“Whoe’er sells stocks as isn’t his’n,
    Must pay up or go to pris’n.”

* * * * *

A New Conglomerate Pavement.

It was well said by a saucy Frenchman, “that England had fifty religions but only one sauce.”  Paraphrasing this loosely, we may say of New-York, that she has a dozen different pavements and deuce a good one.  There was the “Russ,” on which the horses used to be “let slide,” but couldn’t trot; the “Belgian,” of dubious repute; the “Nicholson,” which, from its material, must have been invented by “Nick of the Woods;” the “Mouse-trap,” set to catch other things than mice; the “Fiske,” a pavement pitched in altogether too high a key to be pleasant; The “Stafford,” the “Stow,” and several others which it would be painful to enumerate here.  Why doesn’t the daily press look lively, and devise a better pavement than any of these?  There’s STONE, of the Journal of Commerce; WOOD, of the News; MARBLE, of the World; and BRICK, of the Democrat.  Let them put their heads together and give us a good conglomerate.

* * * * *

A Hopeful Anticipation.

Now that the darkeys are about to take part in national legislation, we shall probably be able to negrotiate a postal treaty with France.

* * * * *

On one Drowned.

He left a large circle, etc.!

* * * * *

[Illustration:  SYMPATHY WITH CUBA.

Enthusiastic Sympathizer. “What I say is, we must have our cigars; and therefore, Cuba must be ours.”]

* * * * *

PUNCHINELLO’S LYRICS.

No. 1.

    Ho!  I am the jolly repeater,
      And I train with the magical band,
    Who the legerdemain of the ballot
      With the skill of a wizard command.

    Once a year every poll I explore,
      Honest voting is Greenland to me;
    Free suffrage is ever my motto,
      To my amnesty judges agree.

    The trickster inspector I loathe, sir! 
      Or the canvasser’s pencils that thieve;
    Voting early and often is nobler
      Than ballots to change from one’s sleeve.

    No eight hours’ labor I ask for,
      Votes from sunrise to sunset I cast;
    They are bread on political waters,
      And my sinecures follow them fast.

    WILLIAM B. and his millionaire crew
      Will only vote once, sir; while I
    (Who to scorn laugh the honest assessors)
      Plump a score to their one—­on the sly!

    Who asks for my name?  I repeat it—­
      Ho! the jolly repeater am I;
    Each book of the registry knows me,
      And I’m now in the market—­Who’ll buy?

(The above may be sung da capo, which is Italian for “repeat.”)