“I haven’t looked at the cattle,” he answered, dryly.

“Cattle?  Why cattle?”

“Why, to see if there’s any corn under ’em!” he said; and immediately asked, “Why is Douglas like the earth?”

We tried, but couldn’t guess.

“Because he was flattened out at the polls!” said Mr. Riggles.

“A famous politician, formerly,” said the Superintendent.  “His grandfather was a seize-Hessian-ist in the Revolutionary War.  By the way, I hear the freeze-oil doctrines don’t go down at New Bedford.”

The next Inmate looked as if be might have been a sailor formerly.

“Ask him what his calling was,” said the Superintendent.

“Followed the sea,” he replied to the question put by one of us.  “Went as mate in a fishing-schooner.”

“Why did you give it up?”

“Because I didn’t like working for two mast-ers,” he replied.

Presently we came upon a group of elderly persons, gathered about a venerable gentleman with flowing locks, who was propounding questions to a row of Inmates.

“Can any Inmate give me a motto for M. Berger?” he said.

Nobody responded for two or three minutes.  At last one old man, whom I at once recognized as a Graduate of our University, (Anno 1800,) held up his hand.

“Rem a cue tetigit.”

“Go to the head of the Class, Josselyn,” said the venerable Patriarch.

The successful Inmate did as he was told, but in a very rough way, pushing against two or three of the Class.

“How is this?” said the Patriarch.

“You told me to go up jostlin’,” he replied.

The old gentlemen who had been shoved about enjoyed the Pun too much to be angry.

Presently the Patriarch asked again,—­

“Why was M. Berger authorized to go to the dances given to the Prince?”

The Class had to give up this, and he answered it himself:—­

“Because every one of his carroms was a tick-it to the ball.”

“Who collects the money to defray the expenses of the last campaign in Italy?” asked the Patriarch.

Here again the Class failed.

“The war-cloud’s rolling Dun,” he answered.

“And what is mulled wine made with?”

Three or four voices exclaimed at once,——­

“Sizzle-y Madeira!”

Here a servant entered, and said, “Luncheon-time.”  The old gentlemen, who have excellent appetites, dispersed at once, one of them politely asking us if we would not stop and have a bit of bread and a little mite of cheese.

“There is one thing I have forgotten to show you,” said the Superintendent,—­“the cell for the confinement of violent and unmanageable Punsters.”

We were very curious to see it, particularly with reference to the alleged absence of every object upon which a play of words could possibly be made.