LOT.

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From the Spirit of Lindley Murray.

When is a schoolboy like an event that has happened? 
When he has come to parse.

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THE WATERING PLACES.

Punchinello’s Vacations.

Vain heading!  This paper is not intended to communicate anything about a vacation.  “Would that it were! says Mr. PUNCHINELLO, from the bottom of his heart.

Last week Mr. P. intended going to the White Mountains.

But he didn’t go.

On his way to the Twenty-third Street depot, he met the Count JOANNES.

“Ah ha! my noble friend!” said the latter. “"Whither away"?”

Mr. P. explained whither he was away; and was amazed to see the singular expression which instantly spread itself over the countenance of his noble friend.

“To the “White Mountains!"cried the Count,” why, my good fellow, what are you thinking of?  Do you not know that this is September?”

“Certainly I do,"said Mr. P.”  I know that this is the season when Nature revels in her richest hues, and Aurora gilds the fairest landscape; when the rays of glorious old Sol are tempered by the soft caresses of the balmiest zephyrs, and—­”

“Oh, certainly! certainly!” cried the Count, “I have no doubt of it; not the least bit in the world.  In fact, I have been in those places myself when a boy, and I know all about it.  But let me tell you, sir, as amicus curiae, (and I assure you that I have often been amicus curiae before,) that society will not tolerate anything of this kind on your part, sir.  The skies in the country may be bluest at this season, sir; the air most delicious, the scenery most gorgeous, and accommodations of all kinds most plenty and excellent, but it will not do.  The conductor of a first class journal belongs in a manner to society, and society will never forgive him for going into the country after the season is over.  As amicus curiae—­”

“Amicus your grandmother, sir!” said Mr. P.  “What does society know about the beauties of nature, or the proper time for enjoying them?”

“Society knows enough about it, sir!” cried the Count, drawing his sword a little way from its scabbard and letting it fall again with:  clanging sound.  “And representing society, as I do in my proper person here, sir, I say that any man who would go into the country in the latter part of September is a—–­”

“A what, sir?” said Mr. P., nervously fingering his umbrella.

“Yes, sir, he is, sir!”

“Do you say that, sir?”

“In your teeth, sir!”

“’Tis false, sir!”

“What, sir?”

“Just so, sir!”

“To me, sir?”

“To you, sir!”

The Count JOANNES drew his sword.

Mr. P. stood en garde.