We visited his barn, which was chock full of farmin tools.  Said he: 

“It is allers a mistery to peeple how I make farmin pay, but, Squire, between you and I, heer’s where I reckon I’ve got ’em.  Where I loses in other branches I make up heer.  Any and everybody which invents a farmin masheen sends me one, and I gives them a puff.  Every 30 days I gets up a bee, to which I invites the nabors.  With hammers we knock them masheens to pieces, and, sir!” said he, blowin his bugle horn of liberty with his cote sleeve, “as the Roman mother once said, ‘these is my tressoors,’ for, sure’s your born, the sales of old iron more’n pays runnin my farm, losses and all.”

The shades of nite was a fallin, so thankin H.G. for posten me up on his farmin nolidge, I left him, with my mind fully made up, that, with the Filosifer, the pen was a heep site mitier in his hand than a farm is, in which opinion any well-bred, onprejodiced farmer will fall into.  Ewers farminly,

HIRAM GREEN, ESQ.,

Lait Gustise of the Peece.

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[Illustration:  FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE.

“AT A PRIVATE THEATRE IN THIS CITY MR. J—­N SM—­TH RECENTLY MADE HIS debut AS Rolla, AND CREATED A MARKED SENSATION.”]

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THE NEWMAN FUND.

About seventy of the artists connected with the illustrated press of this city and Boston have contributed drawings for the benefit of the family of the late WILLIAM NEWMAN, formerly one of the designers of the London Punch, and who for the last ten years held a prominent position among the graphic artists of this city.  To this move on the part of kindred spirits, PUNCHINELLO cries “Bravo!” The kindly worker who has passed away from our midst would have been foremost himself in moving thus when death or sickness had fallen upon a brother of his guild.  To aid his family, then, in the manner proposed, is the best tribute than can be paid to his memory.  Due notice will be given of the arrangements for exhibiting and disposing of the contributed pictures, to possess some of which, PUNCHINELLO hopes, will be a matter of emulation with his New York readers.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  OUR BAD CHILDREN ON THE BORDER.

Missionary.  “AND IT CAME TO PASS THAT CAIN WAS WROTH WITH ABEL, HIS BROTHER, AND ROSE UP AGAINST HIM AND SLEW HIM.”

Comanche Warrior.  “HOW!  HOW!—­GOOD!—­CAIN RED MAN, EH?—­ABEL WHITE MAN?—­HOW!  HOW!  CAIN GET ABEL’S SCALP—­GOOD!”]

* * * * *

VENUS AND ADONIS

An Eclogue of the Period.

(Respectfully dedicated to the ladies of the Free-love Pantarchy.)

Venus.

    Adonis, sweet, hide not thy blushing face: 
      What terrors masculine thy soul abash? 
    And why with boyish pout dost mar the grace
      Of maiden lip and innocent moustache?