_Bruxelles, le 31. Janvier._
MONSIEUR,--I write to you, _M. Punch_, these some words, which I essay
to write in english. I come of to receive--how say you _la
nouvelle?_--the new of the amnesty in France. The government which
banished the descendant of the great NAPOLÉON has recalled some
exileds. But he has not recalled me, _ce gouvernement infâme!_ He has
left to languish the heir of the crown imperial in this droll of
little town. _Nom d'une pipe, quelle ville! Rien qu'un Palais de
Justice et quelques rues désertes!_ But I go to write in english. I
rest here, at five hours of Paris, alldays ready, alldays vigilant.
_Mais que c'est triste!_ _Tiens_, it is not perhaps so sad as
that--how write you the name?--that Stove, in your _département_ of
the Bukkinhammshir. At least one speak french in this country. It is
not the french of Paris, or the french of Touraine, but all of same it
values better than english--a language so difficult. Thus I rest here,
I walk myself to horse in their Wood of Cambre, I visit of time in
time the Palace of Justice and Ste. Gudule, _et voilà c'est fini!_
Then I recommence and I see, _encore une fois_, the _Bois_, the
_Palais_, and the _Cathédrale_. I go not to Waterloo, for people say
my Great Ancestor there was conquered by your Duc of WELINTONG. One
has wrong, the historians have wrong, _mais enfin, que faire?_ I may
not to write the history of new. _A l'avenir nous verrons. En
attendant j'attends._ And I stand, like my Great Ancestor, the arms
folded, and frown towards the frontier of the France, _la patrie
ingrate_. It is a fine attitude, and I study it all the days.
_Agréez, &c._ N.
_Stowe, the 31. January._
Sir,--I tell you my thoughts as calmly as possibly, but my heart
burns! Heaven, what injustice! To France--ah, I say not her name
without emotion!--to France I offered my sword, my service, my life!
She refused them! Ingrateful country! Me who--but I go to be calm!
When CASIMIR-PÉRIER resigns I voyage without to lose an instant to
Dover, I wait, I receive each instant some despatch, I regard the
coast of France and weep, I am photographed! Me, the descendant of St.
LOUIS, I am photographed! But in vain! I desire even to die for
France, but I may not! By blue, what ingratitude! And now she
proclaims the amnesty and I am forgotten! Me, the descendant of St.
LOUIS! Me who desire the struggle, the efforts of a life of soldier,
of a life of king, me I rest here in simple renter of province! Me who
wish to die for France, I am obliged to live in England! To live, just
heaven! And in England, which I despise, though she shelters me!
Perhaps she is not worse than Belgium, Buckingham or Bruxelles! It is
equal to me! Nor the one nor the other is France! Again I weep! Ah, if
I could shed tears of blood! I can not! Heaven, that I should not have
even that consolation there! And ROCHEFORT returns! He may die for his
country, for France! Once more I weep bitterly! But me I may not! I
conclude, and my last word shall be a word of order! It shall be,
though she spurns me, though she mock herself of me, "Live France!"
Again I weep! Receive, &c. P.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SUCCESSFUL SANITATION.
_Anxious Tourist._ "SINCE YOUR TOWN HAS BEEN NEWLY DRAINED, I SUPPOSE
THERE IS LESS FEVER HERE?"
_Hotel-Keeper_ (_reassuringly_). "ACH, YES, SIR! ZE TEEFOOSE (TYPHUS)
IS NOW QUITE _ZE EXCEPTION!_"]
* * * * *
"VOICI LE SABRE DE MON PÈRE!"
["Let all know that, in devoting all my strength to the welfare of
the people, I intend to protect the principle of autocracy as
firmly and unswervingly as did my late and never-to-be-forgotten
father."
_The Czar to the assembled Deputies and Delegates in the
Winter Palace._]
[Illustration: "VOICI LE SABRE DE MON PÈRE!"
"I intend to protect the principle of autocracy as firmly and
unswervingly as did my late and never-to-be-forgotten father."
--_Czar's Speech, Jan. 29._]
"_It was my father's custom, and so it shall be mine!_"--
One seems to hear those simple words 'midst all the show and shine
Of the great, gay, white-pillared hall. The gold and silver chains
Of deputies and delegates from distant steppes and plains
Gleam in the winter daylight. The tall white-tunic'd Guards
Stand with drawn swords, Autocracy's serene and stalwart wards.
All in the Winter Palace; from regions vast and far
They come of many a race and creed to welcome their young Czar.
The nobles and the Zemstros, too, are represented here.
With tribes of the wild Caucasus, the hosts who love--and fear--
The monarch of one hundred and twenty million souls.
And through thine Hall, St. Nicholas, in full firm accents rolls
The Voice of armed Autocracy, unbending and unchanged.
Unfaltering the youthful eye that boldly roved and ranged
Over that motley muster. He lifts his sire's great sword,
This youthful heir to power supreme, by freemen much abhorred,
But dear to bowing myriads of Slavdom's loyal hosts;
And with that calm cold dignity which despotism boasts
Establishes the Ego of Autocracy once more.
_Voici le sabre de mon sire!_ What ALEXANDER bore
Shall NICHOLAS not wear and wield? The appanage of our line!
"_It was my father's custom, and so it shall be mine!_"
Old rustic song, your refrain long shall echo round our world,
Until all burdens from the back of toiling men are hurled.
Far, far off day! Now proud and gay Autocracy's strong thralls
Muster to-day in fine array in those white-pillared halls.
To be--not snubbed, say _reassured_, that Autocrats, still strong,
Still give small heed to serfs who plead, to freedom's siren song,
Or to "absurd illusions," which, slipped from mouth to mouth,
Must still be silenced in the North, if heeded in the South.
Those Zemstros voices must be hushed. Autocracy's sole hand
Must wield the sabre of his sire, and sway a silent land;
The Bear from the new Bearward gentler treatment well may hope,
But hardly loosening of the chain or slackening of the rope.
The patient Northern Bruin stands and rubs a dubious ear.
Amnesty means not Liberty. Autocracy is clear
In "firmly and unswervingly," with strength that doth not tire,
Holding the mastery of its race, the Sabre of its Sire!
* * * * *
"MR. PEPYS'S PARISH CHURCH."--The Rev. ALFRED POVAH'S interesting work
gives us the origin of the "Navy pew" in St. Olave's. In such a church
how appropriate was the old "three-decker," as this structure, which
contained clerk below, parson in the middle, and preacher in the
topmost compartment, used to be termed.
* * * * *
A JUST CORRECTION.--In _Macmillan's_ for this month there is an
interesting article entitled "_In the Wake of Captain Cook_." An Irish
member of the club threw the number down, exclaiming, "The man who
wrote that can't write English! 'Tis not '_in_ the wake' at all. Sure
it ought to be '_at_ the wake.'"
* * * * *
LEGAL CLOCKWORK.--Towards the end of last week, the key of the
difficulty having been found, the Justice-VAUGHAN-WILLIAMS'-winding-up
business was wound up, and J. V. W., being wound up, was set going
again. There is, however, still some difficulty, and a little oil on
the troubled works will be necessary. _Mem. to the Lord
Chancellor._--"Please not to touch the figures."
* * * * *
_Q._ What is the best sort of cigar to smoke in a Hansom?
_A._ A Cab-ana.
* * * * *