class="c1">Forethought.

One reason why this country is so earnestly opposed to the Napoleonic dynasty, is that there is no probability that the descendants of the Prince Imperial would give us any assistance in settling the Alabama Question.

Prompt.

The Methodists recently opened a school for young ladies in Salt Lake City, and BRIGHAM'S third son is courting it already.

VERDICT ON A BARBER'S WHISKERS.—Dyed by his own hand.

THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.

olemn and severe German tragedy reigns in the Fourteenth Street theatre. Once it was called the French theatre, and was devoted to the witty comedies of SCRIBE, and the luxurious legs of OFFENBACH. But a woe has been denounced against the SCRIBES and OFFENBACHS—(there is considerable difference between the latter and the Pharisees)—of that once gay theatre. Like many other French frivolities, it has lately yielded to Teutonic tragedy. The cold and calculating German "MEPHISTOPHELES" treads the stage where once tripped the light feet of Parisian beauty. The burlesque Germans of the Grand Duchy of Gerolstein have vanished before the grim and earnest countrymen of grand and simple old King WILLIAM. It will be long before the French players find heart to burlesque anew the German soldiery. It will be some time, let us hope, before the German players at the Fourteenth Street theatre give way to the shameless antics of French Opera-Bouffe buffoons.

PUNCHINELLO gives a glad farewell—with no thought of saying au revoir—to the French follies that have given the French theatre so unenviable a reputation; and he waves his pointed hat in joyful welcome to SEEBACH and her German friends who have made the Fourteenth Street theatre a temple of the classic drama. Like other places which can properly be called dramatic temples, the theatre now partakes of the solemnity of a religious temple. One goes to see SEEBACH, not to laugh, but to test one's ability to suppress the desire to weep over the woes of MARGARET, and to mourn with MARY STUART. Fortify yourself, O reader, with a substantial dinner and much previous sleep, and come with me for a night of German tragedy. Come to the Fourteenth Street theatre, not to look back regretfully at departed opera-bouffe, but to SEEBACH. It is with such reckless puns as the foregoing, that I endeavor to brace your spirits for the exhausting struggle with six hours of tragedy played in the most tragic and awful of modern languages. You are to hear Faust in German. No man who has accomplished this feat can wonder at the stolid bravery of the German infantry. It is said that the new recruit is forced to hear Faust once a week during his first year of service. This terrible discipline has the natural effect of giving him that steadiness under fire, at which the world marvels. He will stand with his regiment for hours under the merciless fire of the mitrailleuse with no thought of flight. What terrors can shot or shell have for him who has been taught to listen unmoved to the dialogue of "FAUST" and "MEPHISTOPHELES" in the first thirty-two acts of Faust?

We find the theatre full of Germans, wearing that grave and earnest expression of countenance wherewith the German takes his legitimate tragedy. Sprinkled among the Germans are several Americans, more grave and more in earnest than even their Teutonic neighbors, for they are straining their attention to detect a familiar German word—such as "Mein Herr," or "Ach." When once they have heard the expected syllables, they smile a placid smile of contentment, and remark, one to another, "I can understand pretty nearly everything that is said,—with the exception, of course, of an occasional word."

We take our seats and wait for the entrance of SEEBACH. The curtain rises upon "FAUST" pursuing his studies in middle-age, respectability, and a dressing-gown. To him, after hours of soliloquy, enters "MEPHISTOPHELES." We observe, with surprise, that those estimable gentlemen, Col. THOMAS W. KNOX and Hon. ERASTUS BROOKS, have been engaged to play "FAUST" and "MEPHISTOPHELES" respectively, To be sure the programme informs us that these parts are taken by two newly imported German actors, but we prefer the evidence of our senses to the assertions of the programme. Have KNOX and BROOKS been copied in German? If not, they are now playing in Fourteenth Street. Don't tell me that it is merely an accidental resemblance. Haven't I played billiards with the gallant COLONEL, and gone to sleep when the Honorable EDITOR was speaking in Congress? And shall I now be told that I don't know them when I see them? But this is irrelevant.

Hours of dialogue succeed to the previous hours of soliloquy. At intervals of fifteen minutes the curtain is dropped to enable the actors to discuss mugs of beer and the audience to discuss the actors. During these intervals we hear such remarks as these:

1ST GERMAN. "Subjectively considered, Faust is a tragedy. Objectively, we might regard it as a comedy. To the subjective-objective view, it is certainly a ballet pantomime. Ach! he was many-sided, our GOETHE. Here in this drama he has accomplished everything. There is food for our laughter and our tears. It excites us and calms us."

1ST AMERICAN. "I should think it did calm us. That's why the old fellow went to sleep and snored all through the last twelve acts. I think it's the heaviest and stupidest play that was ever put on the stage. Of course it's the greatest thing ever written, but then I prefer DALY'S Gaslight, myself."

2ND GERMAN. "Ah, my friend, how this sublime creation stirs the inner depths of our spiritual natures. Ach, Himmel! it is the poem of Humanity. Let us go out for beer."

2D AMERICAN. "When are we going to see SEEBACH?"

USHER. "She don't appear until the twenty-third act, sir. That will be on about three hours from now."

2D AMERICAN. "Come, TOM, let's go and have supper. I am getting exhausted."

USHER. "Step this way, sir. Mr. GRAU has some refreshments at your service."

And they go in search of the cold ham and beer which the beneficent GRAU has kindly provided. Refreshed by much beer, and enlivened by the cheery influence of the genial sandwich, they return for a few more hours of soliloquy and dialogue.

Time passes slowly, but surely. At last we reach an act in which SEEBACH walks quietly across the stage. The curtain instantly drops amid the sobs of the excited audience.

1ST GERMAN. "Lend me your handkerchief, my friend, that I may wipe away my tears. I have a sausage wrapped up in mine, but what are sausages compared with art! How divinely SEEBACH walks. To me, she seems like an incarnation of Pure Reason, an Avatar of the spirit of transcendental philosophy. Come, we will pledge her in beer."

1ST AMERICAN. "What are they making all that row about—just because SEEBACH walked across the stage? Why, she never said a word."

2D AMERICAN. "Let's go round to the hotel and take a quiet sleep till she comes on again. I've got my night-clothes with me. Always bring 'em when I go to see German tragedy."

Then ensue other hours of dialogue, interspersed with soliloquies of half an hour each. Interspersed also with perpetual dropping of the curtain, whereby the play is made to last some eight or ten hours longer than would otherwise be the case. Most of the German music that has been written during the last three centuries is played by the orchestra during these intermissions. But in course of time SEEBACH gives us the Garden scene, winning our frantic admiration by her inimitable tenderness and grace, and finally we reach that grandest scene ever written by dramatist, that most pathetic poem ever conceived by poet—the meeting of "FAUST" and "MARGARET" in prison. At last we are more than repaid for the dreary hours that have gone before. We have seen SEEBACH'S "MARGARET"—the most powerful, the most pathetic, the most beautiful, the most perfect creation of the stage.

And as we pass slowly up the tortuous, steep stairways of the theatre, while the Germans, all talking at once, burden the air with unintelligible gutturals, you say to me—if you are the intelligent person that you ought to be—"SEEBACH is the greatest actress of this century—greater than RISTORI, subtler and more tender than RACHEL."

With which opinion the undersigned concurs with all the emphasis of conviction; and over our late breakfast, to which we immediately sit down, we discuss the question, Which is the greatest—the poet who drew "MARGARET," or the actress who made the poet's picture warm with passionate life?

MATADOR.

Absolutely True.

For the last fifty years or so the metaphysical thinkers of Germany have been engaged in seeking for the Absolute. From present indications it would seem as though they are about to find it—where perhaps they least expected it—in the imperial reign of King WILLIAM, aided and abetted by Count VON BISMARCK.

"THE RIGHT PARTY."

A few days ago PUNCHINELLO officially announced his adhesion to the Right Party.

PUNCHINELLO hadn't the slightest idea which party was the right one, but thought that, as some party must be right, he could not go very for wrong. But mark the denouement. Every party imagines itself the right party, and welcomes him joyfully to its bosom. Republicans love him, Independents worship him, while Democrats would endure even the Fifteenth Amendment for his sake. In order to reciprocate their sentiments Mr. P. would have to resolve himself into a kind of Demo-Independent-Republican, which he has no idea of doing. Here's what some of the "organs" say of him:

The Sun.

"We hail with joy the accession of PUNCHINELLO to the ranks of independent journalism as embodied in the Sun, with a circulation of over 100,000, CHAS. B. DANA Editor, price two cents. Reinforced by this powerful journal, we shall continue with renewed vigor to demand of HORACE GREELEY his reasons why J.C. BANCROFT DAVIS should not be removed from the Assistant Secretaryship of State. We shall persevere in our attempts to make Gen. GRANT understand that to move four and a half inches from the White House is an infraction of the Constitution. Regardless of the tears of the thousands of advertisers who carry their announcements to our office, we shall devote our entire space to the vilifying of BORIE, FISH, the Disreputable Times and False Reporting Tribune. Those elaborate attacks upon moral corruption and the Erie Ring, for which we have become famous, will remain specialties with us. All this by PUNCHINELLO'S aid. Bully for PUNCHINELLO."

The Tribune.

"The moral influence of this paper, which retains the only correspondent at the seat of war, and whose dispatches, procured at a cost of over $2,000,000, are copied by the Herald, Sun and World,—(and whoever denies it lies damnably, with intent to malign, etc.,)—the moral influence of this paper is rapidly extending itself throughout the country. As a late instance, we note that PUNCHINELLO has given in its adhesion to the only true and pure republican agricultural party, which it appropriately names the "Right Party." PUNCHINELLO was once a frivolous, good-for-nothing sheet, devoted to low jokes and witticisms. The conversion of its editor to the temperance cause is the reason of the recent change in its tenets. We bid it God speed."

The World.

"As the irrefutable and all-enduring truths of Democracy receive exemplification in contemporaneous events, the reflecting and refined masses of this city purchase the World in preference to that decrepit and fast decaying sheet, the Herald. PUNCHINELLO, recognizing with ethereal foresight the exigencies of the situation, proclaims itself for the "Right Party"—our party. We welcome with acclamation this valuable addition to the Democratic ranks."

The Star.

"PUNCHINELLO has joined the Right Party, by which he obviously means the Star, whose circulation last Sunday exceeded 375,005 copies.

"But this has nothing to do with the domestic policy of the Peruvians, as expounded by the first CAESAR.

"PUNCHINELLO will prove a pillar of strength to Tammany Hall, unless the siege of Paris should prove disastrous to the consumption of lager-bier, as set forth in 'Boiled for her Bones' and other tales by the best authors."

But Personals, my dear Star, Personals are the things that pay. If thus, why not? As thus:

"EDITOR OF PUNCHINELLO. The Editor of PUNCHINELLO has an income of about $500,000. He usually dines at the Hoffman House when out of State's Prison. He owns some fine lots somewhere underneath the East River, besides a brown stone front in Alaska."

"PUBLISHER OF PUNCHINELLO. This gentleman's income does not exceed $350,000 per annum. He expends it principally in beautifying his delightful summer residence in Mackerelville. It has been his misfortune to pass many years of his life in a lunatic asylum, the unhappy result of organizing plans for American Comic Papers. All is joy and peace with him now, however; he looks hopefully forward to the time when PUNCHINELLO shall have attained to his legitimate rank of the Foremost Journal in the Nation. Meanwhile he lunches daily at a leading restaurant on thirteen oysters, (a dozen and one over) with vinegar, pepper and a bottle of Bass."

"ONE MORE UNFORTUNATE."

MR. PUNCHINELLO: I fancy myself a victim of imposition, and I wish to place my case before you. Having, for a period of six months, "honorably and persistently," (to use the language of my friends,) held the office of third Deputy-Assistant Register of Caramels, in and for the city and county of New York, my associates in office and my friends in general have determined to present me with a testimonial of their distinguished regards. Accordingly, they have ordered a massive and handsomely engraved pair of silver tongs, and a splendid silver fire-shovel. This is all very well, so far, but the committee informed me yesterday that the shovel and tongs would cost four hundred and twenty-five dollars, and that, as only eight dollars and a half had been collected, it was considered highly important that I should immediately hand over the balance of the price, in order that the presentation and banquet, (to take place at my house on next Saturday evening,) might not be postponed, to the great disappointment of my associates in office and my friends in general.

Now, Mr. PUNCHINELLO, is not this a little hard on me? I know very well that it is customary for the recipients of testimonials to pay three-quarters of the cost of the present, and I am perfectly willing to abide by this custom; but forty-nine fiftieths is, I think, rather too heavy, especially as my house is heated by a furnace in the cellar and I have no use for a shovel and tongs—particularly silver ones.

Yours perturbedly, A. DOANE KNEA.

Roaming Troops.

The Italians in this country are very jubilant over the occupation of Rome by the army of Italy. But people of other nations hereabouts are not so much elated about the occupation of Roam in which the numerous troops of Italian organ-grinders are engaged.

Subject for a Debating Society.

Can a couple who have contracted a clandestine marriage be properly said to be carrying out their clandestiny?