SHOCKING

In Tipton, Indiana, has originated the secret order, with rituals, signs and grips, called the "Earthquake." Were its object not altogether earthly, we might regard it as merely a new set of underground Quakers. The remarkable quiet of Friends' Burying-grounds is a guarantee against all possible disturbance from Earth-Quakers, now that the Underground Railroad has ceased to run.

All honor to the gentlewoman in Aroostook, Maine, who put out a fire the other day, first by pouring water on it, then all her milk and cream, and finally all the pickle in her meat-barrels. 'Twas only applying wholesale an old woman's cure for burns; but the point of the matter was that she pickled a fire, and preserved her life.

Extract from Speech of Counsel for Defence.

"Ladies of the Jury, I appeal to you;shouldsuch whiskers be hung? True, he killed his wife; but, as you know, she was a horrid jealous thing, and led her poor husbandsucha life. Inmyopinion, killing was too good for her. Ladies, be merciful; the prisoner hangs upon your lips. Consider his eyes; consider his nose. Were I married to a woman who called me an unprincipled wretch, wouldn't I kill her? Wouldn't I? Ladies, be generous." And so forth. (Jury retire, but return immediately with a verdict ofNot Guilty; Judge, Jury, Counsel, and all shed tears and kiss indiscriminately. They take up a collection for the prisoner, who, next day, marries the Forewoman of the Jury, out of gratitude.)

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STANDISH FOUR CORNERS, June —, 18—

EDITOR OF PUNCHINELLO:

SIR: I wish to call your attention to certain defects in the journal conducted by you, and to make a few suggestions, which, if followed, will greatly improve it. I have talked with several eminent gentlemen on the subject, among whom are the Rev. EZEKIEL DODGE, pastor of the Sandemanian Church in our town, and also the Hon. PELEG SMITH, our Representative in Congress. Both fully agree with me in the ideas which I am about to lay before you.

In the first place, I object to the name PUNCHINELLO. It is too frivolous, and suggests no food to the thoughtful mind. You should have called your paper theBanner of Progress. This would have at once enlisted the sympathy of all earnest men in your enterprise. Rev. Mr. DODGE says that he wrote to you some weeks ago, proposing that you change the name to that of theFriend of Truth,while Mr. SMITH thinks that thePig Iron Reviewwould be the best possible name. He is, however, a high tariff man, and his judgment may be influenced by that fact. Either of these latter names would unquestionably be preferable to PUNCHINELLO, but the name which I have suggested is the one which you ought to adopt.

Then the shape of your paper is all wrong. Any one can see that if it were only shorter and broader, it would closely resemble the shape ofPunch. Now, sir, we Americans don't want anything that looks like anything British or European. Our country is bigger, and consequently better than any other. We have bigger rivers, bigger cataracts, bigger steamboats, and bigger jimfisks than any other people, and, therefore, our newspapers ought to be original in shape. You should make your paper octagonal in form, otherwise everybody will justly accuse you of imitating some effete and monarchical British journal.

And I must strongly object to the spirit of levity which I find in your paper. This is an Earnest Age, sir, and we cannot afford to joke. The Rev. Mr. DODGE has been greatly grieved at the light way in which you have treated such serious subjects as the Divorce Question. He will forward to you a sermon of his own on the topic of "The Jewish Marriage Law compared with that of the Amalekites and the Jebusites, together with Remarks on the construction of the Ark, including an Inquiry into the origin of the Edomites, and a Dissertation upon the Levitical law of Tithes." This sermon would occupy from four to six pages of your paper every week, if published in weekly instalments, for a period of about ten weeks, and would give a tone to PUNCHINELLO which it now lacks. Besides publishing this sermon, you would do well to print, every week, a speech of the Hon. Mr. DODGE, who is one of the most eloquent members of the House, and whose views on finance are greatly respected by such men as Mr. KELLEY and Mr. CHANDLER.

You ought also to have a definite purpose in view. At present you have no Mission. The earnest men and women who look to you for aid and counsel, find nothing in your paper bearing upon the great questions of the day. You should make your paper the organ of some influential party. There are the friends of Pig Iron, for example. Devote the greater part of your space to the advocacy of their lofty cause, and there is not an iron manufacturer in the United States who would not borrow PUNCHINELLO from some one of his acquaintance, and read everything in it relating to the contest now going on between the fearless champions of freedom, and American pig iron, against the bloated upholders of British interests. As it is, you appear to advocate no single practical measure which concerns the welfare of this country and the perpetuity of our glorious Union. PUNCHINELLO is the favorite paper of careless young men, depraved middle-aged men, who care nothing for Progress and Humanity, and young girls who prefer dress and admiration to addressing their Earnest sisters from the platform of Reform meetings. The Rev. Mr. DODGE tells me that all the young people of his congregation read it, and he fears that they prefer it to his sermons. A paper read by this class of readers must be radically wrong. You must change its character at once.

One thing more. You must cease to publish pictures of the character of those which now appear in your paper. In their place you might substitute drawings of practical value, such as theScientific Yankeepublishes. If you do this, in addition to making the other changes which I have suggested, you will find that PUNCHINELLO will make a very different impression from that which I fear it has already made. In that case I will become a subscriber, and will send you a few sound, earnest articles of my own. I am, Yours, in behalf of Progress,

AN EARNEST MAN.

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THAT INDIAN TALK.How, how, Great Father, how.Me Spotted Tail; me Rattling Cow;Me Red Cloud; whiskey time now?How, Great Father? How? How?Me Ogallala; me Brulé Sioux.How, Great Father, how do?Bed children come long way, ugh!Big Whiskey love. Great Father too?Poor Injun tired; peace Injun try.War-paint no good; no whiskey buy;Treaty no want; treaty all lie.Great Father's whiskey Injun no spy.No whiskey give, no have pow-wow.Poor Injun dry; dry Injun row.When whiskey time? Whiskey time now?Father no tongue? How! How! How!

How, how, Great Father, how.Me Spotted Tail; me Rattling Cow;Me Red Cloud; whiskey time now?How, Great Father? How? How?

Me Ogallala; me Brulé Sioux.How, Great Father, how do?Bed children come long way, ugh!Big Whiskey love. Great Father too?

Poor Injun tired; peace Injun try.War-paint no good; no whiskey buy;Treaty no want; treaty all lie.Great Father's whiskey Injun no spy.

No whiskey give, no have pow-wow.Poor Injun dry; dry Injun row.When whiskey time? Whiskey time now?Father no tongue? How! How! How!

A paragraph states that a "piece of Spar, seven feet long, and weighing two hundred pounds, has been taken from the great Spar Cave near Dubuque." We were not previously aware that O'BALDWIN, the "Irish Giant," was serving out his term of imprisonment, in the Spar Cave, but the thing has a fitness about it.

WHEN do topers like to make a raid upon the rural districts?

When the herbage is "lush."

Moose, as well as other members of the cervine family, live mostly on the shoots of trees, but they die mostly by the shoots of hunters.

PUNCHINELLO hears with sincere regret that the notorious Miss CRAIG, of Chicago, once more threatens the unhappy SPRAGUE with another suit for breach of promise of marriage. We had thought that the forty thousand dollars awarded by the jury in the first trial were a plummet heavy enough to reach the lowest depths of "AMANDY'S" affections, and so in fact they were; but "ELISHA'S" lawyers, utterly disregarding the claims of true love, have interposed the absurd claims of what they call "justice to ELISHA," and so the thing will have to be all done over again.

It seems a cruel exercise of power to compel this delicate and shrinking female to stand once more in the pillory of the law; or, to put "ELISHA'S" orthography to a second test by a crucial and censorious public. Whatever may be the result of all this indifference to the sanctity of private character and correct spelling, PUNCHINELLO wishes to put upon record his total disapproval and abhorrence of it.

It is strange, yet nevertheless true, that a woman's glances are not always her own property. The old proverb, that "a Cat may look at a King," goes a-begging when applied to a woman; and this enables us to present to the Sorosis a subject for examination, at least as metaphysical as the philosophy of the MCFARLAND verdict.

Only last week a New York Judge committed an unsuspecting female because she did not look at him, while giving her evidence. The consideration that the unhappy creature was cross-eyed does not seem to have affected in the least the judicial aspect of the matter, and although counsel particularly directed the Judge's attention to the fact that even if the witness looked as straight as she could, her lines of vision would meet at an angle far short of the tip of his Honor's nose, still this pocket-edition of Lord Chief-Justice JEFFRIES "blinked" the point sought to be made, and absolutely insisted that she should suffer the penalty of her alleged disrespect.

PUNCHINELLO has a heart which warms naturally toward the sex, but he has also a cat-o'-nine-tails, which longs to warm the back of such a Judge, and if he will come down from his woolsack he can both see and feel what that cat-o'-nine-tails is like. Whether she be blue-eyed, or black-eyed, or cross-eyed, makes no difference to PUNCHINELLO, for he is, under all circumstances, the champion of the sex.

These much printed initials, which (as our intelligent readers are aware,) belong to certain modern Associations that combine Religion and Business in a highly prosperous manner, have sometimes a kind of secondary meaning, which may vary according to circumstances.

When, for example, the Young Men's C. A. of Iowa City, after having regularly engaged Miss OLIVE LOGAN in their lecture course, concluded to back out, the cabalistic letters seemed to read—

"Y-ou M-ust C-ancel A-rrangements."

But when the spirited OLIVE—perceiving rather more of Business than of Religion and Honor in this despatch—replied promptly that they might expect her without fail, according to programme, prudence suggested a quite different version of their initials, which now signified—

"Y-ou M-ay C-ome A-long!"

We forbear to comment on the dramatic and touching picture here afforded.—We suggest still another reading of their abbreviation,—one that may serve as a permanent interpretation forthatlatitude at least.—

"Y-outh M-ade C-onscientiously A-cute."

Chicago boasts having sent a colored Fenian to Canada. But is he a true-blue O'SAMBO or MCCUFFEE? Or is he recognized as colored only in respect to his peculiar wearin' of the grin?

It need not be supposed that Mr. PUNCHINELLO intends to work himself to death this summer.

By no manner of means!

He guarantees that the paper shall come out regularly, and get riper and lovelier every week, but he will have his good little times, notwithstanding.

Every week during the season he expects to slip off somewhere, for a day or two, and hopes to have something worth telling when he comes back. Last week he ran down to Long Branch. It's early yet, but folks like Mr. P.; CHILDS, of the PhiladelphiaLedger;THOMPSON, of the Pennsylvania Central; and other rich fellows always do go early. The big bugs always fly the soonest. Mr. P. went directly to the West End Hotel—the old Stetson House, you know. He went there because he always did like a hotel that had three men to keep it. What you can't get out of one of them is pretty certain to be screwed out of one of the others. "When Mr. P. drove up, Messrs. PRESBURY, SYKES, and GARDNER, were all sitting out on the front piazza, smoking seventy-five-cent cigars. They arose in chorus, and assured Mr. P. that the house was not yet quite ready for occupancy,

"But, sir—" said Mr. PRESBURY, "the Girard House, my hotel in Philadelphia, is always open. If you would like to go there—" And here SYKES struck in.

"But, sir," said he, "my hotel, WILLARD'S, in Washington, is always ready for guests, and if you could go there for a while—"

But forward sprang GARDNER, and says he:

"But, sir—if you would like to run down to Cape May, you will find my hotel—the Stockton House—" And here Mr. P. interrupted.

"Gentlemen," said he, "I would not have you quarrel, and you shan't split on my rocks. Good evening to you all," and he drove directly to General GRANT'S thirty-two thousand dollar cottage in the Park. GRANT was not there yet, but Mr. P. did not expect that he was. There being a butler and some cooks on hand, Mr. P. considered them sufficient, and had his baggage taken right up to the second story back room.

The butler looked a little astonished at first, but when Mr. P. explained about the hotel, and how he didn't want to go about any more—for from riding in the salt evening air he had already got a little hoarse—the man brightened up immediately.

"Oh, a little horse!" said he. "If that's what you come about you'll be welcome here. The General isn't here yet, but till he comes the rooms is yours."

And they were!

If any one feels inclined to follow Mr. P.'s example, he begs to recommend the President's "Old Yarns,"—the hind box on the top shelf of the library closet.

The next morning, Mr. P. wandered on the sands. Fond memories flocked around him, as he stood gazing on the corruscating waves.

But they were mostly memories of sheepsheads and flanneled bathers and 'tis not for these that the poet gazes into the emerald depths whence the pearly scum, like tears of mermaids—Ah! Mermaids! Mr. P. had never seen a mermaid. These were not among his memories He deeply woulded that he could—and lo! he did! The creature came gliding to his very feet, and he had barely time to bound back before she reached the shore. Shaking the water from her spectacles, she came up, and stood before him.

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Twas SUSAN B. ANTHONY.

"How do, PUNCHY?" said she; "I've left theRevolution. Yes, left it now, and we've got a new editor, and she's beautiful and don't charge a cent."

"Why, that's like me!" said Mr. P.

"Oh, PUNCHY!" said the gentle SUSAN, wringing the water out of her flannel skirts, "none of your joking here. Come, take my arm."

Here Mr. P. drew back in apprehension.

"Why, what's the matter?" said SUSAN. "Are you afraid of a little water, and you a man, too? See me! I'm as wet as sop. Don't keep me waiting here, now, or I'll feel like saying "Damn" again, and that sort of thing won't do too often. I want you to come along with me up to LESTER WALLACE'S place—the 'Hut,' you know. I'm stopping with him. It's two or three hours yet before lunch-time, and we can have a good talk."

Just at this minute Mr. PUNCHINELLO saw a sea-gull skimming past, and he said he would like to catch it and give it to LESTER for his menagerie. So he hurried after it.

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The next day, Mr. P. went out fishing. He hired a boat, and a man to sail it, and while the man was getting ready to put off, Mr. P. took his seat in the bow and began to fix his lines. He always likes to sit in the bow. The tiller don't knock him so often in the back, and the boom don't bother his head so much. What he particularly wanted was to catch a devil-fish! He thought to himself what a splendid thing it would be to catch one of the big, VICTOR HUGO kind, and to take it home with him to Nassau street! Wouldn't all his editors jump, when they saw him come into the office with that! And he would get STEPHENS to draw it for the paper.

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STEPHENS has drawn nearly everything on earth, but Mr. P. did not believe that he ever drew a devil-fish. Not from life, anyway.

As they sailed out to sea, Mr. P.'s heart beat faster, and his brain throbbed with delight as he thought of his great possible triumph.

He fished for two hours and never got a bite. There was too much talking at the stern. Mr. P. looked around, and there were three men there, beside the sailor-man! "Confound it!" thought Mr. P.; "they must have got on while I was fixing my lines, before we started." After this wise reflection, he objurgated the sailor-man, but the latter wanted to know if he wasn't to make any profit out of his stern and his mid-ships, as well as his bow, and he objurgated back with such force that Mr. P. gave him no further attention, but, turning to the interlopers, he said:

"I'm not so much surprised to see you, Mr. DELANO, for if any man in the country pushes himself and his hirelings where neither he nor they are wanted, it's you; but why you, HORACE GREELEY, and you, JIMMY HAGGARTY, should be here, I'm sure I don't know."

"Oh, we're all in the same boat, PUNCHY, said DELANO, knocking off his ashes to the windward of the Philosopher.

"That's a lie," remarked HORACE, rubbing the ashes deeper into his eyes with his handkerchief.

J. HAGGARTY grunted at this emphatic denial of such a self-evident proposition, and DELANO went on to say, "Yes, we're all alike"—all 'going through' our fellow-men. I with my assessors and collectors; HORACE with his protection schemes, and JIMMY, there, with his nimble fingers."

"That's so," said the good JAMES, and he shifted his quid.

The sailor-man, who had been objurgating straight ahead all this time, now weighed anchor and put the boat in towards shore. Silence fell upon the company. They seemed very shy of each other, and did not amalgamate at all. Mr. P. went out to the extreme end of the bowsprit and gazed down into the deep blue sea, wondering whether its color was really due to excess of salt, or the presence of cuprate of ammonia. HORACE climbed to the top of the mast, where he sat sadly, observing the swindling waves, which came all the way from Europe, and didn't pay a cent of tax when they landed. Mr. HAGGARTY went to the stern, where he employed his time in cleaning out the sailor-man's pockets, while DELANO dived into the hold, to see if he couldn't find an old worm-box, or a rope's-end, which had no revenue stamp upon them.

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That evening Mr. P. strolled up to the Pavilion, and Governor MORRIS told him all the news. When he heard that the Prince ERIE, of the Heavy Ninth, was coming down with his six-in-hand, (being only half his usual number of Temptations,) Mr. P. found that if he wished to shine at Long Branch, he had better keep away until he could come down with some of his pet seven-thirties in hand. So he picked up his $8.00 valise; put on his $9.00 hat; buttoned up his $35.00 coat; took his $12.00 umbrella under his arm; stuck his $00.00 free pass in his hatband, and went home to Nassau street.

There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip. When the Berton excursionists were taken by the Californians to the Cliff House, Mr. RICE brought out a bottle. Of course the Californians were wide awake for the drawing of the cork. "Whiskey, perhaps!" they murmured, "Brandy, possibly!" they sweetly sighed. "Rum, maybe!" they conjectured. "Schnapps, possibly," they surmised. But when Mr. RICE had drawn the cork, it was discovered that there was nothing in the bottle except a pint of salt water, taken from the Atlantic Ocean, which the bottle holder (as a rare joke) proceeded to empty into the Pacific Ocean, thus making (as he observed) "a literal blending of the waters." Very pretty, indeed; but not the sort of witticism which a dry man would be likely to appreciate—and Californians are sometimes extremely dry!

Employing female clerks in the Treasury Department because they will work for small wages.

May not a pretty actress, when playing a page part, appropriately be called a "belle boy"?

A MIDSUMMER ODE.Oh for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers!Oh for an iceberg or two at control!Oh for a vale which at midday the dew cumbers!Oh for a pleasure-trip up to the Pole!Oh for a little one-story thermometer,With nothing but Zeros all ranged in a row!Oh for a big, double-barrelled hygrometer,To measure this moisture that rolls from my brow!Oh that this cold world were twenty times colder!(That's irony red hot it seemeth to me.)Oh for a turn of its dreaded cold shoulder!Oh what a comfort an ague would be!Oh for a grotto to typify heaven,Scooped in the rock under cataract vast!Oh for a winter of discontent even!Oh for wet blankets judiciously cast!Oh for a soda-fount spouting up boldlyFrom every hot lamp-post against the hot sky!Oh for proud maiden to look on me coldly,Freezing my soul with a glance of her eye!Then oh for a draught from a cup of "cold pizen!"And oh for a resting-place in the cold grave!With a bath in the Styx, where the thick shadow lies onAnd deepens the chill of its dark-running wave!

Oh for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers!Oh for an iceberg or two at control!Oh for a vale which at midday the dew cumbers!Oh for a pleasure-trip up to the Pole!

Oh for a little one-story thermometer,With nothing but Zeros all ranged in a row!Oh for a big, double-barrelled hygrometer,To measure this moisture that rolls from my brow!

Oh that this cold world were twenty times colder!(That's irony red hot it seemeth to me.)Oh for a turn of its dreaded cold shoulder!Oh what a comfort an ague would be!

Oh for a grotto to typify heaven,Scooped in the rock under cataract vast!Oh for a winter of discontent even!Oh for wet blankets judiciously cast!

Oh for a soda-fount spouting up boldlyFrom every hot lamp-post against the hot sky!Oh for proud maiden to look on me coldly,Freezing my soul with a glance of her eye!

Then oh for a draught from a cup of "cold pizen!"And oh for a resting-place in the cold grave!With a bath in the Styx, where the thick shadow lies onAnd deepens the chill of its dark-running wave!

One may discern a new argument for the removal of the National Capital to St. Louis, in the Capital style of doing things in that accomplished city. Supposing you have a business, we naturally admire you as a business man, in proportion to your ingenuity in developing that business, and your energy in prosecuting it. Now this genius for business seems to characterize all grades of society in St. Louis,—even so far down as to the "City Dog-Killer." This talented functionary so developed his art, that he is able to kill the same dog a great many times—at an average profit of twenty-five cents each execution. He has a way of stunning the beast so that for all purposes of a canine nature it is apparently quite dead. By the next day, however, the late defunct has revived sufficiently to be susceptible of another killing, which is accordingly administered, and so on, we suppose, all through the season.

The inferiority of the East, in matters of this kind, may be justly and satisfactorily inferred from the fact that in Philadelphia, lately, they attempted to execute their dogs with carbonic acid gas. When the box or tub was opened, the irrepressible spirits of the animals confined therein were perceived to be at the topmost heights of jollity, and the police were obliged to go back to first principles and shoot the exhilarated curs.

It is generally known to the world that Chicago needs draining. In order that it may be drained, Mr. Sanitary Superintendent RAUCH has made a report which is extremely figurative and which quite bristles with the nine digits. Mr. PUNCHINELLO has read it until perfectly bewildered by the intricacy of the computations; but what he does understand is that if Chicago be not drained immediately, the amiable cholera may be expected to put in an early appearance. Mr. Superintendent RAUCH prints an aggravating table to show, by multiplication, addition, subtraction, division, and the rule of three, that if you don't drain you will have cholera, while if you do drain you will escape it. Under the circumstances, we should advise Chicago to drain.

A resolution has been introduced into one of the Southern Legislatures, that any member sleeping during service hours shall forfeit his per diem. The trouble with our fellows at Washington is that they keep too wide awake.

Catching an idea, Mr. NYE objected to the bill which some wretch had introduced, to abridge the privileges of Senators under the Franking laws. He knew that it would be a fearful tax upon Senators to send theharmlessnecessary editions of two or three hundred thousand copies of theCongressional Globeto their constituents at their own expense, and of course the constituents could not be expected to pay. What would be the result? TheGlobeswould accumulate in vast and useless numbers over all the land, to such an extent as to impede traffic, and they could, in that condition, kindle neither patriotic enthusiasm nor private fires. Somebody had suggested that these copies need not be sent. They all saw the folly of such a suggestion. True, constituents never read their speeches, but it was natural for the constituents to be gratified at having a representative thoughtful enough to tell his secretary to make out a list of eminent idiots in his district, and send them aGlobeapiece. This secured the idiotic element, which, he was proud to say, was the chief support of his political life.

Mr. SUMNER said that a bookseller in Boston was getting out an edition of his speeches in thirty-seven volumes. He was, accordingly, quite indifferent upon the Franking privilege, since it was certain that no constituent who read one of the speeches in the book would ever yearn to read another in a newspaper, and since no constituent would ever survive the reading of the entire series thus published.

Mr. CHANDLER said he would be Frank. He always had been Frank. It was his Franking Privilege. He was in favor of declaring a war with every nation which would not allow matter franked by Senators of this glorious Republic to pass their post-offices. He had sent copies of all his speeches to the effete and loathsome monarchs of Europe, with his frank neatly lithographed in one corner. But he had since heard that the minions of tyranny in foreign post-offices had stopped those documents, upon the paltry pretence that the postage was not paid. Thus he had been prevented from freezing the monarchical marrow and curdling the royal blood, since nobody could be expected to derive instruction or admonition from a speech which was used to feed the fire, or stuff the window, of one of his petty tools. He called upon the Senate to do him justice.

Mr. CARPENTER observed that justice would never be done to Mr. CHANDLER until the occurrence of a public execution. But still he considered that the franking privilege ought to be retained. The party that he belonged to was the party of intelligence. Strange as this might seem, it was true, and it was also true that, in spite of their intelligence, they would read his speeches. Let the Senate have pity upon these misguided, but not wilfully wicked men.

Mr. BANKS said he would offer a few observations upon Cuba.

The Speaker (who is coming out very strong as a comic presiding officer,) said he would rather see BANKS square a circle than a Cuba root. (He meant a cigar.) This sally was greeted with sickly smiles by the members who wanted the floor.

Mr. BANKS went on to say that our course towards Cuba was not what was due to her.

The Speaker begged to correct Mr. BANKS. His nautical friends assured him that our course towards Cuba was due South to her.

Mr. BUTLER. This is bosh. Let us annex San Domingo. Nobody does anything for another country without bonds—BANKS had Cuban bonds—he had the bonds of San Domingo. Annex San Domingo, or else give him San Domingo.

The Comic Speaker said BUTLER ought to be put under bonds to keep the peace. But perhaps it was superfluous, inasmuch as he always kept a large piece anyhow.

The House, at this, put crape on its left arm and adjourned.

This magnificent American fowl, like the more domestic weathercock, may often be seen wheeling through the air on the approach of a storm, and exhibits unmistakable signs of exultation when it is going to thunder. It is not a bird of song, but is unsurpassed as a screamer. To the common Kite, a plebeian member of the genus, has been ascribed an attribute which in fact belongs exclusively to this Banner species. The Kite, according to Dr. FRANKLIN, draws the lightning from the clouds, but this, in reality, is the proud prerogative of the Great American Eagle, the noblest of the falcon tribe, which may often be seen with a sheaf of flashes in its talons, rushing through the skies as a lightning express. It feeds on all the inferior birds, but its principal food is the American Bunting, which it bears fluttering aloft in its powerful mandibles. Strange to say, its feats with the electric fluid, and its fondness for the Bunting, have not been noticed by any of the great naturalists; but as innumerable artists have depicted the bird in the very act of scattering the one and carrying off the other, the omission is not, practically, of the slightest consequence.

The habitat of the Birdofreedom was originally limited to about twelve degrees of latitude, but being like the Imperial Eagle of Italy (now extinct,) given to Roam, it has within the last fifty years greatly enlarged the area of its feeding grounds. It is now found as far North as the Border of the Arctic Sea, where it cultivates amicable relations with the hyperborean humming-bird, and Professor GRANT is at present attempting to naturalize it in Saint Domingo. The time is probably not far distant when it will prune its morning wing on the upper pole, and go to roost on the equator. It is, upon the whole, a grasping bird, and inspires the weaker tribes with terror; yet, notwithstanding its fierceness, it perches familiarly on the Arms of the American people.

Although the Birdofreedom makes a magnificent appearance at all seasons, it is in its fullest feather about the Fourth of July. Its truculent disposition is then manifested by a threatening attitude toward the Anglo-Saxon Lion, (Leo Britannicus,) which it has twice worsted in single combat, and to whose well-knit frame it is prepared at any moment to administer a third sockdologer.

There are many varieties of the Eagle—as the Russian and Prussian, (which, singularly enough, have two heads,) the bald Eagle, the Osprey or Sea Eagle, the Golden Eagle, &c. The Golden species was formerly quite common in the United States, but has now almost entirely disappeared. Of the smaller species of the genus Falco, it is only necessary to say that, like the Eagle, they are inedible. In other words, though excellent for hawking, they are too tough for spitting.

At one time the animals living on either side of a river which ran through the middle of a vast tract of land, supplied in profusion with everything necessary to make their lives comfortable and happy, got into a terrible conflict with each other, which was waged with great bitterness for a long time, and caused the loss of a great many lives. At last an enormous Centaur appeared, and, putting himself at the head of the animals on the colder side of the river, led them in an attack on their opponents, which was so destructive that the latter were fain to surrender and promise to live in peace under the dominion of their stronger neighbors. Then the animals that had conquered were so pleased that they met together and agreed to make the Centaur ruler over the whole land, and when he was made ruler he made a speech, and all the animals thought they were going to have peace, and everybody was happy.

But after the Centaur became ruler, and when it was too late to do any good, his subjects repented of their choice, because he grew so fat that he could hardly move himself, and became indifferent to everything but his own amusement. He made the animals bring him presents of the choicest products of the country, and those that brought presents he made rulers under him, until there were so many idle rulers that the unhappy subjects could barely get enough to eat, and became so thin and weak that other animals, of whom they had before been the envy, now pitied and despised them.

Moral byPUNCHINELLO.

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