This is a fair sample of the old comedy.  The oaths are of course omitted, out of deference to the tender susceptibilities of the editor of PUNCHINELLO.  So are the indecencies, which are the spice of the old comedy, but which cannot be written in a respectable journal, and are almost too gross and brutal for the Sun.  Take from an old comedy its oaths and its grossness, and nothing is left but a residuum of boisterous inanity.  The condensed old comedy which has just been laid before the readers of PUNCHINELLO, is as inane and vapid as anything that WALLACK’S theatre has shown us in the past month.  Do you find it dull?  For my part, I don’t hesitate to say that the “Essence of Old Virginny,” as furnished by the venerable poet, Mr. DANIEL BRYANT, is vastly more amusing than the Essence of Old Comedy.

All of which I say, in my most impressive manner, to MARGARET as we struggle through the crowded lobby.  But she irreverently disputes my assertions, and asks, “How is it that everybody admires these comedies if they are so wretched as you say they are?  Is your judgment better than that of anybody else?”

There being nothing to say, if I mean to maintain my ground, except that my judgment is the only infallible critical judgment in this city or elsewhere, I promptly and unblushingly say so.  But MARGARET tells me I am “a goose”—­(I think I have mentioned that she is my aunt, and hence allows herself these pleasing freedoms of speech)—­and says that I shall take her to see the old comedies every night, until I am willing to say that I like them.

Who is there that, in view of this threat, will not drop the tear of sensibility, so neatly alluded to by Mr. STERNE, in sympathy with the prospective sufferings of

MATADOR.

* * * * *

UNIVERSITY-MANIA.

MY DEAR P.:—­I have made some curious observations of this disease, which lead to startling conclusions.

It is a malady peculiar to the United States, being an eruption resulting from indigestion of unripe knowledge, together with excess of vanity in individual blood.

Universities spring up among us like mushrooms, in a night.  The seed of knowledge is sown broadcast over our land.  In fact, in this particular we may be said to be very seedy, indeed.

For my part I have no objection to Universities—­when they are Universities.  But, at the rate at which we are now progressing, we shall soon have “every man his own University.”  It will become the fashion to keep a University in the back-yard.  And then, you know, the institution must have its own particular organ, you know.  Every man, and every member of his family, shall print his or her Free Press, and independence of opinion shall reign.

    Glorious country!  Glorious free speech! 
    With WALT WHITMAN, we may well exclaim: 
    O the BROWN University! 
    O the splendid University of SMITH! 
    O CORNELL, his University!