Where thrashin masheens hain’t to be had, young gals sprinkle the hair with corn-meel, and then let the chickens scratch it out.  This gets up a snarl which a Filadephy lawyer can’t ontangle.

Chauced bolony sassiges are fashinable danglin from a ladey’s back hair.

These are often worn dubble barrelled, remindin us of a yoke of oxen—­takin a waggin view of it.

MEN’S HARNISS.

Trowsers are very narrer contracted about the walkin pins.

The only way a feller can get his calves into his bifurkates, is to fill his butes with milk and coax ’em through.

N.B.—­The readers of this report musen’t misunderstand me, and undertake to crawl head first through their garments, for I assure him or her, that I refer to the calves of their perambulaters.

Cotes are worn short waisted, short in the skirts, and short in the sleeves.  I have known them short in the pocket, when the taler sent in his bill.

Neckties are worn large, what would usually be alowed for a silk dress is required now for a fashenable scarf.

With the 2 long ends, which hangs danglin down over a feller’s buzzum, it doesent make a bit of difference if he wears a ragged shirt, dirty shirt, or no shirt at all.

Charity covers a multitood of sins, I’m told, and so does the new stile of scarfs cover a heep of dirt and old rags.

The new stile of silk hats, worn by a femail heart destroyer, is big enuff to hitch up dubble, with the shoo, in which the old lady and her children “hung out.”

Altho the wimmen fokes have got off the steel trimmims, I notiss the Internal Revenoo Offisers are continerly gettin in stealin trim.

This strictly reliable report will be isshood as often as the undersined gets any new cloze.

Any person wishin to know how to dress, can obtain the required informashen by sendin a ten cent shinny to PUNCHINELLO Pub.  Co.

A well-drest man is the noblest work of his taler, likewise is a full-rigged woman the noblest work of her taleress.

Which is the opinion of the compiler of this work.

Stilishly Ewers,

HIRAM GREEN, ESQ.,

Lait Gustise of the Peece.

* * * * *

THE DREAM OF A DINER-OUT.

  But yesterday night I dreamed a dream—­
    I forget what I’d dined on, really,—­
  ’Twas something heavy, and then I’d read
    “What I Know of Farming,” by GREELEY.

  Many and strange were the sights I saw
    As I turned on my restless pillow,
  BISMARCK and BLUCHER pitching cents
    For beer, ’neath a weeping willow.

  JULIUS CAESAR was turning up trumps
    In a nice little game at euchre,
  With a Chinese coolie, GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN,
    SATAN, and old JOE HOOKER.

  EARL RUSSELL the small, to make himself tall,
    Close by on his dignity stood,
  While LITTLE JOHN sang the “Song of the Shirt”
    ‘Till I thought he was ROBBIN’ HOOD!