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[Illustration: PUNCHINELLO CORRESPONDENCE.]

The public still labor under misapprehensions of our character and
calling. We are in daily receipt of letters of the most heterogeneous
description, the task of answering which we are compelled to utterly
forego.

We subjoin a few specimens:

"MR. PUNCHINELLO. _Dear Sir_: My wife died yesterday, and would you be
so kind as to come and make her will? I would not give you the trouble
of coming, but the young woman I intend to marry next is going away
to-morrow, and I don't want to leave home. My wife had five hundred
dollars which I want left to me, and a feather bed, which you may divide
amongst the children.

"Yours in affliction,

"SOLOMON SNIPP."


"SIR: I calculate to give a funeral down at my place shortly, that is,
if things go right; but we have no preacher to do the work. Would you
please to send us one? Not particular what kind, so long as the work is
_sure_. Party is not dead yet, but I make arrangements beforehand as I
expect to be insane. Good pay for good work.