HALF-PAST THREE.—­Sudden demand for New York Amusement Co.’s Stock.  HARRY PALMER to reopen Tammany with a grand scalping scene in which the TWEED tribe of Indians will appear in aboriginal costume.  NORTON, GENET, and confreres have kindly consented to perform their original roles of The Victims.

P.S.  Unless I receive some definite information concerning that preference of St. Paul’s, I shall feel it incumbent on me to vacate my post of Financial Editor.

FOUR O’CLOCK.—­On receipt of reassuring news from Europe, the market has advanced to DELMONICO’S, where wet goods are quoted from 10 cents upwards.  Champagne brisk, with large sales.  Counter-sales (sandwiches, etc.,) extensive.  Change in greenbacks greasy.

P.S.  Asked a fellow what St. Paul preferred.  He said, “St. Paul Preferred Dividends, you Know.”  Perhaps St. Paul did.  A great many stockholders do.  But what stock did St. Paul hold?  Was it Mariposa or—­“Only just taken one, but, as you observe, the weather is confounded hot—­so I don’t mind if I—­”

GREENBAYS.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE DOG IN THE MANGER.  Crispin won’t do the work himself, and won’t let John Chinaman do it. ]

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OUR PORTFOLIO.

We have just received from “DICK TINTO,” our special correspondent at the seat of war, the following metrical production said to have been written by HENRI ROCHEFORT in prison, but suppressed in obedience to orders from the Emperor.  PUNCHINELLO felicitates his readers upon the enterprise which enables him to lay it before them, and flatters himself that the enormous trouble and expense involved in hauling it to this side of the Atlantic, will not prevent him from doing it again—­if necessary.

AU PRINCE IMPERIAL.

SCENE.—­A square fronting the Bureau of the chemin de fer for Chalons and Metz.  Time, Midi.

The Prince Imperial, en route for the seat of war, is seated upon a milk-white steed.  Beneath his left arm he convulsively carries a struggling game-cock, with gigantic gaffs, while his right hand feebly clutches a lance, the napping of whose pennant in his face appears to give him great annoyance and suggests the services of a “Shoo-fly.”  Around him throng the ladies of the Imperial bed-chamber and a cohort of nurses, who cover his legs with kisses, and then dart furtively between his horse’s jambes as if to escape the pressure of the crowd.  Just beyond these a throng of hucksters, market-women, butchers, bakers, etc., vociferously urge him to accept their votive offerings of garden truck, carrots, cabbages, parsnips, haunches of beef, baskets of French rolls and the like, all of which the Prince proudly declines, whereupon the vast concourse breaks forth into this wild chant to the air of

BINGEN ON THE RHINE.

      From fountains bright at fair Versailles,
        And gardens of St. Cloud—­
      With a rooster of the Gallic breed
        To cock-a-doodle-do—­