And the undersigned goes home to breakfast—­it being now nearly 6 A.M.—­reflecting upon the beauty of the theatre, the neatness of the scenery, the general ability of the actors, the capabilities of the play, (after Mr. DALY shall have cut it down to a reasonable length,) the pluck of the young manager, and the unredeemed badness of the orchestra, as it is conducted by Mr. STOEPEL.  Tell me, gentle DALY, tell; why in the name of all that is intelligent, do you let STOEPEL transform each entr’ acte at your theatre into a prolonged purgatory, by the villainous way in which he plays the most execrable music, for the most intolerable periods of time?

MATADOR.

* * * * *

L. N. IN PRUSSIA.

        Yes, I am quite upset;
        In fact, I’m dizzy yet
    With all that rapid riding, day and night;
        But still, two things I see;
        They’ve made an end of Me,
    And blown the Empire higher than a kite!

        Yes, here I am, at last—­
        And all my dreams are past.
    didn’t think to enter Prussia thus! 
        Confound that “Vorwarts” man! 
        When first the war began
    He seemed as logy as an omnibus.

        Faugh! smell the Sweitzer Kaise! 
        The same in every place, eh? 
    How these big Germans love an ugly stench! 
        My! what a taste they’ve got
        For articles that rot;
    And can it be, they live so near the French?

        I’m in a pretty nest! 
        And, worse than all the rest,
    Is thinking how I got here; there’s the rub. 
        When I have mused awhile
        On all my luck, so vile,
    I almost wish they’d hit me with a club!

        It’s very well to say—­
        “I might have won the day,
    If things had only gone this way or that;”
        I should have made them go,
        And let these Germans know
    That they must go, too! or be cut down flat.

        They didn’t go, it seems;
        Except ’twas in my dreams! 
    And, consequently, I must bid good bye
        To titles, power and state,
        Which I enjoyed of late,
    And curse my dismal fate—­poor Louis and I!

* * * * *

THE PLYMOUTH ROCK.

The fact of his having relinquished (at the imperative demand of society) his weekly visits to the watering places, need lead no one to believe that Mr. PUNCHINELLO does not like a little fresh air.  And surely a half a day or so by the seaside need jeopardize no one’s social standing if the thing is not repeated too often.  At least so thought Mr. P., and he determined, one fine morning last week, that he would hurry up his business as fast as possible, and take a trip on Col.  FISK’S steamboat to Sandy Hook.  A man calling with a bundle of puns detained him so long that he found that he would not be able to reach the 11 A.M. boat without he made unusual haste.