Punchinello, Volume 1, No. 22, August 27, 1870

In Short

This twenty-second issue of a short-lived Gilded Age satirical weekly delivers a energetic mix of parody, political cartooning in prose, and street-level commentary. Published in late August 1870, the volume features serialized literary parodies—notably a spoof of Charles Dickens—alongside satirical reports on summer resort fashions, women's suffrage conventions, municipal corruption, and international affairs. It survives as a vivid, unvarnished window into post-Civil War American popular humor, capturing the exact idioms, prejudices, media rivalries, and daily absurdities of Reconstruction-era New York.

The Story

The issue opens within the installment-format world of "The Mystery of Mr. E. DroOD," an elaborate parody targeting Dickens’s unfinished final novel. The narrative tracks Montgomery Pendragon, a bruised and battered young Southerner whose clumsy attempts at Indian club exercise have left him visibly disfigured. Resting at a dismal, rundown American country inn—a venue characterized by sour tea, stale larders, and suspicious tavern-keepers—Montgomery is confronted by local constables. Accused of suspicious behavior, he is marched back to the main turnpike, where he meets the solemn Gospeler Simpson and the heavily intoxicated organist, Mr. Bumstead.

Chaos ensues as the absurdly dysfunctional search party attempts to unravel two simultaneous catastrophes: the sudden disappearance of young Edwin Drood and the tragic loss of Mr. Bumstead’s prized, bone-handled alpaca umbrella. Bumstead, wildly unhinged and thoroughly unreliable, aggressively interrogated the confused Southerner before wandering off to conduct a haphazard search of the town. His frantic investigation involves prodding dark cellars, fishing through frozen ponds, and collecting scrap paper in his hat, completely ignoring the news brought by the guardian Mr. Dibble regarding broken marital engagements.

Beyond the core parody, the issue functions as an episodic, kaleidoscopic revue of contemporary life. A correspondent writing from Long Branch skewacres the ostentatious luxury of seaside resorts, poking fun at high-society bathing habits, fast trotting horses, and extravagant hotel balls. In a different register, a dialect piece signed by "Hiram Green, Lait Gustise of the Peece," presents a scathing, highly caricatured report on a Women's Suffrage convention, mocking organizers like Susan B. Anthony and framing their political demands as domestic warfare.

The publication then shifts its focus to urban annoyances, offering a sharp commentary on the widespread obsession with watching workers lay wooden street pavements in New York City. Interspersed throughout are biting editorial jabs aimed at rival news outlets—particularly the Sun and its sensationalist coverage of local crime—alongside commentary on the Franco-Prussian War, jokes regarding Chinese immigrant labor, and surreal serialized sketches like "Aerated Verbiage." The issue concludes with a lively column of dry, mock-serious advice to correspondents, framing the absurdities of nineteenth-century life as an ongoing, national joke.

How It Unfolds

The missing nephew and the lost umbrella Montgomery Pendragon halts his ill-fated physical workout at a squalid roadside hotel, only to be detained by local authorities. He is confronted by the bumbling Bumstead, who aggressively demands the whereabouts of both his missing nephew Edwin and his favorite alpaca umbrella.

The chaotic investigation Bumstead embarks on an absurdly incompetent search across Bumsteadville, inspecting chimneys, chopping holes in frozen pond ice, and draining pocket flasks. Meanwhile, Mr. Dibble reveals that Edwin and his fiancée had agreed to break off their engagement just prior to his disappearance.

Letters from the seaside A correspondent writing from Long Branch sends back a lighthearted report detailing the foolishness of high-society vacationers. The piece highlights green-spangled bathing costumes, fast beach driving, and the ostentatious display of wealth at local hotel dances.

The suffrage convention satire Local correspondent Hiram Green provides a heavily accented, derogatory account of a women's rights assembly. He lampoons activists such as Susan B. Anthony and describes exaggerated resolutions that call for domestic rebellion against men.

The spectacle of public works An editorial essay targets the curious phenomenon of city crowds gathering to watch municipal laborers lay wooden pavement. The writer mocks idle onlookers who spend hours silently staring into open construction trenches.

Editorial crossfire and query columns The issue wraps up with rapid-fire political squibs attacking the New York Sun, commentary on foreign conflicts in Europe, and a series of absurd answers to reader-submitted queries.

The People

• Montgomery Pendragon: A sensitive, hot-headed young Southerner whose poorly executed club exercises leave him covered in bumps and bruises. He views every encounter through a lens of post-war Southern grievance, constantly suspecting Northern authorities of persecution.
• Mr. Bumstead: A thoroughly intoxicated, highly melodramatic Ritualistic organist. He is far more distraught over the loss of his fine alpaca umbrella with a bone handle than he is over the mysterious disappearance of his nephew.
• Gospeler Simpson: A well-meaning but utterly ineffective clergyman who attempts to maintain order and decorum while accompanying the chaotic Bumstead on his frantic search.
• Mr. Dibble: A stern, matter-of-fact guardian who brings sober news regarding broken marriage contracts, serving as a cold, unyielding counterweight to Bumstead’s drunken antics.
• Hiram Green: A fictional, semi-literate former Justice of the Peace who writes in thick rural dialect. He serves as the voice of conservative male anxiety, reacting with hostile humor to the rise of the women's suffrage movement.

In Its Own Voice

"Whosoever sleeps there of a night shall be crowded by walls which rub off into a faint feather-bed of the flavor and consistency of geese used whole..."

An editor paints a grimly funny picture of the typical rural American hotel room offered to exhausted travelers.

"'Then,' said Mr. BUMSTEAD, with great force,--'THEN, gen'l'men, you-knownor-wahritis-to-lose-'n-umbrella!'"

The dramatic organist highlights his skewed priorities to his companions while searching for his missing nephew.

"People of every grade and degree make a dead halt as they approach this centre of interest, and at once settle down for a prolonged inspection..."

A commentator dryly observes the strange fascination New Yorkers hold for simple street repaving projects.

What It's Really About

Beneath its broad slapstick and topical puns, the issue captures a society grappling with profound cultural transitions. The parody of Dickens reflects an American print market eager to establish its own literary voice by mocking imported British sentimentalism. Political commentaries reveal deep-seated post-Civil War anxieties, from lingering animosities between North and South to resistance against the growing women's suffrage movement. The recurring jokes about urban crime, political corruption, and immigrant communities mirror the frictions of a rapidly growing, industrialized New York City trying to make sense of its own chaotic public spaces.

Why Read It Today

This issue offers a raw, immediate slice of Reconstruction-era pop culture, ideal for readers fascinated by American social history and the roots of modern satire. Instead of polished historical narrative, it delivers the raw texture of 1870: commercial advertisements for carbolic salve and steel pens, topical jokes about the Franco-Prussian War, and street-level gossip.

The reading experience requires some patience. Modern readers will encounter period difficulties, including dated political references, heavy-handed phonetic dialect, and ethnic caricatures typical of nineteenth-century humor magazines. Yet the prose frequently sparkles with surprisingly modern observational wit—such as its sharp takedown of rural hospitality and the idle fascination of watching city roadwork. It remains a fascinating artifact of a nation laughing at its own growing pains.