Old man Blivens wants the public to get onto the racket that his fat girl, Piggy Jane, is effectuating. As nearly as we could tumble to it from the elderly party’s prospectus, it is to be a lavender feed. The guests are not expected to eat that herb of the field, unless they want to, but its color will pervade the occasion like an undertone of garlic in a Dago Christmas. Ladies whose rinds don’t hitch well with lavender had better stay at home and go to the circus. Mrs. Colonel Pompinuppy’s Wednesday evenings will henceforth eventuate on Thursday afternoons. At the next one Signora Fahertini, a Dutch _cantatreechy_, will squawk up some classical music that will make the hair curl. Pimply Johnson is pinching out at his Burro street shack. The medicine man has tooted his doom, but says he may possibly pull through the week. Keep your northwest eye open for an enjoyable funeral if it is Christian weather. The remains will be _cached_ in the natty mausoleum erected by them during life. The services last Sunday evening at the Church of the Holy Jones were enlivened by the presence of the beautiful Miss Marie Jeanne Hodj, who brandished the most paralyzing follyswaddles of any hen in the kaboodle. Her leading figleaf was of nun’s-unavailing, with a demi-train which responded rhythmically to every lateral impulse of her willowy figure. The rest of her outfit we didn’t slate. Miss Hodj looked sweet enough to eat! At the reception, last Tuesday evening, at the Loftinudle mansion, the many guests gracing the occasion with their presence were profoundly affected by the costliness and elegance of everything in the house and its appointments. No one thing knocked them silly, but there was a general allroundishness that laid ’em out like dead! It is universally admitted that the Loftinudle shack is uncommonly tough to tackle, and it is not thought that any of the shanties now going up in Smith’s Addition will be able to hold a candle to it. There are some persons, however, who expect old Loftinudle will himself hold a candle to it, as the insurance is significantly heavy. The Squuljees are now established in their new Malaria county villa, Skunkmead. The house, which is of the Renuisance style, is fitted with all the ancient and modern conveniences, and the whole place has been happily described by a reporter of the _Malarian_ as strongly resembling Mr. Elysian’s fields. Mrs. Squuljee, Miss Squuljee and Miss Carameline Squuljee were in the city yesterday and were seen at a distance by our reporter. Unluckily they had seen him first.