_Lait Gustise of the Peece._

* * * * *

Bad Eggs.

The following suggestive item appears in an evening paper:

"Illinois boasts of chickens hatched by the sun."

Well, New York can beat Illinois at that game. The chickens hatched by
the _Sun_, here, are far too numerous for counting, and they are curses
of the kind that will assuredly "come home to roost."

* * * * *

Disagreeable, but True.

The restoration of the Bourbon dynasty is reckoned possible in France.

In this country the Bourbon die-nasty has never been played out. It is a
malignant disease, sometimes known as _delirium tremens._

* * * * *

Musical.

Mlle. Silly, the daily papers inform us, has been engaged for the Grand
Opera House in _opera bouffe_, and will make her _debut_ about the
middle of September. The lady should not be confounded with any of our
New York "girls of the period" who bear, (or ought to bear,) her name.

* * * * *

Caution to Readers.

Seven steady business men of this city, four solid capitalists of
Boston, eighteen Frenchmen residents of the United States, but doing
business nowhere, and a German butcher in the Bowery, have just been
added to sundry lunatic asylums, their intellects having become
hopelessly deranged from reading the conflicting telegrams about the war
in Europe.

* * * * *

A Parallel.

In one of the reports of the Coroner's investigation of the Twenty-third
street murder, it was mentioned that "Several ladies and some young
children occupied chairs within the railing."

When REAL was hanged, it was noticeable that a great number of women
appeared in the morbid crowd that surrounded the Tombs, many of them
with small children in their arms.

Fifth Avenue and Five Points! Six of one and half-a-dozen of the other!
Blood _will_ tell!

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE HAZARD OF THE HORSE-CARS.

THIS IS STUBBS, (_an incorrigible old bachelor_,) WHO TAKES AN OPEN CAB,
FOR GREENWOOD, AND IS COMPELLED TO DO THE WHOLE DISTANCE SO.

Illustration: AND THIS IS THE WAY IN WHICH DOBBS, WHO WOULD HAVE BEEN
DELIGHTED WITH STUBB'S LUCK, IS MADE TO SUFFER MARTYRDOM ON _his_
LITTLE EXCURSION]

* * * * *

THE POEMS OF THE CRADLE.

CANTO V.

"Let's go to bed," says Sleep