to be proud of, you know.

Here is a sample of it:

LINES ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.

"Tell me, dear mother,
Hast the swallows homeward flode
When the clock strikes nine?
Does our WILLIE'S spirit roam
In that home
Beyond the skies,
Along with LIZE?
Say, mother
Say--"

The other verses are, if anything, better than this. If you are anxious
to publish this poem entire, why not leave out the pictures and all the
reading matter from PUNCHINELLO for two weeks, and show the public what
genius, brains, and ability can accomplish, unaided? If you publish it
in detachments, it weakens it, you see. If the verses can't lean against
each other, they pine away immediately.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE YOUNG DEMOC TRYING TO PUT THE BIG SACHEM'S PIPE OUT.

_Big Sachem_. "SAY, YOUNG MAN, AIN'T YOU AFRAID YOU'LL BURN YOUR
BREECHES?"]

* * * * *

SARSFIELD YOUNG HAS HIS HEAD EXAMINED.

DEAR PUNCHINELLO:--The last time I visited a barber's shop I wanted my
hair trimmed. Being in somewhat of a hurry for the train, I told the
proprietor to cut it short. As a matter of course, I was left. As for my
hair, there was precious little of that left, though. Science was too
much for it. A hand-glass, brought to bear upon a mirror, opened up a
perspective of pretty much all the back country belonging to my skull,
that is seldom equalled outside the State Prison or the Prize Ring.

I was indignant. I was so mad that my hair stood on end--voluntarily.
The barber talked soothingly of making a discount on the bill; and I,
looking at it in a strictly diplomatic light, gradually permitted myself
to grow calmer. He went further, and did the handsome thing by me--as if
it wasn't enough to cut under his price! A phrenologist by profession,
so he said, he had resorted to barbering simply for amusement, and under
the circumstances he would give me a professional sitting gratuitously.

It has always been a cherished ambition with me to have my head surveyed
and staked out scientifically; SO I told him at once he might take it
and look it over.

"My friend," said I, as I gracefully described an imaginary aureole
about my brain factory, "you abolish the poll-tax. I grant you full
leave to explore."

This was the first time I ever had my head examined. The whole of me, it