* * * * *

J. NICKINSON

begs to announce to the friends of

"PUNCHINELLO,"

residing in the country, that, for their convenience, he has
made arrangements by which, on receipt of the price of

ANY STANDARD BOOK PUBLISHED,

the same will be forwarded, postage paid.

Parties desiring Catalogues of any of our Publishing Houses
can have the same forwarded by inclosing two stamps.

OFFICE OF

PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING CO.

83 Nassau Street.

[P.O. Box 2783.]

* * * * *

$2 to ALBANY and
TROY.

The Day Line Steamboats C. Vibbard and Daniel Drew, commencing May 31,
will leave Vestry st. Pier at 8:45, and Thirty-fourth st. at 9 a.m.,
landing at Yonkers, (Nyack, and Tarrytown by ferry-boat), Cozzens, West
Point, Cornwall, Newburgh, Poughkeepsie, Rhinebeek, Bristol, Catskill,
Hudson, and New-Baltimore. A special train of broad-gauge cars in
connection with the day boats will leave on arrival at Albany
(commencing June 20) for Sharon Springs. Fare $4.25 from New York and
for Cherry Valley. The Steamboat Seneca will transfer passengers from
Albany to Troy.

* * * * *

THE MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD.

AN ADAPTATION.

BY ORPHEUS C. KERR.

CHAPTER V.

MR. MCLAUGHLIN AND FRIEND.

JOHN BUMSTEAD, on his way home along the unsteady turnpike--upon which
he is sure there will be a dreadful accident some day, for want of
railings--is suddenly brought to an unsettled pause in his career by the
spectacle of Old Mortarity leaning against the low fence of the pauper
burial-ground, with a shapeless boy throwing stones at him in the
moonlight. The stones seem never to hit the venerable JOHN MCLAUGHLIN,
and at each miss the spry monkey of the moonlight sings "Sold again,"
and casts another missile still further from the mark. One of these goes
violently to the nose of Mr. BUMSTEAD, who, after a momentary enjoyment
of the evening fireworks thus lighted off, makes a wrathful rush at the
playful child, and lifts him from the ground by his ragged collar, like
a diminished suit of Mr. GREELEY'S customary habiliments.

"Miserable snipe," demands BUMSTEAD, eyeing his trophy gloomily, and
giving him a turn or two as though he were a mackerel under inspection,
"what are you doing to that gooroleman?"

"Oh, come now!" says the lad, sparring at him in the air, "you just
lemme be, or I'll fetch you a wipe in the jaw. I ain't do