures had kept away from New York's entrails it would have been much better for the body corporate of the State."

"Look here!" cried the Commodore, in a rage.

Mr. FIELD looked there, but Mr. P. didn't. He thought it was time to go for his train, and he went.

SEVERAL UNSAVORY RENDERINGS.

hy there should be such a thing as a New York Rendering Company is a puzzle to thoughtful minds. Persons resident in certain districts of the city, that border on the North River, though, are cognizant of that Company. The North River nose knows the Co., and would close itself to it, only that it is too close upon it to close effectually.

And what are the New York Rendering Company, and to whom do they render, and what? Lard bless you! sir, or madam, they comprise a thing that lives, if not by the sweat of its brow, at least by the suet of its boilers. The dead horses of the city car companies are the creature's normal food. Nor does it despise smaller venison, for it can batten upon dead kittens, too, and fatten upon asphyxiated pup. Carnivorous, decidedly, is the creature concreted by the New York Rendering Company, converting all that it touches into fat, and so, living literally upon the fat of the land. That the Company render other things besides fat, however, has been for some time past a subject of complaint against their management, and here are a few details of their renderings.

Once the atmosphere of the bays and rivers of New York was a source of health to the excursionists who, in summer time, seek relaxation by inexpensive voyages upon the waters adjacent to the city. By casting the refuse of their carrion into these waters, the New York Rendering Company have rendered foul and noxious the once healthful atmosphere of our aquarian outlets, rendering themselves a nuisance, at the same time.

Thus, anything like a "pleasure" excursion by water, in the neighborhood of New York, has been rendered impossible during the present season, by the New York Rendering Company.

Off all the shores of our bays Offal has accumulated, and that during the hottest summer on record for these latitudes. The waters have thus been rendered unfit for bathing in, as the air has been rendered pernicious to breathe—another rendering by the New York Rendering Company, whose manifest mission is to offalize the world.

It is pleasant to know, then, that the renderings of the New York Rendering Company are likely to be reactionary as well as suicidal, (perhaps suetcidal might be a better word here,) in their results. Their "offence is rank," and has reached the nose of authority, for we find it stated that "Mayor HALL has already made complaint against the New York Rendering Company, and that they will he indicted at the next sitting of the Grand Jury."

And when their boiling nuisances come to be seized, as we trust they will be, how jolly to see them "rendering to Seizer" all that has rendered them the nuisance they are! Then let them render up the ghost, and go out spluttering, like a dip candle from one of their own rancid renderings—and so an end of them.

A CARD OF THANKS.

PUNCHINELLO is extremely indebted to The Sun for the association of the names of several worthy gentlemen with the ownership of the only first-class Illustrated Humorous and Satirical paper published in America: (Subscription price, for one year, $4.00. Single copies 10 cents. Office, 83 Nassau St., New York.)

Well, it is something to be credited with having decent men about you; perhaps if The Sun would try the experiment it would be found more purifying than even the sermons of O. DYER.

WHY IT IS SO DRY.

We thought it had something to do with a lack of moisture in the air; and now, along comes Monsieur PROU, another philosopher, and merely says what we had thought. He declares that there was so much ice last winter (come now, gentlemen of the Ice Companies, what have you to say to that?) it couldn't melt in time to evaporate in time to supply moisture in time for the necessary showers. (Somehow, there's an eternity of "time" in that sentence; but n'importe: allons!) We think PROU has proved his case. And, although we can't quite sympathise with his suggestion that detachments of sappers and miners be employed in the spring-time, in Arctic (and doubtless also Antarctic) regions, in blowing up icebergs and otherwise facilitating the operations of old Sol, we give the ingenious Frenchman credit for at least as much philosophic acumen as we ourselves possess: and Heaven only knows how superb a compliment we thus convey!

Couldn't our friend Capt. HALL be requested to watch the Pole a little next winter, and look into this idea of ours and PROU'S?

CIRCUMSTANCES WILL COMPEL THE STATELIEST OF MEN TO STOOP, SOMETIMES.
GETTING A LIGHT FROM THE STUMP OF A NEWSBOY'S CIGAR IS ONE OF THEM.

A SCENE FROM OLD NICK-OLOS NICK-OLBY.

THE EMPEROR DE MANTALINI GOING TO THE "DEMNITION BOW-WOWS."

OUR POLICE REPORT.

On Tuesday last a suspicious looking man was arrested by the police, and taken to the One Hundred and Fourth Precinct Station House, on several charges of disorderly acts perpetrated by him in various parts of the city. He gave his name as CHARLES A. DANA, and was locked up for the night.

Yesterday morning, prisoner was brought before Justice DOWNY, at the Jephson Market Police Court.

Officer LOCUST, being called to testify, stated that his attention was directed to the prisoner, on Tuesday afternoon last, by some boys in Fourteenth Street. Prisoner was standing on the side-walk, on the side of the street opposite Tammany Hall. He was armed with a small pewter squirt, with which he was trying to smear the front of that building by drawing up dirty water from the gutter. The range of the squirt did not appear to reach more than half-way across the street. The water used was very foul, leaving stains upon a dirt-cart that was passing. While witness was watching the prisoner, the Hon. WM. M. TWEED came down the steps from Tammany Hall, and, upon seeing him, prisoner ran away, but was seized by witness, before he could make his escape.

On being interrogated by the magistrate, prisoner said that he hardly knew what he was doing when arrested. The Sun was in his eyes at the time. If it hadn't been so, he would not have missed his shot. He must do something for a living, and he thought that throwing dirty water was as good an occupation as any other. Had made money out of it by threatening respectable people with his pewter squirt, and they would give him money rather than have their clothes soiled. He would do anything to make money; and he didn't in the least mind dirtying his hands in the making of it.

To a question by the magistrate, as to whether he had had anything to do with casting offal into the bay, prisoner laughed in a wild manner, and said that he, for one, could never be accused of wasting good, honest dirt in that way. All the offal in the world, said prisoner, wasn't too much for him to use in bespattering the objects of his attention, friends as well as foes. He had heaved tons of offal, already, at Mr. A. OAKEY HALL, (whom he evidently imagined to be an Irishman, and called O'HALL,) He didn't care whom he hit, in fact, so long as he could make it pay.

A gentleman connected with the velocipede interest, whose name our reporter did not catch, here stated that he became acquainted with prisoner nearly two years ago, while the velocipede frenzy was at its height. He had constructed to order for the prisoner a peculiar velocipede called the "Sun Squirt." It had a Dyer's tub attached to it, which was filled with bilge-water. On this machine, the prisoner, armed with a pewter squirt, used to practise for several hours a day, careering rapidly around the rink, and taking flying shots, as he went, at large posters attached to the wall, having portraits on them of General GRANT, Hon. H. GREELEY, Hon. WM. M. TWEED, The Mayor, Governor HOFFMAN, and several other citizens of admitted position and respectability. The bilge-water usually came back upon him, however, and he was generally a humiliating object on leaving the rink.

Prisoner, on being asked by the magistrate whether he had any references respecting character to give, replied in the negative, whereupon orders were issued to lock him up, pending the appearance of Mr. PUNCHINELLO, who will have some statements to make about him at a future day.

A reward of $5,000 has been offered for any