Our votes look decided—­as though we did know;
    But that’s because BUTLER or SCHENCK voted so. 
    Such points may come up, in the course of the day,
    As would puzzle the Seraphim some, I should say!

    Besides, gentle friends! did you ever think so? 
    Perhaps we are paying you all that we owe. 
    If you want better service, why send better men,
    And be better yourselves.  It will all be right, then.

[Footnote 1:  Political death, of course.]

* * * * *

Come on, Ladies!

An Anti-mustache movement has begun in Boston.  PUNCHINELLO to explain that it begins altogether with the ladies, and is, of course, Right Against the mustaches.

* * * * *

For Lunatics Only.

The latest whim of the Lunatics in one of the Indiana Asylums is the notion that they can design and build opera-houses.  Well, we have lots of crazy architecture, and more than one gentleman has acknowledged himself insane for investing in opera-houses.  But PUNCHINELLO thinks that the tastes of the insane would be better encouraged if directed to the building of Courts of Justice.  Every Court-house thus constructed, would be a monument to the Plea of Insanity.

* * * * *

GLIMPSES OF FORTUNE.

You may not think so, my dear PUNCHINELLO, but it is true.  I have had them.  I am not one of your bloated aristocrats—­just at the present moment—­but I know as well as any one what WHITTIER meant when he said “it might have been.”  As an instance of this, I will just state that it has not been a very long time since, in looking over the columns of one of our principal dailies, I saw something among the personals which seemed to touch my interests in, a very decided way.  I often look over the “Personals,” for I know well the connection between fortune and the Press.  I have not forgotten the success of A.T.  STEWART and many other millionaires, and their dependence on the newspapers—­but never until that day had I seen any thing in that mystic column which could possibly be construed to apply to inc.  As for the rest of the paper, I knew that there was nothing to interest me there.  You see I was after Fortune.  The advertisement to which I refer road as follows: 

“If the gentleman in a dark hat and gray pantaloons, who, in a Broadway stage, one day last week, passed up the fare for a lady with blue eyes and high-heeled boots, will call at 831 Dash street, second floor, he will hear of something to his advantage.  A.R.R.”