t of the ladies and gentlemen," mildly put in
PUNCHINELLO.

"Bedad," says PAT, "don't I see that for meself; but phatis he doin' it
for?"

"It is a ceremony of the Catholic Church," PUNCHINELLO explained,
"typical of the washing of the feet of the Twelve Apostles."

PAT eyed PUNCHINELLO askance with an expression which plainly enough
said that he did not believe we had been reared to tell the truth
strictly upon all occasions, and then added:

"Bad cess to your manners, then, don't I know betther nor that; for
haven't I been in the church these forty years, and sorrow a sowl ever
washed _me_ feet!"

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE SITUATION IN EUROPE.

INTO "BIZ" LOUIS NAP HE IS GOING,
TO PAY OFF THE DEBTS THAT HE'S OWING;
DETERMINED THAT HE WILL MAKE _his_ MARK,
BY TAKING THE CHANGE OUT OF BISMARCK.]

* * * * *

FROM AN ANXIOUS MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTER.

[Who is at a Watering Place.]

NEW YORK, July 12, 1870.

MY DEAR DAUGHTER: How are you getting on, dear? Well, I hope, for you
know I _do_ want to get you off, desperately. Thirty-seven, and still on
my hands! Mr. GUSHER, of the Four-hundred-and-thirty-ninth Avenue, goes
down next Saturday. He will hunt you up. Mr. GUSHER is a nice man--so
sympathetic and kind; and has such a lovely moustache. Besides, my dear
SOPHY, he has oceans of stamps. Quite true, my child, he hasn't much of
anything else, but girls at thirty-seven must not have too sharp eyes,
nor see too much. Do, dear, try and fix him if you can. Put all your
little artifices into effect. Walk, if possible, by moonlight, and
alone; that is, with him. Talk, as you know you can, of the sweets of
love and the delights of home. Dwell on the felicities of love in a
cottage, and if he doesn't see it, dilate on the article in a
brown-stone front, with marble steps. Picture to him in the most glowing
terms the joys of the fireside, with fond you by his side. If he hints
that a fireside in July is slightly tepid, thoughtfully suggest that it
is merely a figure of speech, and introduce an episode of cream to cool
it. Quote vehemently from TENNYSON, and LONGFELLOW, and Mrs. BROWNING.
Bring the artillery of your eyes to bear squarely on the mark. Remember
that thirty-seven years and an anxious mother are steadily looking down
upon you.

Cut SMIRCH. SMIRCH is a worthless fellow. Would you believe it? his
father makes boot-pegs for a living