confrontin a perliceman. Says I, strikin a tragick attitood, "Am I GREEN, or am I not GREEN? If I haint GREEN, who in SAM HILL am I?"

"Old man," said the porliceman, tryin to quiet me, "you mite have been green before you struck Pittsburg, but if I haint mistaken, yoo've been out and got smoked up, and are now as black as the ase of spades."

"Oh! hor-ri-ble, hor-ri-ble!" I hissed, and rushed into the washroom.

After soakin my head in a wash-basin for a few minnits, reezin agin returned, and I diskivered, to my disgust, that I had been sold by the consarned smoke a settin down onto me. Well, Mister PUNCHINELLO, it was a narrer escape for the old man, you bet. I wasent long in gettin washed up; and if ever a lone traveller was tickled to set foot onto a rale rode car homeward bound, it was your hily intelectual and venerable quill jerkist.

I told Mrs. GREEN of my adventoor. It emejetly sot her into one of her cranky tantrums. Says she, "HIRAM, you've an old fool. Why don't you stay home, where you belong, and not go pokin about the country like a great big booby?"

"But, my dear," was my reply, "GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN got up his name by gittin into musses, and wastin and pinin away into furrin pastiles."

"GEORGE FRANCIS your grandmother," said she. "You and he orter be tide together and caged. If I only had the keepin of you then, Ide nock the foolishness out of your nozzles, or break your pesky old topknots in the atemt."

Between us, Mister PUNCHINELLO, MARIAR would do that ere thing to the letter, if she had a chance.

Ewers, white as the druv snow,

HIRAM GREEN, Esq.,

Lait Gustise of the Pees.

TERMS OF SURRENDER.

Madge (to her elder sister, who has just rung the hall-door bell). "FLORA, YOUR BEAU'S HERE."

Flora. "LET ME IN IMMEDIATELY, YOU NAUGHTY GIRL."

Madge. "I WILL IF YOU'LL PROMISE TO GIVE ME YOUR BON-BON BOX AND CORAL PIN."

HIGH REVEL IN THE WHITE HOUSE.

SARSFIELD YOUNG'S PANORAMA.

PART IV.

THE GOLDEN GATE.

An animated and picturesque view, fresh from the hand of genius.

The mellow sunshine, the birds fluttering in the air, the ships dashing through the briny deep, the foliage upon the hills in the dim distance, the glittering steeples of the great city of El Dorado,—and one of GEORGE LAW'S old man-traps in the foreground, with a high-pressure boiler (you see there is an excursion party on board, with a band of music), and an open bay,—all combine to lend to this wonderful triumph of art an airy and exhilarating tone, indescribably delicious.

This is the Golden Gate which guards the harbor of San Francisco. It is open and shut by means of an earthquake. This water, extending in every direction, is the well-known Pacific Ocean. They have called this the Golden Gate, because somewhere in this vicinity the precious metal was discovered, accidentally, as it were.

Observe the skill—with which our artist has distinguished land from water; trees from ships; clouds from church spires; human beings from Chinamen. In so doing, he has distinguished himself also.

In view of these sloops on the extreme left, may we not say that this is a mast apiece?

This exquisite gem was completed about the same time as the Pacific Railroad, and yet how different. Here the eye of the beholder lingers fondly upon the scene, drinking in at every point new and inspiring beauties. I presume that the traveller upon the Union Pacific may drink at every point if he wants to, but he can't linger. Their time-table doesn't allow it.

I forgot to mention that in the background can be detected glimpses of the great State of California.

BOTANY BAY.

What emotions arise in the breast as you approach this remarkable spot! Tour mind naturally reverts to your English ancestry, to those early settlers, the noble forefathers of this colony, who forsook their old homes and braved the perils of the deep till they reached these distant shores. They came not from a feverish thirst for gold, nor with ambitious visions of a new and powerful empire. They came rather from a conviction, that here was where they were wanted.

This crowded canvas gives you some faint idea of what has been the result of that generous, patriotic pilgrimage.

This is Felon's Avenue.

Burglar's Hall,—a fine public building,—Headman's Block, The College of Forgery, Counterfeiter's Exchange, The Cracksman's Crib, (a new and elegant hotel), Mutiny Row, and many other prominent buildings are to be seen.

Such are the natural beauties of the place that persons who come here feel compelled to stay a good while. (The melodeon will evolve "Home, sweet home.")

THE NATURAL BRIDGE OF VIRGINIA.

Next to Mount Vernon, the Libby Prison at Richmond, and John Brown's Engine House at Harper's Ferry, this is to the stranger the most interesting piece of scenery in the Old Dominion. So firm and substantial is the masonry that it is supposed to have been standing long before the English settlement of the country. Some learned writers think that those stately abutments are too massive for the red man of the forest to have constructed. Besides, what did he know about engineering? I'm sure I can't say how this is; but I had always supposed that there never was a camp of these savages without an Indian near.

At all events the effect is very natural, and it only needs a toll-house to render it completely so.

This dizzy elevation has been scaled by daring adventurers who cut their names in the soft, yielding rock; not so many, it is true, of late years. They have rather fallen off.

There is food for contemplation in this beautiful object; also in the hotel which you perceive not far off.

NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE.

This represents a very dark night, with no moon, exceedingly cloudy, and all the fires out. You will be struck with the interesting fact that a night on the prairie, under such circumstances, looks very much like a similar night elsewhere.

SUNRISE, ON THE PRAIRIE.

People who have never seen the sun rise on the prairie, or anywhere else, say that this is exactly like it.

These two vivid representations of our Western domain are the efforts of two boys, both of them brothers. One panted for fame. So did the other. That made a pair of pants.

Both miners, they mixed a good deal with rough people, in fact from the cradle up. They mixed paints well. They did this job in gangs of one each.

One of these boys has grown up and dyed. His bones are bleaching on the plains of Arkansas. He is carrying on an extensive dye-house and bleachery in the suburbs of Little Rock.

The other boy, I hardly know whether he has grown up or not. He was a pattern young man. The last I heard of him he was making patterns for a large manufacturing establishment at Pittsburgh.

BOSTON.

An exceedingly accurate view of the City of Boston and vicinity. The vicinity has all been annexed; so it is Boston proper. All Boston is proper—very proper.

This view was taken by BLACK, a distinguished artist. Colored men draw better in Boston. The picture was originally a small one, taken by photograph, and then "thrown up," as the technical term is. Our artist threw it up for pecuniary reasons. I have forgotten the man's name who took it again. I think he said his name was SHERIFF.

The spectator is supposed to be standing just in front of the foreground, except where this perspective comes in; then he is perched, with a smoked glass, in the look-out at the top of the State House.

Boston Common; the Harbor; the Mall on the Common; Fort Warren; the Old Elm Tree on the Common; Bunker Hill Monument; Fountain on the Common; Park Street Church, orthodox—these other docks are at East Boston; Children of the Public Schools playing on the Common; Faneuil Hall; Frog Pond on the Common; the Public Garden, etc.

The Great Organ is played at about this point. Travellers from New York frequently come upon the Sound when miles away.

We would like to show one or two of the important men of Boston, but the artist assured us we hadn't room.

Boston is high-toned. I believe the taxes here are higher than in any other city in the country. I would like to say a good deal more about Boston, but being a Boston man myself, my modesty prevents me. You will always notice this peculiarity in a Boston man—he seldom mentions Boston. It is a way we have in Boston.

Lunatic

What man is most looked up to? The Man in the Moon.

THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.

ALTER MONTGOMERY has been playing "HAMLET" and "OTHELLO" at NIBLO'S GARDEN. So graceful and elegant is he in his stage presence, that I have been obliged to decline to take MARGARET to see him. There is nothing so annoying as to escort one's cousin (I think I have mentioned that MARGARET is my cousin) to the theatre and to hear her express the most ecstatic admiration of that "perfectly lovely Mr. MONTGOMERY." I have suffered from this sort of thing once, and don't propose to subject myself to it a second time. I do not consider myself a jealous man, but as Mr. GUPPY finely and forcibly remarks, "there are chords in the human breast."

Last week, I referred in pointed, not to say Greeleyesque language, to the REFORMING NUISANCES who insist upon improving everything according to their own fashion. The NUISANCE, however, has this peculiarity, that he never wants to change anything that really needs to be reformed. He will insist upon bullying Mr. TILTON into total abstinence from the mildest form of claret and water, but he never thinks of urging Mr. GREELEY to a wholesome moderation in the use of objurgatory epithets. He is clamorous in his demand that Rip Van Winkle should be transformed into a temperance lecture, but he is entirely satisfied with the preposterous manner in which the clever but inartistic SHAKESPEARE has thought fit to end his two meritorious tragedies, Hamlet and Othello. Now no one at all familiar with either of these two popular plays can fail to perceive the gross faults of construction which characterize them both.

To be sure, if we accept the theory of "HAMLET'S" insanity, we can account for the preposterous idiocy of his conduct. But from the greatest to the worst of our interpreters of "HAMLET,"—from BOOTH to FECHTER,—there is no modern actor who believes in the real insanity of the melancholy Dane. The fault of his folly, therefore, lies with the dramatist, and not the actor.

What does "HAMLET" do when he decides—on the unsworn statement of an irresponsible GHOST—that his father has been murdered by the GHOST'S brother? We all know that he devotes himself to the duties of a private detective; that he drives his sweetheart crazy by using very improper language to her, and by coolly denying that he had ever had any serious intentions toward her. Then he gets up the worst specimen of private theatricals that even a royal drawing-room ever witnessed,—a performance so hopelessly stupid as to actually make the KING and his consort seriously ill. Next he insults his mother, and, under the weak pretext of killing rats, wantonly makes a hole in her best tapestry. And finally, after having killed the young man who was to have been his brother-in-law, he stabs his own uncle and calmly watches the dying agonies of his mother, who has succumbed to an indiscreet indulgence in adulterated whiskey. His death is the only redeeming incident in his career,—only he should have died in the first, instead of the fifth act.

The real "HAMLET"—if there ever was such a person—would have shown the traditional thrift and enterprise of his race by a very different course of conduct. After the interview with the GHOST he would have had a private audience with the KING, and there would have ensued a scene somewhat like the following one. Of course he would not have talked in blank verse. The world has never properly condemned the outrageous cheek with which SHAKESPEARE has attempted to make us believe that blank verse was ever the ordinary speech of sensible men.

HAMLET.—"I have a little business to settle with your majesty."

KING.—"Well! out with it; I've got an appointment with the German Ambassador about that Schleswig-Holstein business at 2 o'clock, and can only spare you ten minutes."

HAMLET.—"I want to be appointed collector of the port of Copenhagen, with a salary of ten thousand dollars a month besides the fees. Also, I want to marry OPHELIA, and to be recognized as the heir apparent to your throne."

KING.—"Well! I rather like your cheek. Do you mistake me for an American President, that you ask me to appoint one of my own relations to the fattest office in my gift? Why you impertinent young scoundrel!"

HAMLET.—"Draw it mild, if you please. The reason why I ask these favors of you is, that if granted they will prevent me from talking in my sleep."

KING (aside).—"He's got 'em at last. I knew he would, if he kept company with politicians." (To Hamlet.) "Are you drunk or crazy? Not that it is of much consequence, but still I should like to know the reason of this impudence."

HAMLET (in a sepulchral whisper).—"Uncle! I have seen a reliable gentleman who saw my late father die. Now don't do anything rash. You see I know all. Appoint me collector, and I'll agree to think no more about it. Refuse, and I shall take the course that filial love and duty prompt."

KING.—"There is no need of any dispute between relatives on such a little matter as this appointment. I appreciate your business capacity. Swear to forget the nonsense you have hinted at, and you shall be collector. Is it a bargain?"

HAMLET.—"It is."

Here the play would naturally end, and the audience would feel that both "HAMLET" and the "KING" had conducted themselves in a creditable manner. By such a change as this, Hamlet becomes a rational and enjoyable play. But will, you ever find a REFORMING NUISANCE who will offer to improve Hamlet? Not a bit of it. There is nothing which your NUISANCE is more reluctant to do than to engage in any really useful work.

"OTHELLO" is another idiotic person, who spoils what would otherwise have been a respectable play, by his stupid jealousy. How much better would the drama have been had the fifth act proceeded in this wise:—

OTHELLO.—"Desdy, my dear, are you in bed?"

DESDEMONA.—"Yes, and I'm sleepy too, and don't want to be bothered. There's your night-shirt hanging on the chair."

OTHELLO.—"IAGO tells me you've been flirting with Lieutenant CASSIO. Now that won't do. Remember that under the Fifteenth Amendment I have the right, being a colored man, of doing pretty much as I choose. If this flirtation isn't stopped promptly I'll go to Indiana, divorce you, and marry EMILIA. Do you know where the boot-jack is?"

DESDEMONA.—"I never did flirt with him, and IAGO tells a big story if he says I did. The boot-jack must have been kicked under the bed. As for flirting, after the way you have gone on with EMILIA, the less say about it the better. If you can't find the boot-jack, call the servant and let him pull your boots off—you'll catch your death if you go poking round under the bureau and sofa and things much longer."

OTHELLO.—"Of course it's all right, only don't have too much to say to him. There's that