Candlestick-maker. Out sallies the Butcher with his cleaver, and his boys with their knives, and by his side the Baker with his rolling-pin, followed by his crowd of friends armed with toasting-forks and cutting-irons, presenting a formidable front to the astonished JOHNNY and his handful of apprentices.

But there is no back-door to creep out through now; so at it they go, Valor against Might, but Might is the stronger, and Valor gets knocked on the head and has to fall back. This exasperates the heroic defenders of the shop, who exclaim, "If you can't fight any better than that, you had better leave," and immediately begin an attack in his rear.

The poor man, astonished at this unlooked-for defection from his ranks, turns his eyes imploringly around for aid, but sees none that can avail him. He hears on all sides the shout, "Clear out, clear out. If you can't win the battle for yourself, we will win it for ourselves, and keep the spoils." Sadly he views the situation; he feels the kicks of the Candlestick-makers in the rear, and he knows there is no hope for him. But his beloved store! he will save that if he can; he will offer himself as a sacrifice.

With compressed lips he walks to the Butcher, and says, "You have got the best of me; I'll give in. Stop the fighting." BILLY, overjoyed at the victory, embraces him, and is about to give the order for retreat, when the wily Baker whispers, "The shop is there yet, and it is that that troubles us as much as the man. Let us keep at it till we demolish it, and thus put a stop to all future controversy. After killing the old fox, don't leave a nest of young ones to grow up and bite us. What is their loss is our gain, you know. Do you understand?" "Yah, Yah!"

Latest from Below.

An unsophisticated young imp, who had not long been in Hades, was cowering over a small fire in a distant corner, endeavoring to keep from freezing, when his Impious Majesty himself heard the youth soliloquizing: "When will LIE BIG, the editor of the Sun, keep me company?" "You blockhead!" exclaimed his Majesty, "LIE BIG, the editor of the Sun, is not coming back for some time; he is of more service to me on earth, making converts for my jurisdiction, than the public are probably aware."

ENGAGEMENT IN HIGH LIFE.

Perhaps it is not generally known that Miss SUSAN B. ANTHONY desires to leave one field only that she may enter another; in other words, that the lady contemplates marriage. Our authority is uncertain whether the prospective groom is one of our border aborigines or an ex-Fenian leader of noted gallantry. We have, however, ventured upon the following sketch illustrative, in advance, of the reception, and which, in the absence of more explicit information, we may as well call—

ANTHONY AND CLEOPATRICK.

A CARPET GENERAL.

Brigadier-General Woodford. "DEAR ME, WHAT A DISAGREEABLE SMELL! WONDER WHAT IT CAN BE?"

Lady. "OH! THAT'S GUNPOWDER, GENERAL."

Brigadier-General Woodford. "GUNPOWDER?—AW! IS IT? NEVER SMELT ANYTHING OF THE KIND BEFAW."

HIGH-HANDED OUTRAGE.

EDITOR OF PUNCHINELLO: Sir:—I am the young lady, travelling in New Jersey (perhaps they will next make a crime of that!), and mentioned in a recent paragraph as having been asked by a person (called a man) "if this was ELIZABETH?"

I insist, Sir, that I was right in resenting, as I did, the impudent familiarity of this person (called a man), who, after sitting for an hour or two in perfect silence (having first intruded himself into the seat beside me without making any kind of apology), abruptly turns to me and says, "Is this ELIZABETH?"

I insist, Sir, that I was right in asking the ruffian what he meant. Consider the abruptness, Sir, of this question—this selfish question, as it turned out, after a grim and gruff silence of an hour and a quarter. Could not this unamiable person (called a man), have prepared me for it by a few moments' affable conversation? Why should he dare intrude his "Is this ELIZABETH?" with such brutal abruptness? Not a sudden proposal from one of my numerous suitors could have startled me more.

Look at the question, Sir, as pointing at my supposed Christian name (I have one, but it is not ELIZABETH, nor yet ELIZA); can you imagine anything more odiously familiar? "Well known for his mild and gentle disposition" this "gentleman" of Brooklyn may be; but there was no mildness, no gentleness this time, I assure you! The language alone proves that!

The rudeness was all the more shocking and discomposing, from the fact that I was at that moment contemplating the elegant features of a gentleman at the other end of the car, who seemed not altogether indifferent to my appearance (which he would have been, perhaps, had I seemed of "uncertain age," as the low fellow observes who wrote this paragraph), and there was every appearance of a growing interest in two susceptible hearts, when this cold-blooded (but "mild and gentle") person launched his brutal interrogatory, so selfish and unfeeling, with such violent abruptness.

Look, if you will, Sir, at the question as referring purely to the city which we were approaching. How did I know that my new found, but already dear friend was not about to alight (as, indeed, he seemed to be), and leave me to the disgusting society of this "mild and gentle" barbarian sitting beside me in such a state of stolid indifference, and thinking only of a vulgar town, and his still more vulgar affairs in that town!

Consider again, Sir, the audacity of this person (called a man), in repeating his odious question after the rebuke I had administered! Yes, he actually repeated it! as though I were a long-lost acquaintance, of whose identity he felt more than doubtful; I simply said to him (though the slanderous report says I screamed it), "You may think you are a gentleman, Sir" (and here I claim is evinced a disposition to be fair even to an enemy)—"you may think you are a gentleman, Sir, to address a lady so; but I do not wish to continue any further talk with you."

You may fancy the state of my feelings, Mr. PUNCHINELLO, at being obliged to make this little speech, and my friend at the other end of the car looking on, with wonder in every one of his expressive features, and the conductor at that instant coming in and shouting, "ELIZABETH!" as though I were called for and must go that very instant. Indeed, I felt very much like doing so—but not, I assure you, on perceiving that the "mild and gentle" ogre I have been speaking of was already going out. No; I was thankful I was going further, though the behavior of the remaining passengers was not calculated to inspire me with a very quieting sense of ease.

You will, I am sure, excuse the feelings of a lady who has been insulted by a ruffianly person (called a man), and affronted by a car-full of insolent and vulgar mob, called the American Public. I hope the gentleman at the other end of the car will take for granted that he was not one of this brutal mob.

Yours, with much feeling,

MEDORA EUPHEMIA SLAPSADDLE.

THE LAST MOTTO OF THE JOHN REAL DEMOCRACY.—O'BRIEN, LED—WITH a hook.

THE POLITICAL CAT'S-PAW. JOCKO WOODFORD MAKES TOMCAT LEDWITH USEFUL FOR PULLING THE ROASTED CHESTNUTS OFF THE FIRE.

HIRAM GREEN INTERVIEWS HORACE GREELEY.

Some unpublished Facts—H.G. of the Tribune reveals to H.G. of Punchinello what he Knows of Farming.

"H. G. OF THE Tribune, I believe," said I, reaching out and taking his lilly-white hand, one Saturday mornin at Chattaqua.

"Jess so," said he, politely, "and this is H.G. of PUNCHINELLO. We're a helthy team at writin' comic essays—eh! Squire?" And the hills, dales, and barn-yards resounded with our innercent prattle.

"My bizziness, Mister GREELEY, is to see if you know as much about agricoltural economy as you do about politikle economy. As I useter say to culprits, who was bein tried before me when I was Gustise of the Peece, you needent say nothin which will criminate yourself."

"Well, my lerned friend," said he, hily pleased at my happy way of puttin' things, "foller me, and I'le show you what farmin on scientific prenciples can do for a man."

Arm in arm we sailed forth, as gay and festiv as a pair of turkle doves—HORRIS with his panterloons stuffed in his bute legs, and the undersined with his specturcals adjusted on his nose.

"Do you see that piece of land over yender?" said he, pintin to a strip of 10 akers. "That was a worthless swamp two yeer ago. For $15,000.00 I made it what it is, and to-day, I'me proud to say it, my farm is worth $1,750.00 more, with that 10 akers under cultivation, than it was before I drained it."

"HORRIS," said I, wishin to humor him, "as an economist, this shows your brains is in the rite spot."

He then took me in his garden, and showed me what his success in the sass bizziness had been. "Do you see that 10 aker bed?" said he. "Well! last fall I saw a lot of pie plant growing in a wild state. I said nothin to nobody, but when it got ripe I saved the seed. This spring I planted that patch of ground with it, anticipatin the biggest crop of pie timber in the State. And, sir, jest as sartin as this white hat was once new," said he, pintin to his old plade out shappo, "when that stuff grode to maturity, I sent a cart lode down to the market, and it was all sent back with a note, statin that burdocks wasn't worth a cuss for pies. But," said he, takin me by the button-hole, "no man can fool me agin on pie timber."

"As a farmer, HORRIS," said I, so as to keep the rite side of him, "your ekal hasent been hatched."

He then shode me the remains of a young orchird; said he: "The borers got into the roots of them trees, which trees cost me, within the last two yeer, about $5,000.00. I tried all sorts of ways to get rid of them. I even set my hired man to readin artikles on 'What I know of farmin' to 'em. This put the grubs to sleep 'long at first, but they finally stopt their ears up with clay, and wouldent listen. So that dodge was plade out. I then bought a lot of ile of vitril and poured it about the roots of them trees, and I tell you, friend GREEN," said he, as tickled as a boy with his first pair of new boots, "it would have made you laff to see them borers moosey."

"But," said I, "it killed them trees deader'n a smelt."

"Which don't amount to shucks, so long as the cause of sientific farmin is benifitted, by showin bugs that the superior critter man is too many meesles for the animile kingdom," was his reply.

"Them trees over there," said this distingished farmer, "was a present to me. They come marked pine trees. It is over three yeers since they was sot out, and not a solitary pine apple have they yielded yet. I reckon it takes time for them to bear fruit," said he in his simplisity.

"Not only time," said I, somewhat surprised, "but if you live through all etarnity, you won't see a darned apple on them trees."

"But, Squire GREEN," said he, with a downcast air, "H. WARD BEECHER says pine apples grows on pine trees, and as long as brother B. spends all his salary in edicatin hisself for a farmer, he orter know."

"Brother fiddlesticks," said I, a little riled at hearin him cote H.W.B. as a farmist. "HANK is a 4 hoss team at raisin food for the sowl; but when you come to depend on sich chaps to raise grub and other vegetables for the stomack, excoose me for sayin it, it haint H. WARD'S fort, no more'n it is mine to outsing NILLSON for the beer."

We entered his poultry yard.

"You're old peaches on raisin fouls, I've been told," said I.

"Ker-r-rect," said he, "chickens is my best holt. Last spring I had a favorite speckled hen—she was the specklest biped which ever wore feathers. One day, I sot her on 300 eggs. That fowl done her level best and spread evry feather, but she hadent enuff elasticity to cover so much territory at one settin."

"Well, sir," said he, straitenin his form, up to its full hite, "Sients come to my ade. I got a feather bed, and with a glue pot bilt out that hen's spread."

"What," I says, "the hen dident hatch all them eggs?"

"Not exsactly," was his reply; "she would have hatched every egg, but—but—but—," and he broke down and bust into teers.

"But—why?" I asked, soothin his perturbed spirrit.

"She had a great deal of pride that hen did. She was terribly stuck up. Just as she got settled down for a good square old-fashioned set, she was so proud of her position, that somehow or other, it struck in and killed her."

We visited his barn, which was chock full of farmin tools. Said he:

"It is allers a mistery to peeple how I make farmin pay, but, Squire, between you and I, heer's where I reckon I've got 'em. Where I loses in other branches I make up heer. Any and everybody which invents a farmin masheen sends me one, and I gives them a puff. Every 30 days I gets up a bee, to which I invites the nabors. With hammers we knock them masheens to pieces, and, sir!" said he, blowin his bugle horn of liberty with his cote sleeve, "as the Roman mother once said, 'these is my tressoors,' for, sure's your born, the sales of old iron more'n pays runnin my farm, losses and all."

The shades of nite was a fallin, so thankin H.G. for posten me up on his farmin nolidge, I left him, with my mind fully made up, that, with the Filosifer, the pen was a heep site mitier in his hand than a farm is, in which opinion any well-bred, onprejodiced farmer will fall into. Ewers farminly,

HIRAM GREEN, ESQ.,

Lait Gustise of the Peece.

FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE.

"AT A PRIVATE THEATRE IN THIS CITY MR. J—N SM—TH RECENTLY MADE HIS début AS Rolla, AND CREATED A MARKED SENSATION."

THE NEWMAN FUND.

About seventy of the artists connected with the illustrated press of this city and Boston have contributed drawings for the benefit of the family of the late WILLIAM NEWMAN, formerly one of the designers of the London Punch, and who for the last ten years held a prominent position among the graphic artists of this city. To this move on the part of kindred spirits, PUNCHINELLO cries "Bravo!" The kindly worker who has passed away from our midst would have been foremost himself in moving thus when death or sickness had fallen upon a brother of his guild. To aid his family, then, in the manner proposed, is the best tribute than can be paid to his memory. Due notice will be given of the arrangements for exhibiting and disposing of the contributed pictures, to possess some of which, PUNCHINELLO hopes, will be a matter of emulation with his New York readers.

OUR BAD CHILDREN ON THE BORDER.

Missionary. "AND IT CAME TO PASS THAT CAIN WAS WROTH WITH ABEL, HIS BROTHER, AND ROSE UP AGAINST HIM AND