Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 28, October 8, 1870

In Short

This issue of Punchinello is a quintessential Victorian-era humor magazine, functioning as a frantic collage of serialized parody, political lampooning, and observational wit. It documents the late-1870 landscape through a lens of relentless mockery, targeting everything from the nascent American celebrity culture to the absurdities of the federal bureaucracy. It has endured as an artifact of its time because it provides an unfiltered glimpse into the stylistic and cultural preoccupations of 1870s New York, where wit was often synonymous with cynicism and a sharp, performative disdain for the establishment.

The Story

The magazine unfolds as a multifaceted narrative of a nation grappling with its own modernization. Central to this issue is the ongoing serialized parody, "The Mystery of Mr. E. Drood," an adaptation that transforms Dickensian tropes into a domestic comedy of manners. The narrative follows the flight of the young, somewhat flighty Flora, who escapes the clutches of a stifling social circle and seeks sanctuary in the unlikely, dismal office of a comic paper editor. This thread allows the magazine to weave a meta-narrative about the craft of writing and the weariness of the creative professional who finds his own life becoming as absurd as the fiction he produces.

Beyond this central plot, the magazine functions as a sprawling reportage of contemporary life. Ichabod Boggs, a "new poet," presents a farcical account of his attempts to secure a government position from General Grant, illustrating the era’s patronage-heavy political culture through a series of rejected requests and awkward encounters. Simultaneously, the character Hiram Green, a "Lait Gustice of the Peece," wanders through New York City, poking fun at the city’s institutions, from the pretenses of hotel clerks to the stiff pomposity of religious museum exhibits.

The stories often veer into the grotesque and the violent as a form of dark comedy. A tale of a choir member, Sluker, who attempts to resolve a dispute over musical pitch with a revolver, underscores the magazine’s penchant for turning mundane suburban grievances into slapstick tragedies. The issue further broadens its scope to international affairs, with correspondents in Europe reporting on the Franco-Prussian War and the collapse of the French Empire. These reports are presented as fragmented, often absurd dispatches, suggesting that the distance between a New York editorial office and the battlefields of Europe is bridged only by the editors' desire to find a joke in the chaos.

The magazine concludes by juxtaposing these serious global upheavals with the trivialities of theater criticism and advertisements for steel pens and patent binders. The narrative arc is not one of progress or resolution, but of perpetual, restless commentary. The magazine portrays an America that is constantly moving, constantly arguing, and perpetually skeptical, where the line between a genuine political crisis and a theatrical performance—like the banjo-heavy musical theater productions of the day—is intentionally and permanently blurred.

How It Unfolds

The social escape begins with Flora, a young woman navigating the rigid expectations of boarding-school education and guardianship, who flees to find refuge in the offices of a comic periodical. Her search for a private place to hold a clandestine meeting provides the structural framework for exploring the magazine’s own cynical, weary world.

The political farce introduces Ichabod Boggs, whose poetic attempts to demand a government post from the President highlight the absurdity of the spoils system. His interaction with General Grant is reduced to silence and cigar smoke, capturing the period's disillusionment with political promise.

The urban survey follows the "Lait Gustice" Hiram Green as he traverses New York. His encounters with snobbish clerks and stiff, moralizing preachers serve as a blunt critique of Gotham’s self-importance and the superficiality of its cultural displays.

The global satire shifts the focus to the turmoil of the Franco-Prussian War. Through dispatches from Paris, the magazine treats the fall of empires with the same flippant disregard as the local news, emphasizing the detachment of the observer.

The final act of the issue settles into the mundane and the commercial. The magazine returns to the reality of its own production, ending with advertisements for printing services and railway routes, grounding the preceding satire in the hard economic facts of 1870s American life.

The People

Flora, known as the "Flowerpot," acts as the catalyst for the magazine’s internal drama, representing the confused but resourceful young woman who must navigate the absurd expectations of 1870s society. She is flanked by the Gospeler, a clergyman whose need to manage others' lives brings him into contact with the cynical Jeremy Bentham. Bentham, an assistant editor of a comic paper, is the emotional anchor of the issue; his profound depression and bitterness regarding his profession provide a stark contrast to the levity of the magazine’s contents.

Hiram Green, the former Justice of the Peace, stands as the archetypal "country bumpkin" in the big city. His bluntness and suspicion of "Gothamite" affectations allow him to strip away the pretense of the people he encounters. Meanwhile, figures like Ichabod Boggs and the various correspondents abroad serve as caricatures of the "genius" and the "reporter," roles used to project the magazine’s own voice. They are all, in their way, outsiders looking at a society that they find simultaneously fascinating, infuriating, and ridiculous. By the end, they remain largely unchanged in their outlook, as the magazine favors static, punchy characterization over growth.

In Its Own Voice

"You know what I once was. Now I am conducting a first-class American Comic Paper."

Bentham, the weary editor, explains his profound loss of spirits to his friend, the clergyman.

"I looked at that clerk cross-eyed, and it made him squirm."

Hiram Green describes his method of dealing with the perceived insolence of a city hotel clerk.

"The hope of eventually leaving those classic shades in such a state of two-fold invigoration, should prove inspiring to the dyspeptic and studious."

The editors mock a school’s advertisement that promises to strengthen both the body with mineral water and the mind with seminary training.

What It's Really About

At its core, this periodical explores the tension between the high-minded aspirations of a burgeoning American culture and the cynical, grubby reality of life in the city. It interrogates the nature of celebrity and authority, questioning why the public grants reverence to politicians, lecturers, and socialites who may possess little beyond a talent for performance. There is a pervasive argument that American life is a form of theater, where the "truth" is less important than the "act." The magazine asks: how can one maintain a sense of genuine self in a country obsessed with labels, status, and the constant, rapid churn of sensational news?

Why Read It Today

Readers with a fascination for the Victorian era or the history of American journalism will find this an essential, if challenging, experience. It offers a rare, ground-level view of the 1870s, complete with the era's specific slang, political grudges, and cultural prejudices. However, it is not an easy read; the prose is often dense, heavily reliant on the satirical tropes of the day, and frequently shifts into dialects that can feel alien to a modern reader. The humor is often dark and biting, reflecting the period's sharp edges and the authors' clear distaste for the pomposity of their contemporaries.

If you enjoy literature that feels like a conversation with a skeptical, slightly cynical ghost, you will appreciate this. It stays with you not because of its plot—which is episodic and often nonsensical—but because of its tone. It is the voice of a culture that has recently survived a civil war and is now trying to reconcile its high ideals with a rapidly industrializing, often chaotic reality. It is a reminder that the anxieties of the past often look remarkably like the anxieties of the present.