Punchinello, Volume 1, No. 04, April 23, 1870 | Page 6

people are sick of the Pope and his priests; the Pope is sick of
the Council; the bishops are sick of each other; and travellers are sick
of fever. _Sic transit!_
Let me tell you of my experience, for one day, with the "Press Ass" of
the Cable. On getting here, finding him to be amicable, I tried him on.
He gave me, for news, to send over to PUNCHINELLO, the following:
GREAT BRITAIN.
The Times has an article this morning upon the quality of Virginia
tobacco. It speaks with great respect of the authority of Ex-Governor
HENRY A. WISE upon that subject.
Mr. GLADSTONE was affected last night with a severe pain in his
stomach. On going to his place in the House, he was overheard to say,
"It must have been that cabbage." This morning he is better.
10 A.M. Mr. GLADSTONE did not say, "It was that cabbage;" but, "It
was those beans."
12 A.M. Right Hon. Mr. GLADSTONE is not any better. It is now
doubtful whether it was the beans or the cabbage.
2 P.M. The Right Hon. W.E. GLADSTONE is a little better, but ate

only a light dinner. Mr. BRIGHT thinks it was the beans.
Now, my dear PUNCHINELLO, by this time I began to think it must
be the beans, and so I sent word to my despi-telegraphic correspondent
that that would do. And so it will, also, from your correspondent,
--PRIME.
* * * * *
Women's Rights, Again.
Denver is said to be all agog about a performer named ANNIE
CORELLA, who plays solos on the cornet. This is the latest
manifestation of the Women's Rights movement, brass instruments
having hitherto been played exclusively by masculine lips and lungs.
"Blowing" through brass is very characteristic of the advocates of
Women's Emancipation; and the next thing we shall hear, perhaps, is
that the ladies of the Revolution have organized themselves into a brass
band, and taken to serenading HORACE GREELEY.
* * * * *
Latest Fashionable Intelligence from the Plains,
INDIANS' war-(w)hoops.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE PNEUMATIC TUBE. EX-PRESSURE OF THE
FUTURE.
THEY SAY THE SPHERES MUST BE TIGHTLY PACKED, AND
THIS HOW IT IS GOING TO BE--WHEN THEY CARRY
PASSENGERS.]
[Illustration: PROPHETIC VIEW OF THE INTERIOR.]
* * * * *

Our Future.
PUNCHINELLO believes in a future. He believes in it first for himself,
second for his country, and third for other people. He considers his own
future very good and gorgeous, of course. He considers that of his
country as very hopeful. It has room to grow, and grows. It has appetite
to eat by day and to sleep by night. It eats and sleeps. It rises in the
morning refreshed and lively. It washes its face in the Atlantic, and its
feet in the Pacific. It raises great eagles, great lakes and rivers, and has
a very large, and wise, and honest Congress. Its members of Congress
are all pure, unsullied men. Not a stain rests on their proud, marble-like
brows--not much. The future of PUNCHINELLO will be, to borrow
from the poet, a "big thing." Its genial, mellow, shining face will
continue to beam through uncounted ages--as long as beams can be
procured, at whatever cost. Its good things will be household words as
long as households are held. It will keep its temper very sweet, its age
very green, and its flavor very sparkling. It will help the country to get
on in its future, and be always glad to give government a good turn. If
government wants any money, it will be PUNCHINELLO'S pleasure
and privilege to launch it out. PUNCHINELLO has faith in countries
and governments, and thinks if such matters were not in existence, its
own prosperity would be affected. It therefore says to government, "Go
on--be good, and you'll be happy. Grow up in the way you are bent, and
when you get old, you'll be there." It sees a gigantic future for the
country. It sees the Polar sea running with warm water, the North Pole
maintaining a magnificent perpendicularity, and the Equinoctial Line
extended all around the earth, including Hoboken and Hull. It sees its
millions of people happy in their golden (greenback and currency)
prosperity, and also happy in a full supply of PUNCHINELLO to every
family. It sees its favorite Bird of Freedom spread its wings from
Maine to Oregon; from Alaska to the Gulf, and it trusts its wings will
not be hurt or lose a single feather in the spread. It sees
itself--PUNCHINELLO, not COLUMBIA--enter upon its thousandth
volume as youthful and pretty as a June rose, and as vigorous as a colt.
It sees the time when one Fourth of July will not go round the national
family, and from two to