It is rather a pleasing recreation, when no other is at hand, to read
the letters of some of the New York correspondents who do the heavy
Trite and the small Horrible for the outside barbaric folios. Standing
on the shore of their Firth of Froth, so to speak, we watch with
considerable interest the unique soarings and divings of "Our Own." One
of these writers informs the readers of a Boston paper that "There is a
great deal of business talent in New York," and that "There is a great
deal of what is called fashionable society in New York." _There_ is
wisdom in solid chunks. It is highly important that such facts as these
should be stated seriously in State street and be conned in Beacon
street. "Our Own," be it remembered, is speaking of the "Tone of
Society," and he proceeds to remark, with great pertinence, that in our
unfortunate city, "There is a coarse, rude, uncivil way of doing
business, so general as to attract attention. If you do not take a hack
at the impertinent solicitation of the driver, he will unquestionably
curse you." "The telegraph operator grabs your message and eyes you as
if you were a pickpocket." Now, Mr. PUNCHINELLO does not offer himself
as an apologist for the abusive and obstreperous hackman, but he wishes
to say that in the course of his active and eventful career he has had
various conferences with those servants of the sidewalk, and he has
never yet been unquestionably cursed by any one of the whole bad lot.
Only yesterday he had occasion to intimate to one of these tide-waiters,
that vehicular aid was not desired. There was a merry twinkle in the eye
of the Rejected, and he added, as an additional persuader, "Baggage
Smashed!" Mr. PUNCHINELLO felt gratified at sincerity in an unexpected
direction.

"Our correspondent" is also exercised on the old-time grievance of
ladies in the horse-cars. He declares that "It is the rarest thing in