But other, and deeper effects resulted from that Imperial smack! And

such a smack! As though a red-hot poker should have kissed a barrel of

gunpowder. For as cheeks were kissed--

Poland writhed and groaned afresh!--

Hungary clenched her red right hand, and renewed her silent vow!--

Turkey, with a flourish of the sabre, set her teeth, and cried "_Allah!

Bismallah!_"

Naples--through KING BOMBA--cried "_Ancora_; kiss again!"

And ABERDEEN, folding pacific hands, declared, "it was a sweet

sight--unco' sweet--to see sick mighty Potentates in sick _awmeety_."

_Punch_--meeting his friend BARON SHEKELS at the COUNTESS OF

POLKHERLEGSOFF--asked the philanthropic Hebrew _his_ private opinion of

that salute. The Baron pathetically observed "it was a sight worth a

Jew's eye." And so it was; even if the Jew had been JUDAS.

* * * * *

A JOG FOR BIRMINGHAM GAOL.

A convict, perhaps, deserves to have his head shaved; but it does not

follow that his treatment should be altogether barbarous.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE MOUSTACHE MOVEMENT.

_Whipper._ "WELL, I WEAR MINE BECAUSE IT SAVES TROUBLE, AND IS SO VERY

'EALTHY."

_Snapper._ "HAH. WELL THERE AINT NO 'UMBUG ABOUT ME; I WEAR MINE BECAUSE

THEY LOOKS 'ANSOM, AND GOES DOWN WITH THE GALS."]

* * * * *

GRAND SCENA FROM OBERON.

_Enter from a Hotel,_ SIR HUON, _without his Coat_.

RECITATIVE.

Yes, even clothes the pay must yield,

No carpet bag have I;

The Paper be my battle field--

I'm fleeced! my battle cry.

AIR.

O, 'tis a monstrous sight to see

The charge of the British Hostelry,

Its plunderings over aghast we go,

With glances adding each long, long row!

One's shocked as one glances; we shiver all,

Though we shiver quite in vain--

They have raised such a total, we, rampant, call

On the Landlord to explain.

Charge ten shillings for breakfast and bed!

Dinner reckoned at eight per head!

Are things raised again, though Protection's no more?

For your bills are as of yore!

I say, 'I'm done! Tea, two for one?

Your crumpets startle my father's son!

And my senses are whirled to the winds afar,

By your wax-lights, Attendance, _Et Caetera!_

Mourn, ye Knaves in the Public line,

Your swindles lie stark in the broad sunshine,

The guests whom you sheared ere you let them go

Have made all the world your extortion know!

Joy to the moderate hosts of France!

Custom waits upon wise finance;

Joy to your honest Yankee men!

Their guests are all travelling back again.

There they go--the shaved ones see,

Who are grumbling at British Roguery.

Take the bill--the items pare,

Fill with cheap wine the bottle fair,

Strike off half--'t will still be high--

When we've won the victory!

* * * * *

THE HORSE-MARINES.--The poor horses that draw the Bathing Machines.

* * * * *

AN AFFAIR WITH THE (KNIGHTSBRIDGE) CAFFRES.

We thought we had heard enough of the rows with the Caffres at the Cape;

but there have lately been some Caffres cutting the oddest capers at

Hyde Park Corner. It seems that a noble Caffre chieftain has entered

into an agreement for himself and a few of his tribe to howl, leap,

brandish tomahawks, and indulge in other outlandish freaks, coming under

the head of "native customs," for a year and a half, during which period

the howlings, tomahawkings, &c., are to be the exclusive property of an

individual who has speculated on the appetite of the British public for

yells and wild antics. Things were going on pretty comfortably, with the

exception of an occasional "outbreak"--which means the breaking-in by a

Caffre of some other Caffre's, or somebody else's head--when the chief

was seized with a generous desire to make a gratuitous exhibition of

himself, and accordingly NKULOOCOOLO--as the chief calls himself--took a

turn in the Park on Thursday last with four of his fellow countrymen.

The proprietor of the yells and native dances, fearful that the gilt

would be taken off the gingerbread complexions of the Caffres if their

faces were made familiar to the public in Hyde Park, sent a policeman to

take the "chief" into custody. NKULOOCOOLO, however, who seems to take

the thing coolly as well as cavalierly--or Caffrely--refused to walk in,

but stood outside the door, rendering it hopeless that anybody would pay

half-a-crown to "walk up," when the chief was to be seen "alive, alive"

for nothing at the threshold. The proprietor endeavoured to push the

chief inside, but the chief gave a counter-push, and there seemed a

probability of a war-whoop being got up at the expense rather than for

the benefit of the enterprising individual who had engaged the whoopers.

Upon this the chief was taken into custody and charged with an assault,

and with having desired the proprietor (in Caffre) to "look out"--an

expression which, though not very alarming in English, seems to have had

in Caffre a very frightful effect on the mind of the hearer. Perhaps,

being familiar with the club exercise of the Caffres, he might have

reason to fear that their "native customs" would make them rather

awkward customers.

The complainant was, however, most properly told by the Magistrate that

the Caffres cannot, by law, be restrained from going wherever they

please, though they may have agreed to whoop and yell, but their

whooping and yelling can only be enforced by civil process. If a Caffre

chooses to take a walk in the Park, or anywhere else, he has a perfect

right to do so, if he does not break the law by tomahawking the public,

or any other "native" eccentricity. The "proprietor" seemed to feel

himself rather aggrieved that he could not dispose of the Caffres in any

way he pleased, but it would be rather too absurd, that the principle of

slavery and absolute control over the person of a human being should be

recognised for the benefit of an individual who has speculated in the

attraction of savage yells and barbarian antics.

* * * * *

THE PARSON'S PARLIAMENT.

Every now and then we read in the papers an account of the Convocation

of Prelates and Clergy, at which, by general consent, nothing seems to

be done, and nobody appears to be present. If this assembly, which never

assembles, and a body, which nobody troubles himself to form, is

supposed to represent the Church, we must admit that the representation

is--as far as sinecurism is concerned--a very faithful one. The

proceedings at the last meeting consisted of a rather dull duett,

between the Archbishop's commissioner and his Grace's registrar. The

latter in a lengthened solo gave the whole writ of prorogation at full

length, and the former chimed in at the conclusion with an announcement

that the business of the day was ended. The scene of this melancholy

farce is always the Jerusalem Chambers. It would perhaps give life to

the scene if MR. COOK would lend from ASTLEY'S a Jerusalem pony or two

by way of affording a little fit companionship to the commissioner and

registrar, who must be rather sick of each other, and might be glad to

welcome a little congenial society. The addition we have suggested might

be sanctioned, under the plea that the Vicar of Bray would then have a

representative.

* * * * *

OUR CITY ARTICLE.

[Illustration: T]

The present financial crisis appears to demand from _Mr. Punch_ one of

those Money Articles with which he has stepped forward in other times of

difficulty, and which have instantly restored stability and confidence.

Regardless, therefore, of his own personal comfort, he attended the

Stock Market one day during the past week.

_Mr. Punch_ was struck by the exceeding helplessness of the gentlemen in

whose hands is the political thermometer, better known as the Funds.

They displayed an avidity in grasping at the slightest hint, which was

only equalled by the hurry with which they sprang away to do something,

before they comprehended the real bearing of the information. Indeed, if

these gentlemen of the Stock Exchange waited until they understood the

actual tendency of the events upon which they deal, some of them might

wait long enough. _Mr. Punch_ casually remarked to a friend that

"ABERDEEN was out this morning," and there was a rush of fifty men eager

to buy on account of the good news. Had they paused to hear _Mr. Punch_

add, "walking in Kensington Gardens," they might have spared their

trouble. Subsequently, the same gentleman was heard to say, "Not so

tight as it was." Away hurried the correspondents of the papers, and

told everybody that the tightness of the market was disappearing. _Mr.

Punch_ merely alluded to his hat, which had been a little uncomfortable

until he had his hair cut. "Will open flatly," an observation _Mr.

Punch_ simply applied to the Princess's Theatre, was construed into a

prophecy of the state of the Market next day, and business was done

accordingly. But the greatest _coup_, and one for which MR. GLADSTONE

owes _Mr. Punch_ a good turn, was the latter gentleman's saying, as he

left the Exchange, "Those new Stocks are the best, because they always

keep up so well." The new creations, for whose non-popularity the

CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER has been much twitted by financiers who do

not know discount from premium, immediately sprang into activity, and

yet _Mr. Punch's_ remark was simply _apropos_ of his friend's wearing a

rather seedy tie round his neck. He hopes that Exchequer Bill, as the

RIGHT HON. WILLIAM is rather irreverently called in the City, will

remember this good service next time _Mr. Punch_ hints that it is time

the duty should come off paper.

While the news was favourable to Russia, the Bears were very elate, but

as soon as it was known that _Punch_ had declared against ABERDEEN and

for an English policy, the Bulls exulted. SHAKSPERE was quoted at

random, but usually wrongly. The jobbers were scarce, owing to the Irish

Brigade being out of the country. There was a rumour that a large

operator had come, but it turned out to be only a fat surgical

practitioner who had mistaken his way, and was, of course, exposed to

the graceful jocularity of the House. A Bank Director came on and made

some practical jokes, from which it was surmised that the Bank reserve

was very small. Prices jumped about on every side, and so did little

boys, whom the beadle chased, declaring he would have them there at no

price. Some of the speculators appeared very uneasy, especially those

who had a good way to go home, and thought it was going to rain.

Finally, _Mr. Punch_ was informed that things closed with much firmness

at four, but he believes this must apply to the gates.

Under all circumstances, _Mr. Punch_ strongly advises holders to be

neither rash nor fearful, while sellers should abstain alike from

temerity and timidity. All parties had better be guided by

circumstances, and not attempt to lay down Medo-Persian rules for

themselves. Let Prudence be their beacon, and Wisdom their chart. They

will do well to watch the course of events, but not to surmise that they

understand them, while at the same time taking care not to shut their

eyes to contingencies. A thing may happen, or it may not, but the wise

man will discern the signs of the times. By following this advice, which

_Mr. Punch_ has carefully framed upon the model of what is given by all

the recognised financial authorities, he has no doubt that through the

shoals of the present crisis the Bark of Public Confidence may be

steered into the haven of prosperity.

* * * * *

THE IMPERTINENCE OF SCIENCE.

Somebody has invented an instrument which he calls a Lunarium, and which

is calculated to look so very closely into the Moon's face, that the

Moon's age--exact to a quarter of an hour--may be discovered. Really

this seems hardly fair towards the Moon, for it ought to be remembered

that

"Luna, Luna, Luna's a lady."

and no lady--at least none of our acquaintance--could stand against the

force of an instrument so powerful as to detect every furrow, wrinkle,

or even crease in her countenance. It is all very well for the sons of

science to be continually staring Luna in the face, through the medium

of powerful telescopes; but having satisfied themselves of the "Moon's

Age," they might surely be satisfied without continually publishing the

fact for the gratification of an impertinent curiosity.

* * * * *

MODERN MYTHOLOGY.

One of our serious contemporaries, in recording a fashionable marriage,

describes the bride as "led to the hymenaeal altar." The nuptial rites

were celebrated at St. George's, Hanover Square; and we are further

informed that the REV. BERRY M. HUNTINGDON officiated. We did not know

that the priests of Hymen were styled Reverend, nor were we aware that

the divinity in question had any altar in St. George's church.

* * * * *

[Illustration]

WHAT THE "BRITISH GRENADIER" IS INEVITABLY COMING TO.

Some talk of ALEXANDER, and some of PERICLES,

Of HECTOR, and LYSANDER, and such old Guys as these;

But of all the horrid objects, the "wust" I do declare,

Is the Prusso-Russo-Belgo-Gallo-British Grenadier.

* * * * *

Integrity of Foreign Powers.

The preservation of the integrity of the Ottoman Empire is no doubt a

very important object; but a matter of no less consequence is the

restoration of the integrity of the Kingdom of Spain, which it has lost

in cheating its creditors.

* * * * *

PATRIOTISM OF THE FIRST WATER.

MR. FRANCIS MAGUIRE talks of "patriots of the purest water." Pity is it

that such water so seldom comes out of the Liffey.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Butcher Boy (who has had a liberal education)._

"PUR--PURVY OR TO HER MAJESTY. OH! THEN THAT'S A STATTY-ETTE OF THE

QUEEN, THAT'S WOT THAT IS."

_Companion._ "LAW!"]

* * * * *

OUR TOURIST IN PARIS.--No. 7.

It would be a mistake for a person of taste to leave Paris without

dining at PHILIPPE'S, the great artist, who dwells in the Rue

Montorgueil. There is the very highest authority (an Ex-Chancellor, a

Bishop or two, and my friend JOLLYBOY) for stating that this house is by

far the best in the city; and so, Sir, having the interests of your

paper and my country in view, I accepted the invitation of HARRY

ORTOLAN, himself no bad judge, to meet a small party there. There were

old MARTINGALE and SHEFFIELD HIGSON, and DE COURCY of the Embassy, a

young Frenchman named MONSIEUR FREDERIC HULOT, protocol, DE FAULTER, and

your Correspondent.

HULOT (a great ass) who dresses _a l'Anglais_ in a _pantalon a la

gentlemens-rideres_, and rides a grey mare with very long legs in the

Champs Elysees, fastened on to MARTINGALE, and gabbled away about _le

Liverpool Stipple Chase_ and MONSIEUR MASON, wanting to know how much an

English horse, pure blood, would cost. He was to be showy and very

quiet. MARTINGALE rather bluntly told him, he had better learn to ride,

before he thought of buying a horse. DE FAULTER invited your

Correspondent to come and play _ecarte_ at the Cercle some evening. A

very friendly nice fellow. He was in some cavalry regiment, but sold

out. I forget why he left the Rag. Perhaps it was too noisy a club for

him. SHEFFIELD HIGSON was holding forth, to the great disgust of DE

COURCY, about the English constitution, maintaining the universal

corruption of the Church and aristocracy, and looking forward to the

time when MR. COBDEN should be at the head of Foreign Affairs, and MR.

BRIGHT at the War Office; the revenues of the Church of England being

divided _pro rata_ among the schools of various denominations. To

confess the truth, HIGSON spoils the effect of his excellent political

principles by the grossest toad-eating. He never can speak without

mentioning some lord as his intimate friend. DE COURCY listened to his

speculations in horror, and was quite unable to profess his own simple

faith--that the House of Peers and the country gentlemen had an

exclusive right to the government, and that the devil was the first

Whig. He could only turn away, and mutter something about "an infernal

snob." PROTOCOL was boring our host with his views on the Zollverein.

Altogether we were uncomfortable together, and were all delighted when

dinner was announced.

The _huitres de Marenne_, those genuine treasures of the deep, had

disappeared when ORTOLAN, filling a glass of old Grave, said, "Do you

know I hate a fellow who says he doesn't like a good dinner. It's

generally humbug, and when it isn't that, it's something worse. It shows

a want of humanity: he might just as well not like virtue, or be

indifferent about cleanliness. A good dinner is better than a bad

dinner, exactly as a good man is better than a bad man; and to be

without a taste, is as much a defect as to be without a heart. An

ancient philosopher" (ORTOLAN is literary, and has read ATHENAES) "has

defined man as a cooking animal, with great justice. Advance in cookery

accompanies advance in civilisation, and they doubtless will both reach

perfection at the same time. The culinary art has a direct effect in

refining mankind; in the beautiful words of the _Latin Grammar_, it is

emollient to the manners; nor does it allow them to be rough." (HIGSON,

who has no Latin, here sneered visibly.) "After this _potage bisque aux

ecrevisses_, we feel our hearts expand in universal philanthropy. Who

would grovel amid lower dirt when he can nourish his essence with stuff

so ambrosial?"

"Well, for my part," said honest MARTINGALE, "I don't care about your

French flummery--it's all to hide the taste of the meat. Give me a steak

of good English beef, you know what you're eating then. Who knows what

this patty has inside it?" "You old heathen," exclaimed the epicure with

pity, "eat therefore without inquiry; you should never work your

intellect at the same time with your digestion, or you will spoil the

operation of both. Eat in silence, for it is good, and thank the happy

age and country which puts such delicate things before its sons."

MARTINGALE grumbled about fellows worshipping a certain portion of their

physical constitution, but devoted himself nevertheless to the

suspicious _pate_ with great success. The enthusiasm of the less

prejudiced part of the guests, amongst whom is of course to be reckoned

your open-minded Correspondent, was quickened by some _foie gras_, and

rose to the highest pitch over a _salmi_ of woodcocks, which even

Martingale admitted to be no end of good, although the best woodcocks in

the world were to be shot on the governor's manors in Lincolnshire.

Protocol here drank the health of the _chef_ in a glass of CLIQUOT'S

champagne amid general applause.

Your Correspondent is aware of the painful effect that would be produced

on your readers, condemned to drag on a miserable existence on the

indigestible products of an English kitchen, if he were to enumerate and

describe the dishes that completed the repast--all light, savoury,

succulent, and nourishing. But why, he begs to ask, is it, that with

confessedly inferior materials a French artist can make up a dinner, and

a good one, where an Anglo Saxon cook only furnishes instruments of

stomachic torture? The fact is certain and the answer plain. A Frenchman

considers his occupation as an art and throws his soul into it. Success

is his ambition and, when achieved, his pride, and he pleases himself

when he pleases you. Compare his enlightened enthusiasm with the view

MARIAR or SOOSAN takes of her _metier_. Think of the impenetrable

stupidity, the indolent unconscientiousness, the complacent conceit, and

the obstinacy which hardens the hearts towards us of that matron and

that maid, and by their hands infuses death into the pot. O MARIAR! O

SOOSAN! be wise in time, learn your business, and be not slothful

therein; listen to a voice of warning from a foreign strand, lest the

day arrive when Missus is compelled to descend into the kitchen as

Missuses used to do in times gone by, and your empire over your

employers be broken up once and for ever.

The generous produce of a Burgundian autumn flamed in our glasses,

loosening the tongue and not blunting the wit. The effect was varied and

delightful. Old MARTINGALE, who had been very hard on the Lancers of the

Guard, admitted that in a campaign the French cavalry might be awkward

customers. DE FAULTER ceased his allusions to the card-playing at the

Cercle, and his coups at NORRIS'S. ORTOLAN showed that he could talk on

other subjects than gastronomy, and DE COURCY was civil to SHEFFIELD

HIGSON, who, on the other hand, abstained from enumerating his

acquaintances among that aristocracy with whose utter worthlessness and

degradation he was so much impressed. Your Correspondent, who is always

pleasant and equable, was, if possible, more so than usual, and in the

intervals of his brilliant sallies, added by acute observation to those

stores of limpid wisdom, whence he periodically dispenses to your

readers.

* * * * *

SOMETHING IN A NAME AFTER ALL.

We see by the French papers, that an umbrella called _The Mushroom_ has

been lately patented in Paris. We are not aware what new peculiarity of

construction its inventor has discovered, but we think the name he

has selected is a highly appropriate one, and might with exceeding

fitness be applied, not to his alone, but to umbrellas generally. For as

mushrooms naturally belong to that class of things which are "here

to-day and gone to-morrow," we think their name may very properly be

used to designate so fugitive a possession as an umbrella.

* * * * *

CRANKS AND CROTCHETS.--The introduction of crank labour into gaols has

tended to corroborate the opinion, which is widely prevalent, that

prison disciplinarians are apt to be what is vulgarly called "cranky."

* * * * *

GRAND DRAMATIC APRES DEJEUNER.

[Illustration: S]

Since the practice of giving entertainments to those who entertain the

public has been adopted by those who got up the recent _dejeuner_ to MR.

G. V. BROOKE, it was determined by the friends of MR. STENTOR--the great

interpreter of FITZBALL--to invite that gentleman to a grand Spanish

onion feast, which came off at the Cinder Cellars and Dust-hole of

harmony, near the New Cut, Lambeth.

The room was hung with some of the best specimens from the theatrical

gallery of MARKS, and a magnificent portrait of HICKS, as _Ivanhoe_,

picked out with tinfoil, and filled in with real red satin, occupied the

centre of the wall over the seat of the Chairman. This masterly work of

art was appropriately supported on its right by the well-known engraving

of MR. G. ALMAR, as the _Knight of the Cross_; and on its left by the

highly finished etching of MR. CROWTHER, as the _Fiend of the

Sepulchre_. A group of Pantomime characters faced the door; and an

equestrian piece representing "MISS WOOLFORD in her favourite act of

_The Reaper_," formed a pendant over the chimney-piece.

The supper was of the choicest kind, and embraced all the delicacies of

the season that could be procured at the figure per head, which was

fixed at the moderate tariff of ninepence, in order to embrace as many

lovers of art--and onions--as possible. The _piece de resistance_ was a

bit of the roast beef of old England, to which Ireland contributed her

national potato, while Scotland sent her broth, and Wales was

represented by a magnificent Welch rabbit. Nor was the Continent

behind-hand in doing honour to the feast, for in peaceful proximity to

the onion of Spain, stood the roll of France, the sausage of Germany, a

flask of Lucca's luscious oil, and a few of the world-renowned sprouts

of Brussels. After the cloth--and the crumbs--had been removed, the

Chairman proposed the health of MR. STENTOR, who had made the voice of

the drama heard in the midst of the hoots of a threepenny gallery, and

who had fought more combats, assisted more defenceless females, unmasked

more villains, and danced more hornpipes than any man in Europe.

When the applause had subsided, MR. STENTOR rose and modestly alluded to

his own proud position. He expressed the highest reverence for his art,

and declared that he felt almost awe-stricken when he trod the same

boards that had been indented by the honoured heels of HICKS, and looked

upon the same sky-borders that had been shaken by the screams of

CARTLITCH. He, MR. STENTOR, had had the honour of acting in the same

company with those great men, and he must say that he felt his bosom

swell when he remembered that the great CROWTHER had hung upon it when,

as the tortured _Khan_, he lamented his "lost child;" and when he, MR.

STENTOR, remembered that that "child" was no other than the illustrious

HICKS, he, MR. STENTOR, felt that he had indeed, in the words of the

immortal AMHERST (J. H.), been "in goodly company." He, MR. STENTOR,

would not hope to equal these great men, nor would he ask that the

mantle of any of them should fall upon him; but if either of them should

have an old coat to spare, he did humbly ask that he might be allowed to

aspire to wear it.

MR. STENTOR'S speech was received with the most enthusiastic clatter of

pint pots, which lasted for several minutes.

The Chairman then pronounced a most impressive eulogium on WIDDICOMB,

which was received in solemn silence.

This was responded to by a SHAKSPERIAN jester and clown to the ring, the

friend and adviser of WIDDICOMB, who, among other advice, advised him to

sit still and say nothing.

The Chairman, in the course of the evening, observed that "the drama

could never be in a decline while it had the support of such lungs as

those of his friend STENTOR."

After the health of MR. BIDDLES, of the Bower Saloon, who acknowledged

the compliment with a neat nod, the party broke up at a late hour.

* * * * *

FURTHER PARTICULARS.

"A Medical Breakfast has come to be almost a part of the regular

proceedings of the British Association--and the last meeting at Hull

offered no exception."--_Athenaeum._

We understand that the bill of fare included Senna Tea, Cream of Tartar,

Sugar of Lead, Butter of Antimony, Saffron Cake, Rhubarb Tart, and

Antimony Wine. Spatulae were laid for forty.--_Punch._

* * * * *

PROSPECTS OF A HAPPY PATH OF EMPERORS.

A Duet.

NICHOLAS--FRANCIS.

_Both._ {Europe's little Farm we'll keep

{And our little girls and boys,

{Like little pigs or sheep,

{Serve, dare they make a noise!

_Nich._ The trials I'll conduct;

_Fran._ The gaols I'll construct.

_Nich._ {In curbing bard and sage

{My lash will prove efficient;

_Fran._ {My halter, I'll engage,

{Will quell the ill-conditioned.

_Nich._ Now, slave, for back the knout!

_Fran._ Now, dog, the rope for neck;

_Both._ {And that's the way, no doubt,

{To keep mankind in check.

_Nich._ K with an N, N with an O, O with a U, U with a T;

_Fran._ And a R and an O and a P and an E;

_Nich._ K. N. O. U. T.;

_Fran._ R. O. P. and E.;

_Both._ {When we've trampled down the Free,

{Oh what jolly, glorious fun 'twill be!

[_Da Capo as lib._

* * * * *

THE LORD MAYOR'S SHOW FOR 1853!

[Illustration: W]

We perfectly agree with MR. ALDERMAN SIDNEY--the Lord Mayor elect--that

the great civic show of the Ninth of November is a vital element in our

social and commercial life. WHITTINGTON'S cat still purrs encouragingly

down generations. WALWORTH'S dagger is a bright and keen realty; and not

the air-drawn blade that the utility-mongers would make of it. The

influence of the Lord Mayor's Show is no doubt felt in the remotest

parts of this island. The rumbling of the wheels of the state coach is

heard in the dreams of youthful sleepers a-bed, it may be, in garrets at

the Land's End. ALDERMAN SIDNEY feels all the poetry of this; therefore

the City of London is safe in his enthusiastic keeping.

But MR. ALDERMAN SIDNEY--if we may believe a very general

report--proposes to endow the Show with a purpose of instruction. He

will inform outward bravery with an inward teaching. Thus, as a

prosperous tea-merchant, the new Lord Mayor will have a new state coach

built and ornamented as a magnificent tea-chest upon wheels; and will

further have his coachman and footmen drest after the approved fashion

of TIEN-TE, in remote but no less sincere compliment to Young China,

_vice_ Old China chipped, cracked, and falling to pieces.

* * * * *

WHO IS THE MISCREANT THAT SENT US THE FOLLOWING?

As we know that the Russians require oleaginous food, is it not possible

that, after devouring Turkey, the Czar may take a fancy to "Greece?"

Should he do so, is it not probable that "GENUINE RUSSIAN BEAR'S GREECE"

will no longer be a fiction?

* * * * *

RUSSIA IN LONDON.

It is said that the agitation for the constitution of a Greek empire is

the politic work of Russia. That if others supply the eloquence, the

Greek fire of talk--it is Russia that stands the shot.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE HORRORS OF WAR.

_First Newmarket Boy._ "AWFUL WORK THIS, BILL. WE'RE A GOIN' TO WAR WITH

ROOSIA!"

_Second Ditto._ "WELL, WOT ODDS?"

_First Ditto._ "WOT ODDS? WHY, THERE WON'T BE NO HEMPEROR'S CUP NEXT

YEAR, THAT'S ALL!"]

* * * * *

THE TRUMPET OF BATTLE.

WHEN the trumpet's call to arms shall in Turkey's quarrel sound,

On the field of Europe's war shall JOHN BULL be backward found?

No, by GEORGE! to the fray like a war-steed let him bound,

Prepared to fall or conquer, with expensive laurels crowned.

Our heroes like water their blood abroad shall pour;

Our money shall also be scattered as of yore:

We have done it oftentimes, and we'll do it yet once more,

Even though we get worse off than we ever got before.

Should the nations draw the sword, it will be a grand affair,

With "Now or Never Liberty!" for a cry to rend the air:

Sore loss, whichever way it goes, ourselves will have to bear,

But that we've made our minds up to, and therefore need not care.

'Tis hard in others' quarrels to be forced to interpose,

But point me out the craven base that hesitation shows,

And I'll punch his wretched head and wring his despicable nose,

Forward! no matter how we swell the debt the nation owes.

Let the sword leap from the scabbard while the frantic bugles bray,

Draw, England, draw the purse as well that must be flung away,

Charge! and in charging never think how much you'll have to pay;

To the Brave there will be time to talk of that another day!

* * * * *

THE DREAM OF A BAGPIPE.

The EARL OF ABERDEEN, at the late Privy Council, looked very much

pressed and flattened. It is said that, for some weeks past, the noble

Earl has suffered a nightly dream, in which he believes himself turned

to a bagpipe, with the EMPEROR OF RUSSIA, horned and tailed, playing

upon him.

* * * * *

QUESTIONABLE ADVERTISEMENTS.

The present mode of advertising seems to be by asking a question and,

from the general use of the process, we presume that the questioning is

found to answer. Somebody asks us every day, "Who would be without a

dressing case?" and another attempts to tickle our vanity by addressing

to us the inquiry, "Do you keep livery servants?" and suggesting to us

the _eclat_ of an imaginary retinue. Another wants to know, "Why pay

more than sixteen shillings for your trowsers?"--a question we hardly

like to dwell upon, for it presents to our mind the still more

interesting question, "Why pay anything at all, and why not victimise

your tailor?"

Talking of advertisements reminds us of one which daily offers to dye

our hair, including the whole head for a crown, and our whiskers for "a

shilling upwards." It would be important to know how far "upwards" we

could have our whiskers dyed for that moderate sum, as it would be

awkward to have them a rich Prussian blue about the jaw, a piebald in

the middle, and a good old natural grey on the cheek-bone. The same

accommodating person, who promises to dye us permanently for five

shillings, offers, if we don't like the look of ourselves when we've

been regularly done, to give us our money back again. This would be but

a sorry compensation for one who had exchanged the simplicity of nature

for the variegated hues of art, and who, in the hope of becoming once

more the youthful beau, had qualified himself for the part of the

rainbow. Before, standing the "hazard of the dye," we, like RICHARD THE

THIRD, had rather see "HASTINGS'S head," or anybody else's head, a month

after the operation.

* * * * *

PRESENT TO MR. GLADSTONE.

A few days ago MR. GLADSTONE received, carefully packed in an oaken box,

and nicely enveloped in many folds of tissue paper, a massive handsome

silver poker. It bore on the squared end this inscription:--"Presented

to stir the Minister to stir himself to enable the country to stir a

cheaper coal."

* * * * *

[Illustration: A TERRIBLE TURK.

"I will Fight! He Hit me First!"]

* * * * *

THE INN-FLUENZA.

[Illustration: W]

We have had our attention called to a complaint which, it seems, has

long been prevalent throughout the kingdom, although but little notice

hitherto has publicly been taken of it. It threatens now, however, to

become as prolific a source of correspondence as the Cholera; and

scarcely a _Times_ passes, without at least a column of "Constant

Readers" on the subject.

We are not aware if a specific name has as yet been found for it; but we

think it may be best described, perhaps, as a sort of Inn-fluenza,

although it certainly in some degree resembles also a remittent fever,

seeing that the sufferers cannot generally make progress without a

remittance. And it partakes still further of a febrile character, since

it usually is attended with irritation in the patient.

Of the symptoms which lead to it, perhaps the most painful is a species

of opthalmia, which commonly afflicts the patient with the most

distressing ocular delusions. He has been even known, under its

influence, to declare that he can see only a pint of wine in a decanter,

which his attendants have assured him contains a bottle; and candles,

which he similarly has been told are wax, he has frequently been found

unable to distinguish from composite. The sense of taste, too, it seems,

is similarly affected. When offered pale ale, the patient not

unfrequently will pronounce it to be swipes; and in some cases he has

actually mistaken that for Cape, which is warranted, and even charged

for, as Madeira.

We trust that the urgency of this complaint being now admitted,

efficient means will be at once devised to stop it. There is little

doubt, we think, that the sufferers hitherto have been bled too freely,

and another course of treatment should be certainly adopted. We do not

generally advocate the use of the knife, but in this complaint

decidedly, wherever any person is attacked by the symptoms which may

lead to it, we do not know if we can well prescribe a surer remedy than

cutting.

* * * * *

RANDOM RECORDS OF A RUN THROUGH CERTAIN CONTINENTAL COUNTRIES.

(_By the Author of "All the Great Metropolises"._)

[We rather think the following letter has reached us by mistake, and

must have been intended for one of our morning contemporaries.

However, we print it.--ED.]

LETTER XLIII.

While I am on the Continent I feel quite different to what I do when I

am on an island. The sensation that if you leave one country you can

immediately go into another, without the intervention of what LORD BYRON

has so beautifully called the Blue Ocean, (although the ocean or sea is

not always blue, but often green) between the two neighbourhoods,

produces a curious effect upon my idiosyncrasy. At the same time I must

confess that this metaphysical feeling does not apply to Paris, because

that city is in the centre of a large country, and if I wished to leave

it (which at present I do not), I should have to traverse a considerable

extent of territory.

Yesterday I visited the Madelaine, which is a church, and stands near

the Boulevards, and the front looks towards the Place de la Concorde, a

locality which has also had various other names, which, if I knew them,

as I am "free to confess" (as they say in a certain place which I have

already immortalised) I do not, would naturally suggest to the mind a

long train of instructive historical thoughts, although as the

Madelaine, if GALIGNANI'S _Guide_ may be trusted, was not built until

after the principal events connected with the Place de la Concorde had

occurred, to remember them here would be a case of _post hoc et prompter

hoc_ (I translate for the benefit of the fair sex--"because you are here

you are prompted to think of that there,") and as I am travelling to

instruct myself and my readers, I wish to avoid _persiflage_. The

Madelaine is a building which has cost considerable sums of money, and

it is a remarkable coincidence that it is Greek in style though intended

for _Roman_ Catholic worship, but such are the anomalies and

anachronisms which strike the intelligent traveller. The _facade_, or

altar-piece, is painted in very bright colours, with mythological

allusions to the EMPEROR NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, and other well-known

individuals. The effect of the exterior is something like that of the

Licensed Victuallers' Asylum at Woking Buzzard, but I think in many

respects inferior to that worthy and laudable institution, of which an

Englishman (I do not particularly refer to a talented, gifted, and

irascible correspondent) is so justly proud. I only staid five minutes;

service was not being performed, and there was no person in the church

but myself, but this was enough to inspire me with the utmost contempt

for the mummeries of the Roman Catholic creed, and with pity for the

blinded and unenlightened individuals who indulge therein.

The day being fine, or as they say in France, _ce est une beau journal_,

I lounged along the Boulevards, and remarked that human nature was the

same in every climate. I then went down the Rue de la Paix--you will

observe that I am now quite familiar with the old parts of the City of

Paris--and after some turnings came to the Cathedral of Notre Dame,

which is certainly fine, although devoted to a false religion, which,

however, does not alter the architecture, and I hope I am too candid not

to draw the distinction between the external and the internal aspects of

an edifice. To adopt a metaphor, the sign of a tavern may be well

painted, although the beer sold within may not be good; but in saying

this, I wish to be understood to speak generally, and not with reference

to any particular establishment, far less to swell that illiberal cry

against hotel-keepers (many of whom are most worthy and honourable men)

which my antagonist--whom it is my mission to crush--in Printing House

Square continually raises.

But, _revenions a nous moutions_, ("to return to business") I was

greatly pleased, or shall I say amused, with a highly dramatic scene

which occurred in the course of my walk. I shall never forget it, and it

may take its place "in this distracted orb" (SHAKSPERE'S _Hamlet_)

beside that other joke, which, as I have already told my readers, will

throw me into paradoxes of laughter at any hour or time. Wake me and

tell me the house is on fire, assure me there is an earthquake, let me

hear that a printer's unpardonable carelessness has made a newspaper

under my charge say a reverend clergyman reached before PRINCE ALBERT

instead of preached before H. R. H., and that the Court refuses to

receive my published apology; still, if you tell me the joke in

question, I shall laugh. But I think the following dialogue is as rich

as the other, _Arcades ambo_, (the fair sex must excuse me if I do not

translate this). I saw a respectable gentleman's handkerchief protruding

from his coat pocket, and knowing the disagreeableness of finding that

humble but useful article missing, especially in the influenza period, I

thought I would waive ceremony, and though unintroduced, suggest to him

the advisability of a precautionary measure. So, touching my hat with

some playfulness, I said, "_Monsieur, vous voulez perdre votre

parapluie_." (I must not translate this, or the joke will be lost.)

"_Ah!_" he replied, adding, after a pause, "_Bah!_"

But as he did not replace his handkerchief, I, who am not easily

daunted, returned to the attack.

"_Mais, Monsieur, vous n'attendez pas a moi._" (Sir, you do not attend

to me.)

"_Diable!_" he exclaimed, impatiently. As I never permit any of our own

correspondents to use this word, I shall not break my own laws by

rendering it into the vernacular.

A compatriot of my own here came up, and with the sportiveness allowable

to intimacy, said,

"What's the row?"

I explained that I had given the French gentleman a caution as to his

_parapluie_, to which I pointed as sticking out of his pocket.

"That's his _mouchoir_," said my friend, laughing heartily, as did the

gentleman when the mistake was explained to him, and we all took off our

hats to one another. These little amenities cost nothing, but yet may be

bright oases on the ordinary stream of the battle of life.

I must reserve until to-morrow my narrative of the taking of the

Bastille, which naturally occurred to me as I gazed upon the column in

the Place Vendome, and I shall probably offer some instructive

observations upon the literature and religion of the country in which I

now find myself. But I can truly say, "England" (which includes

Scotland, and also poor Ireland) "with all thy faults, my heart still

turns to thee," a thought which must comfort those countries during my

temporary absence.

* * * * *

THE STEAM ANNIHILATOR.

It is said that "Steam annihilates both Time and Space." It is a

thousand pities, for our comfort in railway travelling, that its

annihilating powers will sometimes extend, also, to--human beings.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THIS IS THE PROTECTION A PLAID AFFORDS TO THOSE WHO DO

NOT KNOW THE WAY TO CARRY IT.]

* * * * *

TO THE NOBLE AIRL

AT THE HEAD OF HER MAJESTY'S GOVERNMENT.

(_From a countryman of his._)

Hey, ABERDEEN, are ye wakin' yet,

And are our drums a beatin' yet,

The journals lee,

Or fra' all we see,

The Russians are not retreatin' yet?

Hey, ABERDEEN, are ye writin' yet,

In hollow phrases delightin' yet,

While on Danube's banks

Thae hostile ranks

Are makin' ready for fightin' yet?

Hey, ABERDEEN, are ye prosin' yet,

On your council sofas a dozin' yet,

To the old world's sneers,

And the new world's jeers,

Your country's honour exposin' yet?

Hey, ABERDEEN, are ye twaddlin' yet,

And over yer red tape dawdlin' yet

About NICK'S good faith,

And his power, and baith,

To your weary colleagues a maudlin' yet?

Hey, ABERDEEN, are ye Premier yet,

We must have some cleverer schemer yet,

Or the Russian cat

Whom ye love to pat,

Will be over to lick up her cream here yet.

* * * * *

"The true art of dining consists in dining at your country's

expense."--_Young Stafford._

* * * * *

FESTIVITIES IN SOUTHWARK.

A SPLENDID banquet was yesterday given by MESSRS. PUE and PHITT to their

friends and connexions, to commemorate what may be termed the coming of

age of their establishment; the extensive bone-boiling and

horse-slaughtering concern, and catgut manufactory, situated in a

densely populated part of the above district: which, having now arrived

at the standing of 30 years, is exempt from the operation of the

Nuisances Removal Act.

Dinner was served in a large shed on the premises, fitted up for the

occasion, having been decorated with much attention to taste, and

plentifully sprinkled with chloride of lime in equally judicious regard

to smell.

The usual loyal toasts having been dispensed with, and "Our Noble

Selves" substituted in their place, the senior partner proposed the

toast of the evening. He said he was glad, in times like the present,

when alarmists were making such efforts to lead people by the nose in a

crusade against everybody who gave the slightest inconvenience to that

organ, to see himself, and his friend at the other extremity of the

table, surrounded by so numerous and respectable an assembly of

well-wishers. He was proud of the support of the strong minds that

despised a squeamish agitation, and of the strong stomachs--the two

always went together--that asserted themselves in meeting to afford that

support in that place. The interest that he and his partner had the

honour of representing might be called one of the Institutions of

Southwark; and they prided themselves upon the fact that their premises

were, as a wag had observed, among the peculiar fetors of the locality.

The odour of profit was pleasant, in the opinion of a wise man, no

matter what the profit was made out of, and the surrounding district was

rich in effluvia, and he hoped no dainty legislation would ever

impoverish it. Bones were not boiled--dogsmeat was not made--catgut was

not manufactured--with lavender-water. But what was called a perfume was

often more unhealthy than the reverse. Flowers, for instance, were

considered by the faculty bad for a sick room; and on the other hand,

what could be more wholesome than physic, and what more nasty? The

salubrity of the atmosphere they were then inhaling, was proved by the

fact that himself and his family had been breathing it for the last

thirty years; and that led him to the toast he was about to propose. The

establishment which they were met to celebrate the prosperity of, had

now completed the thirtieth year of its existence. It had, in fact,

attained its majority, and was now no longer under that control that an

infant business of the same nature is subject to. The monster nuisance,

as it had been invidiously called, was no longer amenable to the

Nuisances Removal Act. The young Giant was out of his nonage; and those

who wished to grapple with him must do it in the Court of Quarter

Sessions--where he defied them. He would now then give them the young

Giant's good health; they would drink, if they pleased, Perpetuity to

the Premises, and Success to Sulphuretted Hydrogen and Ammonia.

The toast was drunk with all the odours.

The other member of the firm briefly expressed his thanks for the kind

and enthusiastic manner in which the company had responded to his worthy

partner; which, he declared, quite delighted his old bones.

After a series of other anti-sanitary toasts and sentiments, the company

separated at a late hour in an excited state, having, as a facetious

gentleman remarked with a strong emphasis on the first syllable of the

epithet, partaken of an entertainment that was truly _sump_-tuous.

* * * * *

THE ETRUSCAN PATTERN.

We are informed that a communication of an interesting nature has been

made to the Tuscan Government in reference to the imprisonment of MISS

CUNNINGHAME for giving away a Bible and a _Pilgrim's Progress_. Through

the HON. MR. SCARLETT, acting as Charge d'Affaires in the temporary

absence of SIR HENRY BULWER, LORD ABERDEEN is said to have requested the

opinion of the GRAND DUKE LEOPOLD and his Cabinet respecting a measure

of great importance in regard to the principle of toleration,

contemplated very seriously by HER MAJESTY'S Ministers. The projected

enactment which has thus been submitted to the consideration of the

Tuscan Sovereign and his advisers is based on the principle whereon is

also founded the article in their penal code under which MISS

CUNNINGHAME has been incarcerated. It treats the attempt to convert any

person from the State religion as a crime against the State, and

inflicts imprisonment with hard labour for that offence. Under its

operation any Roman Catholic, convicted of making a present to a member

of the Established Church of a "_Garden of the Soul_," or a crucifix,

will be tried for sedition and CARDINAL WISEMAN will inevitably be sent

to the treadmill.

* * * * *

A LEGAL QUERY FOR THE NEXT EXAMINATION.

What is better than a right of way through the Park?

A right of curds and whey at the Lodge gate.

* * * * *

THE BRITISH STENTOR.--The most powerful voice in the country is that of

the man who can utter most money.

* * * * *

THE PEACE SPECTACLE IN SCOTLAND.

[Illustration: O]

Olives are to be grown in Edinburgh. We rejoice to hear the news. The

Scotch have always been distinguished for meekness and (after breakfast)

even mealy-mouthedness. They have, nevertheless, been shamefully

libelled by history. The national spirit has been designated the

_perfervidum genium Scotorum!_ No such thing. CALEDONIA was ever mild as

milk: in the time even of AGRICOLA, it was well known that butter would

not melt in her mouth. This meek, pacific quality of Scotland has been

wickedly disguised and libelled, but COBDEN and BRIGHT have resolved to

vindicate the truth. Eagles never did breed in Scotland--they were only

doves, sucking-doves, of a larger size. And as for the thistle, with

that hostile, spiteful, unbrotherly motto, _Nemo me impune

lacessit_,--Scotland shall henceforth assume as her floral type the

simple "gowan fine."

We are happy to learn that the peace festival will be celebrated with

appropriate beauty of imagery and plenteousness of fare. We have

gathered a few of the particulars; and although we do not vouch for the

fullness of the description--for the time will yet admit of many

improvements--nevertheless the subjoined will be found a very fair

sketch of the approaching ceremony.

At day-break, Mons Meg will be fired; being loaded with a cotton-ball,

brought from Manchester by one of her Members, JOHN BRIGHT. A

procession--forming at Holyrood House--will proceed (weather permitting)

to the summit of Arthur's Seat. We give a few of the more important

characters in the pageant.

MR. COBDEN (crowned with corn) will lead a Bear in a string of daisies;

the Bear "crumpled" a little about the ears, and muzzled with the finest

bit of cotton twist.

MR. BRIGHT will lead a Turkey in chains of pork sausages!

[Illustration]

A Banner (with a walnut-tree worked in worsted) borne by MR. GEORGE

WILSON; with the appropriate peaceful motto:

"The oak gives place to the walnut-tree,

For more 'tis beat, the better it be!"

At the public meeting, the LORD PROVOST will--on the part of the City of

Edinburgh--decorate certain members of the Congress with medals, bearing

the effigies of a Goose--a Calf--a Bee. _Anser, Vitulus, Apis regunt

mundum_: the Goose, the Calf, the Bee do (should) rule the

world--Goose-pen, Calf-parchment, Bees'-wax.

At the banquet geese and sweetbreads and wax-candles will, in a savoury

and brilliant manner, further illustrate the uses and beauties of ANSER,

VITULUS, APIS.

For ourselves, we say, long flourish the olive-tree! But is now the

precise season to plant it in the soil of Scotland?

Courteous invitations have been sent to the EMPERORS OF RUSSIA AND

AUSTRIA, to be present either in their Imperial persons or by

ambassador. However, up to the time of our going to press, no answer had

been received; and we thought it, perhaps, useless to wait for it.

* * * * *

"WOODMAN! SPARE THAT JOKE."

A new Work has been recently published under the quaint title of "_The

Book of the Axe_." We do not know whether it is an illustrated volume,

but the "_Book of the Axe_" would seem to have missed its aim, unless

the "cuts on wood" are numerous.

* * * * *

A TRANSPORTED AUDIENCE.

Transportation, as a penalty for crime, has been abolished by law: but

transportation, by way of amusement, is still carried on, and MR. HENRY

RUSSELL--familiarly known as the original "maniac," he having obtained

an injunction against a second-hand "maniac" who had infringed a

copyright by seeing them "dancing, dancing, dancing, in the hall"--has

been causing some of his audience to be literally transported with

delight by presenting them with free passages to America. This is all

very well, and very liberal, no doubt, but a passage to America may

sometimes prove more free than welcome.

We recollect a recent instance of a quiet old gentleman from the country

having strolled into a theatre, where he found a "popular vocalist"

pumping away at the "_Ship on Fire_" with all his lungs, and the old

gentleman was about to quit the theatre at the end of the performance

when he was suddenly seized, dragged on to the stage, exhibited to

public view, and loudly cheered as the happy winner of "a free passage

to America." To appear ungrateful for a boon which seemed to be thought

so enviable was impossible, and the poor old gentleman was obliged to

give his name and address on the spot, to enter into arrangements for

meeting the ship at Liverpool, and pledge himself to an emigration which

would separate him from a capital business, a devoted wife, and an

affectionate family. The feelings of that wife and family may be

conceived when they found by the next day's paper--received by the early

morning mail two hundred miles from London--that the husband and father

had so far forgotten the ties of home and kindred as to have become the

subject of "a free passage to America." It is true that, after a

frightful nightmare, in which he heard a wild chorus of "Cheer, boys,

cheer," interrupted by moans of "Ha! 'tis the night watch!" with

occasional shrieks of "I am not mad! I am not mad!" he rose with a

determination to relinquish his precious prize, and resigned to some

more appreciating hands his "free passage to America."

* * * * *

VERY GOOD OF THE POPE.

The Pope, according to his frequent custom, has recently caused prayers

to be offered in all Continental Catholic churches, for the conversion

of England. This is very good of him, though it may be very unnecessary.

The POPE declares--sorrowingly--that this England, "once the island of

the blessed," has been "for a long while past caught in the errors of

heresy"--"has fallen from the true belief,"--and is oppressed by "dark,

false teaching, which keeps it from the knowledge of the truth." All of

which evils His Holiness prays may be put away from us, that we may all

see the true light, which is the POPE'S eye--all salute the true faith,

which is the POPE'S toe. We repeat, however, that we object not to the

prayers of the POPE'S Church; but we do most vehemently object to the

bolts and bars with which such supplications are wont to be associated.

For instance, we have no objection that the DUKE OF TUSCANY should pray

for the conversion of MISS CUNNINGHAME, but we do object--and might feel

disposed to urge such objection from an iron mouth--that the GRAND DUKE

should turn the lady from her free home to an Italian dungeon. Let the

DUKE pray as much as he will; but only pray--not _prey_.

* * * * *

RUSSIAN "MOUCHES" IN EDINBURGH.

The daily papers tell us that--

"The clouds of small black flies which were observed in many places

of the island about a fortnight or three weeks ago, again presented

themselves on Wednesday morning in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh."

These black flies have--we understand upon good authority--preceded MR.

ELIHU BURRITT from Russia: and are, indeed, only another evidence of the

magical influence of the harmonious blacksmith. These black flies

were--only two months ago--wasps, Russian wasps, encountered by ELIHU in

the environs of St. Petersburg. He was on horseback, when his horse's

foot sinking into a wasp's nest, brought a cloud of the destructive

insects about the head of the traveller. Every wasp had his sting out

when--MR. BURRITT delivered himself of one of those marvellous orations

which it had been his mission to deliver to the CZAR'S bondmen. In

twenty minutes, the eloquent peacemaker had talked every armed wasp into

a harmless small black fly. Thus, can there be any doubt that the peace

orators of the North will, in like manner, talk the Russian army out of

its bayonets?

* * * * *

READY WIT.

The _Morning Herald_ says of MR. GLADSTONE'S Inverness speeches,

"The nail-blue-cholera-collapsed condition of his speeches!"

Is not this ready wit? Wit at the fingers' ends?

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE MOUSTACHE MOVEMENT

_Augustus._ "ARE YOU FOND OF MOUSTACHERS, EMILY?"

_Emily._ "YES! I THINK THEY LOOK VERY WELL UPON SOME PEOPLE."

_Augustus._ "AH! THEN THAT SETTLES THE POINT. I _SHALL LET MINE GROW_."]

* * * * *

MEETING OF THE RABBITS.

Last week was held a meeting of certain rabbits in a box in the

Zoological Gardens. The meeting, it must be confessed, was not very

numerous, but extremely respectable.

MR. DOUBLESMUT took the chair, and briefly opened the proceedings. He

said that they would improve the happy accident of their meeting into an

enduring advantage. He thought that the time had arrived for the whole

nation of rabbits to raise themselves in the scale of creation; by

cultivating a deeper trust and wider confidence with the animal world

about them. He must lament, while he confessed, that he had been brought

up in the fear and horror of foxes, weasels, stoats, polecats,

sparrow-hawks, and so forth. But, for his part, he believed that the

time was come when the whole rabbit people might live in love and amity

and perfect trust with all around them. It was mean; it was a moral

cowardice to distrust either fox or weasel: they, poor things! like

illiterate rabbits, had been the victims of ignorance and prejudice; but

in these days, everybody might embrace everybody. Yes, he felt his heart

expand towards all created things, and--

--And the rest of the speech was cut short; for the boa-constrictor--in

whose house the rabbits had met, and over whose coils they had hopped

and run--the boa, in the twinkling of an eye, had MR. DOUBLESMUT in his

jaws; and in two minutes deposited body and bones in his throat.

* * * * *

A LUNDY FOOT LINGUIST.

The promotion of talent is always gratifying, even when that talent is

employed on the side of opponents. MR. LUCAS deserves a reward, which we

should like to see him get, for having lately distinguished himself.

Among the Hibernian intelligence, the other day, it was reported that,

at a tenant-right meeting, a DR. M'KNIGHT having accused him of an act

of treachery to the cause, the honourable gentleman declared the

doctor's statement to be an "unmitigated lie." MR. LUCAS has often

distinguished himself by the use of similar expressions; and what is

remarkable, he has not distinguished himself by anything else, except by

a veneration of the POPE and a hatred of his Protestant fellow

subjects--if his hatred for Protestantism stops there. But it is

precisely the limited nature of the ability which he has displayed which

entitles him to preferment: and we are sure we speak the sentiments of

all moderate politicians when we say that DR. NEWMAN'S "Catholic"

University cannot do less than appoint the Hon. Member Professor of the

Vulgar Tongue.

We would also commend MR. LUCAS'S merits to the attention of HER

MAJESTY'S advisers. We might as well have diplomatic relations with

Rome, as with any other of the absurd and semi-barbarous Governments to

which we send an envoy. Let those relations, then be established, and

our vituperative ex-friend despatched as ambassador to the POPE. The

only fear is that the salary which, of course, would be attached to the

appointment would stop his mouth, or, at least, deprive his eloquence of

that only quality which renders it remarkable--that peculiar strength of

language without which it would be wholly unadorned. That this would not

much signify one way or the other is not quite true. It is of some

consequence to the community at large to be presented, from time to

time, with an example of the effects of popish bigotry on the human

feelings and intellect, as afforded by the unrestrained rhetoric of MR.

LUCAS.

* * * * *

THE OLD FLAG.

One voice from sea to sea,

One thought from shore to shore,--

"Peace if without disgrace still peace may be,

War, if we must have war!"

Curs'd be the hand that draweth brand,

While swords with honour can be spared:

May the hand rot, which draweth not,

When honour bids the sword be bared.

Peace now for thirty years

With Plenty, hand in hand,

One olive-crowned, one crowned with harvest ears,

Have sat within our land,

Twin-sisters dear! To keep them here,

What price would England grudge to pay?

One price alone! Were Honour gone,

How long would Peace and Plenty stay?

Bring out Old England's flag,

Storm-rent from Waterloo!

Fling forth to the four winds the glorious rag,

And bear it England through.

Through vale, o'er hill, by forge and mill,

Past upland village, coastward town,

Up Scottish strath, o'er Irish _rath_,

Across Welsh hill and English down.

Salute it, young and old,

With God-speed on its way!

As it ne'er waved but o'er the free and bold

Pray Heaven it never may.

Still let its course to Fraud and Force

Strike terror from the air;

Still let its sight to down-trod right

Bring hope upon despair.

* * * * *

HOW WE ARE OFF FOR SOAP!

If any one asks us how we are off for soap it is pleasant to be able to

answer the question in the most satisfactory manner. We happen to be

extremely well off for soap, in consequence of the kindness of some

eccentric individuals who are always sending us by post certain

penn'orths of specimens of saponaceous matter, with which they invite us

to shave ourselves. We have lately received in a letter a bit of

something which we are told will cover our face with "a lather like

thick white paint, over which the razor will glide;" but as we don't

want a razor to glide _over_ our beard, we hesitate to try the

experiment. The gratuitous soap is accompanied by the prospectus of a

perfume, which "never becomes faint," and a preparation for the hair,

which makes it "soft and glossy for ever." We are quite sure that the

individual who sent the announcement to us can have no notion of the

disorderly haycock which does duty on the top of our poll for a head of

hair, or he would never undertake to render it "permanently," or even

for one moment "soft and glossy."

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE TWO DROMIOS.]

* * * * *

BULLY BOTTOM.

Bully _Bottom_ is, in truth, "translated" by MR. PHELPS. Translated from

matter-of-fact into poetic humour--translated from the commonplace

tradition of the playhouse to a thing subtly grotesque--rarely, and

heroically whimsical. A bully _Bottom_ of the old, allowed sort, makes

up his face--even as the rustic wag of a horse-collar--to goggle and

grin; and is as like to the sweet bully of PHELPS--bears the same

relation in art to the _Bottom_ of Sadler's Wells--as the sign-post

portrait on the village green to a head, vital by a few marvellous dots

and touches of RICHARD DOYLE. In these days we know of no such

translation! Translate a starveling Welsh curate into a Bishop of

London, and PHELPS'S translation of _Bottom_ the weaver shall still

remain a work of finer art, and--certainly to all humanising intents of

man-solacing humour--of far richer value. We have had, plentiful as

French eggs, translations of facile, delicate French into clumsy,

hobbling British; and now, as some amends, we have _Bottom_ translated

by PHELPS from dull tradition into purest airiest SHAKSPERE. MR. PHELPS

has not painted, dabbed, we should say, the sweet bully with the old

player's old hare's-foot; but has taken the finest pencil, and, with a

clean, sharp, fantastic touch, has rendered _Bottom_ a living weaver--a

weaver whose brain is marvellously woven, knitted up, with self-opinion.

Now this, we take to be the true, breathing notion of SHAKSPERE, and

this notion has entered the belief of the actor, and become a living

thing. _Bottom_ is of conceit all-compact. Conceit flows in his

veins--is ever swelling, more or less, in his heart; covers him from

scalp to toes, like his skin. And it is this beautiful, this most

profitable quality--this human coin, self-opinion, which, however

cracked, and thin, and base, may be put off as the real thing by the

unfailing heroism of the utterer--it is this conceit that saves _Bottom_

from a world of wonderment when he finds himself the leman dear, clipp'd

by the Queen of Faery. _Bottom_ takes the love--the doting of

_Titania_--as he would take the commanded honey-bag of the red-lipped

humble-bee--as something sweet and pleasant, but nought to rave about.

He is fortified by his conceit against any surprise of the most

bountiful fortune: self-opinion turns fairy treasures into rightful

wages. And are there not such _Bottoms_--not writ upon the paper Athens

of the poet; not swaggering in a wood watered of ink-drops--but such

sweet bullies in brick and mortar London--_Bottoms_ of Fortune, that for

sport's sake plays _Puck_? The ingenuous _Bottom_ of the play has this

distinction from the _Bottoms_ of the real, human world--he, for the

time, wears his ass's head with a difference; that is, he shows the

honest length of his ears, and does not, and cannot abate the show of a

single hair. His head is outwardly all ass: there is with him no

reservation soever.

MR. PHELPS has the fullest and the deepest sense of the asinine

qualities of _Bottom_ from the beginning. For _Bottom_ wants not the

ass's head to mark him ass: the ass is in _Bottom's_ blood and brain;

_Puck_ merely fixes the outward, vulgar type significant of the inward

creature. When _Bottom_ in the first scene desires to be _Wall_, and

_Moonshine_, and _Lion_, his conceit brays aloud, but brays with

undeveloped ears. But herein is the genius of our actor. The traditional

bully _Bottom_ is a dull, stupid, mouthing ass, with no force save in

his dullness. _Bottom_, as played by MR. PHELPS, is an ass with a

vehemence, a will, a vigour in his conceit, but still an ass. An ass

that fantastically kicks his heels to the right and left, but

still ass. An ass that has the most prolonged variations of his

utterance--nevertheless, it is braying, and nothing better. And there is

great variety in braying. We never heard two asses bray alike.

Listen--it may be the season of blossoming hawthorns--and asses salute

asses. In very different tones, with very different cadence, will every

ass make known the yearning, the aspiration that is within him. We speak

not frivolously, ignorantly, on this theme; for in our time we have

heard very many asses. And so return we to the _Bottom_ of merry

Islington--to the Golden Ass of Sadler's Wells.

That ass has opened the playhouse season of 1853-4 very musically--would

we could think hopefully, and with prophetic promise. At present,

however, _Bottom_ is the master-spirit: and, in these days of dramatic

_pardonnez-mois_, it is a little comforting--not that we are given to

the sanguine mood in things theatrical--to know that folks are found

ready to make jocund pilgrimage to Sadler's Wells, where a man with a

real vital love for his art has now for many seasons made his theatre a

school; and more, has never wanted attentive, reverent, grateful

scholars. In this, MR. PHELPS has been a national school-master;

and--far away from the sustaining, fructifying beams of the Court--for

hitherto our ELIZABETH has not visited our BURRIDGE--has popularly

taught the lessons left to England by SHAKSPERE--legacies everlasting as

her cliffs.

As yet, HER MAJESTY has not journied to the Wells. But who knows, how

soon that "great fairy" may travel thither, to do grace to bully

_Bottom_! If so, let MR. PHELPS--if he can--still heighten his manner on

his awakening from that dream. Let him--if he can--more subtly mingle

wonderment with struggling reason, reason wrestling with wonder to get

the better of the mystery!

"I have had a dream--past the wit of man to say what dream it truly

was!--Man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream.

Methought I was--there is no man can tell what! Methought I was, and

methought I had.--The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath

not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive,

nor his heart to report, what my dream was."

We do not think it in the wit or power of MR. PHELPS--under any newer

inspiration, to give a deeper, finer meaning to this than he has done.

But, if HER MAJESTY command the play, as a loyal subject, he will

doubtless make the essay. In these words, _Bottom_--as rendered by the

actor--is taken away from the ludicrous; he is elevated by the mystery

that possesses him, and he affects our more serious sympathies, whilst

he forbids our laughter. One of the very, very few precious things of

the stage--of this starved time--is an Ass's head, as worn by the

manager of merrie Islington.

We hope, at least, the QUEEN will command that head to be brought--with

due solemnity--to Windsor Castle. Let _Bottom_ be made to roar again

before HER MAJESTY, the PRINCE, the heir-apparent, and all the smaller

childhood royalties. Let _Bottom_ be confronted with the picked of the

Cabinet--the elect of Privy Councillors. And--as we have Orders of

Eagles and Elephants, why not the ingenuous out-speaking significance,

the Order of the Ass? As a timid beginning, we have the

Thistle--wherefore not the Ass himself?

In which case, the Order established, the _Bottom_ of Sadler's Wells

ought rightfully to be the Chancellor thereof.

* * * * *

SOMETHING IN A SIGN.

ROMEO would never have asked "What's in a name?" if he had but lived to

take a tour in England, and become acquainted with the nomenclature of

some of our inns. To us there is hardly a sign in the kingdom which is

not thoroughly sign-ificant: and any traveller, we should think, who has

his mental eyes about him, may see at a glance outside the way in which

he will be taken in. Who, for instance, would expect to enter the jaws,

or doors, of a _Lion_ without being bitten, or to get away from an

_Eagle_ without considerable bleeding? A little matured, the _Lamb_

becomes decidedly indicative of fleecing; while every _Bear_, we know,

is naturally prone to squeeze as many as he can lay his paws on. Roguery

in the _Fox_ is what everybody looks for, and plucking and roasting are,

of course, inseparable from a _Goose and Gridiron_. Nor is the _Blue

Boar_ an exception to the rule, for it most aptly symbolises your

complexion when you leave it: and no one, we should think, would enter a

_Green Man_, when reminded on the threshold of his verdancy in doing so.

Of all our signs, however, perhaps there is none more suggestive than

the _Magpie and Stump_, which any one may see is merely a contraction

for the far more significant _Magpie and Stump Up_.

* * * * *

THE HATCHET.

"Shall we never bury the hatchet?" asks MR. COBDEN. And _Punch_ asks,

"How can the hatchet be buried, when the peacemakers themselves so often

throw it?"

* * * * *

IMPROVEMENTS OF LONDON VERSUS THE IMPROVEMENTS OF PARIS.

[Illustration: S]

Some attention having been lately called to the increasing magnificence

of Paris, it is due to the national taste of this country to point out

the improvements that have been lately effected and are now in progress

in the British Metropolis.

To begin with Buckingham Palace; and indeed we may well say to "begin"

with it, for we can scarcely hope to see it finished. Standing in front

of the Palace, we look upon the enclosure of the Park, and we feel a

national pride in stating that there has been an extensive addition to

the valuable collection of aquatic birds which absorb so much of the

attention--and the bread-crumbs--of the bystanders. Every one is

familiar with the fountain opposite the Palace, and the familiarity of

the public had been accompanied by a contempt which was perfectly

natural. This fountain, formerly consisting of a stone ginger-beer

bottle, standing in a round pie dish, has been removed, the operation

having served the double purpose of improving a work of Art, and giving

employment to one plumber, a bricklayer, and a bricklayer's labourer for

nearly a fortnight. This stroke of policy combined the advancement of

national taste with a propitiation of the working-class, or, at least,

of those members of it--three in all--who were engaged in the

transmogrification of the ginger-beer bottle in a pie dish complete to

the present substitute, which, though highly effective, is exceedingly

simple, and is, in fact, nothing but a plug-hole.

Turning our back upon this subterranean squirt, which we are happy to

do, we walk up to the gates of the Palace, where taste and industry are

at work in the form of a stone-mason, who is occupied in chipping the

resemblance of a bunch of PRINCE OF WALES'S feathers on the stone-work

to which the gates are appended. When this magnificent idea is realised

on all the gate-posts, the spectator, looking from the north, will have

no less than six feathers in his eye--a result that might be looked for

in vain in any other capital of Europe. Turning our gaze upwards to the

Palace, we are struck by the dazzling effect of several thousand pails

of whitewash which have been lavished on the front of the royal

residence, while, for the sake of contrast, the sides and back of the

building have been left in all their pristine dirtiness.

We will now proceed to the City, by Pall Mall; and, on our way, we will

stop at the Ordnance Office where, as it is a public building, we will

see what public taste and public money have effected. The architect has,

with a boldness amounting to audacity, piled an extra attic on to each

of the two wings, thus producing a wondrous novelty of effect by making

the sides of the building considerably higher than the centre. Criticism

might, perhaps, complain of a rather too free use of the cowl--and,

indeed, of a rather startling variety of cowls--in the treatment of the

chimney-pots. Passing eastwards, and shutting our eyes--for obvious

reasons--as we traverse Trafalgar Square, we turn round when we reach

the Strand, and catch a glimpse of the pigtail of GEORGE THE THIRD

forming a sort of parallax to the Electric Clock, which is the star of

the neighbourhood. The first remarkable work of Art that greets us on

our way is the wooden figure of a Mandarin, which nods to us from the

window of a tea-dealer's; and this curious specimen of sculpture in wood

is faced by a remarkable piece of carving in the form of a joint of cold

meat in the cook's shop opposite. Finding ourselves eventually in the

City, we pass the end of Farringdon Street, pausing for a moment at the

Waithman Monument, and thinking that the artist who gave his head to

this block ought to have his head given to another.

But we now approach the more ambitious improvements that have been

effected in the City at an enormous cost, and we are struck with

astonishment at the bold effort that has been made by the architect of

the Manchester Warehouse on the right to destroy the effect of St.

Paul's, by raising up an ordinary brick structure to a considerable

height above the roof of the Cathedral, and thus suggesting the

recollection of the frog and the ox in the fable. The architect of the

Manchester Warehouse, who is some unknown "bird," has endeavoured to

swell himself out to the dimensions of a WREN, and the result is, that

though he may have damaged the effect of St. Paul's, he has made his own

paltry pile ridiculous by its juxtaposition to the great metropolitan

monument.

From the sketch we have given it will be seen that we cannot be charged

with doing nothing in the way of alteration to the Metropolis, but, on

the contrary, we are doing much that will give a lesson to Art by

teaching what to avoid, or, at all events, what would be better avoided.

* * * * *

HOW EPHRAIM SMUG SPOKE AGAINST POLICE AT THE VESTRY, AND DIDN'T PERSUADE

PEOPLE.

EPHRAIM SMUG was a trader snug,

A Quaker in faith and feeling,

Little given to heed distinctions of creed

In matters of worldly dealing,

And as sharp a blade in driving a trade

As lives between Bow and Ealing.

He'd a horror of war, but he'd sell the CZAR

Steel or powder for Turk or Tartar;

The slave trade did hate, but would send a freight

Of handcuffs for African barter;

And though pious himself, would have furnished for pelf

The faggots to roast a martyr.

His stock in hand to suit each land,

Was various in assortment;

In gains and grace he throve apace,

Till quite dignified grew his deportment;

And he kept a strong box, with three patent locks,

And he knew what "taking it short" meant.

Till there came bad times, and long columns of crimes

Filled the files of the morning papers,

How cribs had been cracked, and tills ransacked,

And all sorts of burglarious capers,

Set forth without stint by all arts of print

To attract the _gobemouches_ and gapers.

But SMUG only jeered, as these stories appeared,

At the nervousness of each neighbour;

Said it would be absurd, were cost incurred

In blunderbuss, pistol, and sabre;

And when the Police 'twas resolved to increase,

He declaimed about waste of labour.

But the Vestry still, to guard shop and till,

Voted rates, spite of all objectors:

Laid in bars and bolts, and revolvers from COLT'S,

And a pack of canine protectors;

While EPHRAIM SMUG called their fears humbug,

And snubbed the Police Inspectors!

He railed at the cost; counted up what was lost

In alarum, and dog, and detective;

At the Vestry he got excessively hot,

And descended to invective,--

Calling stories of plunder, mere editor's thunder

To make newspaper sales more active.

Quoth he: "Why spend our gains, in spring shutters and chains,

Instead of in lawful traffic?"

Then of danger to peace, from dogs and police,

He gave a picture graphic;

And on brotherly trust came out with a "bust"

Of eloquence quite seraphic.

"And after all's done, has anything gone?"

(Thus ran his peroration),

"Where's the highwayman grabbed, or the burglar nabbed,

For all your big police-station?

Show a dog if you can that has pinned his man!

I pause--for a demonstration."

Some this eloquence scorned, and wouldn't be warned--

But some began to change feature;--

"The Policeman we pay three shillings a day,

And a dog is a hungry creature."--

When thus began a plain-spoken man--

Not the least of a popular preacher:

"Now, it seems to my mind--though no doubt I'm blind

Not to follow friend EPHRAIM'S reason--

That we've not thrown away our policeman's pay,

If our pillows we take our ease on,

Without any dread of a chap 'neath the bed,

With a knife to slit one's weason.

"If our bars and our bolts, and revolvers from COLT'S

Have been wasted because not wanted,

Had we been without guard--neither bolted nor barred--

Though we'd spent less (for that is granted),

Shouldn't we have looked glum if a burglar had come,

And with our goods levanted?

"I appeal to the room, why mayn't we assume

That the very precautions we've taken

Against EPHRAIM'S advice, may have been the price

At which we have saved our bacon?"

"Hear, hear!" cried the crowd. Police were allowed;

And the faith in EPHRAIM was shaken.

* * * * *

OUR TOURIST IN PARIS.--NO. 8.

Frenchmen are accustomed to boast, and with reason, that Paris is the

best stranger's city in the world. If you were dropped from the skies

into the Place de la Bourse with nothing, as people say, but what you

stand upright in, in five minutes you might have the advantages of a

complete establishment. Under that archway you find a Brougham, which is

at your service for two francs an hour, and a trifle to the man. The

turn-out is not of course dazzling, and the coachman drives with a rein

in each hand and his whip over his shoulder; but equipages in general

are not very stylish here, and the whole thing is decent, clean, and

comfortable. Your Tourist would not undervalue the London Hansom; it is

an incomparable carriage of its kind, and has become a necessity for

young men of fashion like himself. Bowling down Piccadilly to St.

James's Street at fifteen miles an hour under the whip of one of the

tremendously swell cabmen who ply in those parts, is a perfectly unique

pleasure. But you can't take your wife or your sister with you in such a

rampant vehicle; and if you have no carriage of your own, you will feel

the advantage of having a decent _coupe_ within call at cab fare.

Then, without the trouble of carrying a wonderful lamp about with

you--which would be excessively inconvenient, not to say

ungentlemanlike, to our notions--you can instantaneously command the

services of a slave at the moderate price of a franc per errand. In

London, unless a man has an establishment of servants, or is staying at

an hotel, he must go his errands himself, or trust the questionable

fidelity of a crossing sweeper.

Having hired your carriage and servants, you can at once find a lodging

of any degree of pretension (ornamented with five-and-forty clocks, if

you like, and as many looking glasses), where you take up your abode

without being bored for references. Here you can live as in chambers in

the Temple, only very much more comfortably, with domestics always at

hand yet never intruding, and free from that intolerable surveillance

that a London lodging-house keeper thinks it her duty to keep on her

patrons. As long as you pay your rent you may keep your own hours and

select your own company. (MRS. P--RK--NS I fear never reads your paper,

Sir, or she could not fail to be of a sweeter temper than she is; but,

on the chance of her seeing this number, allow me to tell her that she

is like a toad, both ugly and also venomous, likewise a dragon, and in

other respects objectionable, while the curtains of her first-floor are

a standing miracle, containing as they do, in successive strata, vermin

that flourished in the beginning of the present century. Moreover, I did

not purchase that case of curious old Champagne brandy with any view to

encourage her in intemperance, which is disgusting in all, and

especially in females.)

As you walk in the streets far from home you can satisfy any want,

however minute or unexpected, down to having your clothes brushed, your

boots cleaned (by the way, Parisian boot-cleaning is an utter and total

failure), or even having your nails cut. This last does not strike an

Englishman as much of a luxury; but we must remember that here a

paternal government has, in its tender care for home cutlery, decreed

that no Frenchman shall be able to purchase a decent knife, razor, or

pair of scissors, under about twice its value.

Your Correspondent, whose meditative mind leads him to trace causes in

their effects, attributes to this policy the length of beard and

fingernails which distinguishes, if it does not adorn, all ranks here

(he flatters himself that the connexion between cutlery and cleanliness

has not been remarked upon before). You can also have your corns chopped

about, if you have any fancy for permanent lameness, at a very moderate

figure. In short, every operation of the toilet may be gone through by

means of a short series of visits without opening your dressing-case.

You have the gayest promenades in the world, and if it rains, abundance

of cover with rather more opportunity of amusing yourself than there is

in the Burlington Arcade, for there is always a bustle, and everything

you see is pretty, except the women. A few sous for a cup of coffee or a

glass of liqueur entitle you to spend your whole afternoon in a _cafe_,

ventilated and lighted to perfection, where you may read all the

journals, and amuse your leisure with the manly game of dominoes.

Compare this with the dingy, dirty, beer and tobacco-scented

coffee-rooms of London, where they think you a "sweep" (that is the

expression I believe) if you don't make yourself nearly drunk on their

poisonous fluids, and where the inside sheet of the _Times_ is always

"in hand." It is a constant wonder to me what unfortunate foreigners do

to fill up their afternoons in our smoky Babylon.

You dine as you like, economically or splendidly, without the terrors of

indigestion before you; and after a cup of coffee (almost an

unattainable luxury in London), you have your choice of Grand or Comic

Opera, Classical Drama, or Vaudeville, the only objection to which is,

that after once seeing careful and refined acting, you will rather lose

your taste for the "genuine effects" of the British stage, and may

possibly, on your return home, set down the favourite performers as

awkward sticks or impudent buffoons. As you go to bed, without the fever

that arises from a heavy dinner with beer, Port, and Sherry, you may

reflect that you have not been bored for a single instant of the day,

and contrast with your own case the unutterable misery of the stranger

without friends or a club, who is condemned to pass his time in London.

CHARLES MARTINGALE, ESQ., having read the above, says it's all humbug.

He lodges in Piccadilly (very cheap, only L120 a year, including a

servant's room,) goes to the Bag for breakfast, where he meets his

friends; reads the _Morning Post_, has a game at Pyramid pool, some

Sherry and Seltzer water, and goes back to dress for the Park, where he

sees his friends again. Then there is sure to be a dinner party, and a

ball or two afterwards, which he tops off with Vauxhall, and perhaps a

look in at the Haymarket as he goes home. Or else he does the domestic,

and takes a friend in a Brougham to Richmond or Greenwich for dinner.

What more can a fellow want to amuse himself? Let him go to Races, or

the Horticultural, or the Opera, or the Play, if he likes; and one thing

he wants to say is, that _he_ thinks CURLIWIG no end of fun in a farce;

and, as to buffoonery, fellows may just as easily do that on paper.

MARTINGALE, what do you mean, Sir? Well, it's very unfair to run down

native talent. And--one other thing--he'd a doosid dead sooner have a

tankard of club beer than the miserable thin stuff they call Claret

here. So he wishes this put in, though he doesn't know about literature

and all that, just to show the public that it's not everybody that is so

easily taken in by foreigners as a fellow he won't mention.

* * * * *

LARVAE OF THE CITY OF LONDON.

[Illustration: A]

At the City Court of Sewers--according to the _Times_--certain gentlemen

carrying on a nasty business in St. Mary Axe,

"Were summoned upon the certificate of the Medical Officer of

Health, stating that there is upon these premises a large store of

hides and horns of cattle in an offensive state, and the same is

likely to be prejudicial to the health of persons whose habitations

are in the neighbourhood of the same."

The cattle were dead--but the hides and horns were alive. We shall be

excused further details. But

"One of the defendants said, he had been on the spot many years in

constant attendance on the business, and he had not, during the

whole period, a moment's illness. He believed that, so far from being

prejudicial, the ammonia, which had been represented as so

offensive, had operated as a preventive of the cholera in the

vicinity of the place in which the hides were deposited."

According to this gentleman, if putrefaction generates the bane, it also

develops the antidote; but, unfortunately, when both are taken together

it usually happens that the former is a great deal too strong for the

latter. We must note one more exquisite morsel of physiology.

"A COMMISSIONER said, he really believed that it was the wish of

some people to make a private parlour of the City of London.

(_Laughter and cries of 'Oh!'_). He had lived many years, and his

father before him, in the midst of the matters complained of, and a

healthier family never existed than that which they had successively

brought up in the City. He wished that the gentlemen who were so

nice were obliged to go without meat for 12 months."

The family to which this individual belongs must be a curious one. A

naturalist would like to see it. What class of creatures can it be that

lives and thrives "in the midst of the matters complained of?" Have they

got any legs?--if so, how many, or is the structure of their bodies

annular? Do they change into anything, lie torpid, and then change again

into something else, with wings? In that case do they fly away, and

where do they go to? In any case, where do they expect to go to?

* * * * *

EXCESSIVE EXTRAVAGANCE.--The ladies' bonnets are all "running to

waist."

* * * * *

[Illustration: A CAPITAL IDEA FOR THE "EUGENIES."

_Frederick._ "GOOD GRACIOUS, ANGELICA, YOU DON'T MEAN TO GO OUT WITH

YOUR HAIR IN THAT STYLE?"

_Angelica._ "INDEED, SIR, I DO. IT'S EXTREMELY CLASSICAL, AND TAKEN FROM

THE 'IONIC.'"]

* * * * *

A LITERARY MILLIONAIRE.

Nobody expects to hear of a Literary Millionaire in England, unless it

be the author of a Million of Facts, or a Million Nuts to Crack for

Christmas. In France, however, authors are more fortunate, for SCRIBE,

the celebrated dramatist, has just purchased an estate, for which he has

given upwards of ten thousand pounds sterling. Fancy an English

dramatist purchasing, or even succeeding to any estate whatever, except,

perhaps, man's estate, though even this he scarcely ever seems to reach,

for he seldom appears to arrive at years of discretion.

We wonder that poor SCRIBE can feel secure in the enjoyment of his

purchase, without being under the apprehension that some English

translator or adapter will attempt to translate the property and adapt

it to his own use in some way or other. The French author has been

accustomed to have all his plots mercilessly seized, and why should not

his ground plots be subjected to the same piratical process? SCRIBE is

the author of his own fortune, and we shall not be astonished to find

some of our British dramatists--from mere habit--attempting to

appropriate the proceeds of his authorship, by claiming a portion of the

fortune he has realised. If some of our playwrights should ever purchase

estates, we may be sure they would be "copy"-hold, inasmuch as nothing

original--not even an original lease--could be expected at their hands.

* * * * *

A HOWL FROM THE HIPPOPOTAMUS.

AIR--"_I'm a Broken-hearted Gardener._"

I'm a hippish Hippopotamus, and don't know what to do,

For the public is inconstant and a fickle one too;

It smiled once upon me, and now I'm quite forgot.

Neglected in my bath, and left to go to pot.

And it's oh! oh! out of joint is my nose,

It's a nasty Ant-eater to whom every one goes.

He is my abhorrence, I think him quite a hum,

He's worse than that Marine Vi-va-ri-um;

He beats the Knowsley beasteses of the Derby dilly,

And makes the baby Elephant look small and silly.

And it's oh! oh! pity my woes!

The American Ant-eater has put out my nose.

I stood against the novelties--I didn't care at all

When the Frenchmen my existence were unable to recall;

I knew it was all jealousy, and I, too great a fact,

To be rendered a nonentity by any Mossoo's act.

But it's oh! oh! the English me depose,

And with the Great Ant-eater have put out my nose.

He is but an Edentate, while I'm a Pachyderm;

He has got a shaggy hide, while mine is smooth and firm;

He can't tell how to walk, and he don't know how to swim.

And yet, the public overboard have thrown me for _him_.

And it's oh! oh! to think that my foes

Should get a Great Ant-eater to put out my nose.

He has scarcely got a mouth, and no teeth, but in their stead

A yard or two of tongue in his elongated head;

And why the fickle public should delight in such a beast,

Is a mystery that I cannot understand the least.

And it's oh! oh! would any one suppose,

An Ant-eater could ever out of joint put my nose?

I was growing up in Hippohood, the visitors to please,

And cutting my incisors, and increasing by degrees;

And my milk-and-carrot diet I was quickly throwing by--

And now they have compelled me to eat humble pie.

And it's oh! oh! what a thing I disclose!

The American Ant-eater out of joint's put my nose.

I'd like my sharpest grinders in that Ant-eater to stick,

And leave his bushy tail for the dicky birds to pick;

I'd just like to shew him that _I_'ve got teeth to use,

That can crunch him into nothing whenever I _chews_.

And it's oh! oh! that I could come to blows

With this beast that's so completely out of joint put my nose.

Or I wish that I could make myself a Fellow, d'ye see,

Of this Zoological So-ci-e-ty:

For then I'd send this Ant-eater back to his Ants,

Or to my French rival at the Jardin des Plantes.

But it's oh! no go: there's no end to my woes;

The American Ant-eater out of joint's put my nose!

Signed, HIPPO X his mark.

Countersigned, SADI

_Knight of the Bath and Groom of the Chambers._

Given at my house in the Zoological Gardens,

this 15th day of October, 1853.

[Illustration]

* * * * *

WORDS OF PEACE.

"That miserable miscreant!"

These were the dulcet breathings of the "oaten stop" of the Member for

Edinburgh at the Peace gathering. "That miserable miscreant," said

pacific MR. COWAN, "the DUKE OF TUSCANY." Well, we thought Peace

proffered olives; but here are offerings very like bad eggs.

* * * * *

[Illustration: WHY COALS ARE DEAR.]

* * * * *

TO FIGHT OR NOT TO FIGHT? THAT IS THE QUESTION.

[Illustration: O]

Our curiosity has been not merely on tip-toe, but positively upon stilts

for some months past, watching the no result of the hostile

correspondence between the Great Bear and the little Turkey-cock. The

whole affair has been almost as absurd as an "affair of honour;" and if

the parties concerned had been individuals instead of nations, the

business would have long ago been brought to a conclusion, by being

overwhelmed with a storm of ridicule. If any other notes than diplomatic

notes had passed on this occasion, there would have been no end to the

quizzing that the proceeding would have elicited. If Russia had been

BROWN and Turkey had been JONES, if France had been SMITH and England

had been ROBINSON, if Austria had been SNOOKS and Prussia had been

TOMKINS, how ludicrous would have been the "note" as drawn up by SNOOKS,

with the concurrence of SMITH and ROBINSON, but amended by JONES, and

dissented from by BROWN, on a point of personal dignity! If ROBINSON and

SMITH were required to give their good offices, by deciding whether the

note should be read in a Brownian or in a Jonesian sense, and if SNOOKS

were suspected of secretly siding with BROWN, while TOMKINS was supposed

to be shuffling out of an alliance with SMITH and ROBINSON from a secret

fear of JONES, the whole world would go off, _avec explosion_, into a

fit of merriment at the trumpery pretensions of the parties involved,

and the utter insignificance of their quarrel.

Such, however, is the true complexion to which the thing must come, if

divested of the exaggerated dimensions which are given to it by the

interests that are unfortunately jeopardised. The quarrel would be but a

very common-place quarrel, after all, if it were not for the unfortunate

fact that JOHN BULL'S nose has somehow or other got poked into the

affair, and that he will probably have to pay through the nose for the

awkward position he occupies.

* * * * *

DID YOU EVER?

Did you ever know a strike which did not hit the workman harder than the

master?

Did you ever know a hotel-keeper, whose "wax" lights would bear the test

of a tallow-chandler?

Did you ever know a Continental tourist who, if he unfortunately

happened to speak English, didn't everywhere discover he was charged at

least double for it?

Did you ever find a "professional" win a game of billiards of you

without assigning your defeat entirely to his "flukes?"

Did you ever know a cockney take to boating without dressing himself up

_a la_ T. P. COOKE?

Did you ever meet a diner-out of sufficient strength of mind to ask for

"cabbage?"

Did you ever hear a loo-player confess to having won more than "just a

shilling or two?"

Did you ever know a pic-nic go off without the awful apparition of a

"wops?"

Did you ever know a penny-a-liner who, in speaking of a fire, could

abstain from calling it "the devouring element?"

Did you ever find a Continental shopkeeper whose "_prix fixe_" might not

be proved a _lucus-a_-nonentity?

Did you ever start upon a railway journey without hearing the immortal

observation "_Now_ we're off?"

Did you ever know an "alarming sacrifice," which in practice did not

prove to be completely one of principle?

Did you ever in your life hail a City-bound omnibus that wasn't going

"a'most directly" back to Bayswater?

And as a final clincher--Did you ever know a cabman who, since the new

Act came in force, could by any eloquence be induced to give you change

for a shilling?

* * * * *

GETTING INTO THEIR GOOD BOOKS.

MR. G. V. BROOKE has advertised his intention to establish, out of the

profits of his acting, a "Free Library for the People." We hope that the

nation, in accepting the "tragedian's" books, will not pledge itself to

adopt all his "readings."

* * * * *

HOTEL AND TRAVELLING EXPENSES.

"MR PUNCH,--We have seen by the _Times_ how extortionate hotel-keepers

can be occasionally. In order to add my testimony in the matter, and

with a view to assist in finding a remedy, I have been looking over a

file of accounts which, from time to time, I have paid for my son. The

following document speaks for itself; it is a relic of a tour made by my

son to the Highlands of Scotland. The following seems to have been

incurred between 6 P.M. and 8 A.M. next day--

_s. d._

Dinner (Kailbrose and haggis) 1 6

" Ale 2 0

" Whiskey (4 Mutchkins) 3 0

Supper (Finnan Haddies) 0 3

" Toddy 14 0

" Cigars 3 0

Mornin's 2 6

_______

L1 6 3

"I am, _Mr. Punch_, yours, &c.,

"JOHN TOMKINS."

* * *

"MR. PUNCH,--As there is some stir just now about the price of victuals

and conveyance, I hope you will say a word for us. I don't eat no

turtle, nor hares, nor grouse, nor partridges, nor pheasants, nor pigeon

pies, nor venison, nor prawns, nor grilled turkey, nor apricot tarts,

nor anything of that sort, which it quite makes one's mouth water to

read of in the _Times_--nor I don't drink no foreign wines, though I

once tasted some which was pretty much like ink and water. No, Sir, I

likes my good old English beef, or bread and cheese, and my pot of beer

along with it, and I think they taste the sweeter when they are not

'leavened with a sense of injustice,' as the late SIR ROBERT used to

say. But, to come to the point. I work hard all the week--'from morn to

noon, from noon to jewy eve,' as they say at the Institution; so me and

my old woman and kids like a little turn round on Sunday. Well, Sir,

last Sunday was a week I went from my place in Shoreditch to London

Bridge, and then on by the penny steamer to Chelsea, and it cost no ends

of money. Before starting on the boat I met BILL SMITH, and the

following was the little bill we run up:--

Chelsea. Sept. 1853.

_s. d._

2 Pots Ale 1 4

1/2 Pint Gin 1 0

10 Pickwicks 0 10

9 Bottles of Pop for Kids 0 9

Biscuits for ditto 0 3

____

4 2

"I had nearly forgotten to mention that one Sunday afternoon I paid

6_d._ for a 'bus to Regent's Park Zoological, and 6_d._ to come back

again without having seen anything. PROFESSOR JELLY, of the Institution,

says the Vivarium is very interesting; but I find that it is only the

aristocracy who are admitted on Sunday, the working-classes it seems

would do an injury to their soles by looking at the fish on that day.

BILL SMITH says he thinks if he might go to the Crystal Palace, British

Museum, &c., on the only day he _can_ go, he shouldn't care how much

extortion was practised at the public-houses, for he wouldn't use them.

"I am, _Mr. Punch_, yours, &c.,

"PAPER-CAP."

* * * * *

A MUSIC-SELLER'S OPINION OF FRANCE.

"I can generally tell, Sir, the state of public opinion by the songs I

sell. In 1830 I sold thousands of _Parisennes_, I don't sell one now;

and I don't think we've been asked for a single _Marseillaise_ for these

last three years. It is the same with _Mourir pour la Patrie_--no one

cares for that now; and as for _Vive Henri Quatre_, not one copy has

left my shop, I should say, since the day when the DUCHESSE DE BERRI was

caught in a cupboard. The only song that is asked for at present is

_Partant pour la Syrie_, and we don't sell many of those. Ah! Sir, it is

a bad sign when the people don't sing! Many a revolution in France has

been caused by a song, and more than one throne has been upset from the

want of one!"

* * * * *

TABLE MOVING EXTRAORDINARY.

We learn from a gentleman who is in the habit of moving in the highest

circles, that the Table Movement party has lately derived great

encouragement from the fact that the Table Rock has been moved down the

Niagara falls.

* * * * *

THE PAPAL CUE.

The POPE has been ordered to play billiards for his health. Judging from

the specimens he has hitherto manufactured, we doubt whether his

Holiness will ever make a good canon.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE MODERN LANGUAGES TAUGHT IN ONE LESSON!

_German Professor (on "la Perche") to Italian ditto below._ "BE

STEADIER, BILL, WILL YER, OR I'M BLOWED IF I DON'T COME DOWN!"]

* * * * *

LARES AND PENATES FOR THE POTHOUSE.

High Art in British Sculpture is out of the question--except as, in the

case of the DUKE OF YORK'S image and that of NELSON, when the figure is

placed on the top of a tall column. This is in most instances by far the

best place for it; the generality of our statues being objects of such a

nature as to render it advisable that their view should borrow the very

largest amount of enchantment that can be lent thereto by distance.

The Sublime in plastic Art is hopelessly unattainable by JOHN BULL: he

has never yet been able to manage to pass the boundary which separates

it from the Ridiculous. We had better stick to the latter, wherein we

excel. To be sure, it may be doubted whether any production of the

native chisel, meant for fun, could be more funny than the forms of

pigtail, of wig, of military uniform and official costume, which that

instrument is seriously employed to dignify. But why continue to adorn

our churches and public buildings with monuments of gallant officers

accoutred for parade, of bishops in confirmation costume, and of

half-nude unshapely statesmen with cropped whiskers, in the dishabille

of a loose sheet, apparently draped, in an uncomfortable manner, to

undergo the operation of shaving? These things do not excite the

feelings which they are meant to address--some of them, on the contrary,

instead of warming the imagination, suggest a very unpleasant idea of

catching cold.

But then, when British Sculpture attempts a tobacconist's Highlander, or

a Gog or Magog, it succeeds admirably, and there is a special direction

in which it once promised to do wonders; that of bass-relief on the

exterior of brown jugs. Here was native talent forming a channel for

itself, in which perhaps it had better run freely, exercising

originality, than labour with imitative and simious toil at the

manufacture of ideal Art-Alepots.

On Art-Alepots, however, of a humorous and comical design, and kindred

subjects, the British sculptor might work with immense success. We have

abandoned the Greek and Roman mythology (modern as well as ancient) for

the most part, but we have still a sort of Temple of BACCHUS; the Gin

Shops and the Public-houses. To the decoration of these the British

sculptor could direct his abilities right profitably.

At a recent meeting of the Middlesex Magistrates--according to the

_Times_--the chairman of the Bench, MR. POWNALL, delivered an oration to

the applicants for publicans' licenses for music and dancing wherein--

"After expressing his own desire, and that of his colleagues, to do

all in their power to promote a national taste for music by granting

music licenses, he cautioned such applicants as should be fortunate

enough to obtain them, not to attempt to open penny or twopenny

concert rooms, lest by so doing they should attract the customers

of, and injure the draught of liquor in the neighbouring

public-houses. He warned them that if they were so ill-advised as to

build and fit up spacious and well-ventilated music saloons for the

accommodation of the public, and to repay themselves by taking money

at the doors, instead of by an increased sale of beer and gin, and

so 'create a monopoly in their own favour,' they must recollect that

they did so 'entirely at their own risk,' that is, at the risk of

having their concert rooms closed by the licensing Magistrates on

the next licensing day."

Now, in the Middlesex Magistrates, as represented by MR. POWNALL, and

not in them only, but in the whole unpaid Bench, might the British

sculptor find models for household gods to embellish pot-houses withal.

Their worshipful forms might be carved to stand as chimney ornaments, or

to stride in the character of the jolly divinity upon barrels over

tap-room doors. The "fair round belly with good capon lined," of the

worthy justice would exceedingly well become that situation; for the

national organ of music which the magistracy wish to cultivate appears

to be a barrel-organ. No stout, no song; no beer, no ballad; no porter,

no piano; no heavy, no harp; no fuddle, no fiddle; are the maxims which

regulate their philharmonic ordinances. No gin, no glee, is their

decree; no go, and no chorus. Therefore the mantelpiece of every

Jerry-shop ought to be embellished with their statuettes, and so ought

that of every big brewer and gin-spinner, their private connexions,

consulting whose vested interests under the pretence of a regard to

public duty, they violate the very essential principle of Free Trade, in

order to prevent the competitors of their friends from "creating a

monopoly in their own favour."

* * * * *

LIBEL ON THE PRINCE OF WALES.

[Illustration: A]

A Sunday paper, which affects to consider itself the organ of the Court,

has fallen into a libel through its excessive propensity to flunkeyism.

The following is the libellous paragraph:--

"THE PRINCE OF WALES AND THE SHOPMAN.--During one of the late Royal

visits to the Dublin Exhibition the Royal children wandered about in

the toy section of the building, while the QUEEN and PRINCE ALBERT

were in other departments. The PRINCE OF WALES showed a precocious

tact in striking a bargain. He asked the price of an elaborate

specimen of carving in bog-oak. The shopman in attendance, quite

overwhelmed with the unexpected honour, answered distractedly, "a

shilling"--the true price being about fifteen shillings. The Prince,

with a promptitude worthy the future ruler of a great commercial

nation, closed with the bargain at once, laid down his shilling, and

walked off with his prize. This little incident will probably make

the fortune of the exhibitor, who is constantly surrounded by groups

of the curious, and preserves the shilling under a glass vase, only

to be shown to the most favoured of the customers."

While transferring the above paragraph to our columns, we beg to protest

against its truth, and to express our contempt for the awkward

flunkeyism which endeavours to compliment the heir to the throne by

imputing to him an act of what an American would call "smartness," and

an Englishman would designate dishonesty. The imputation thrown upon the

little PRINCE is that he took advantage of a shopman's mistake to obtain

for a shilling what was worth fifteen, and this is clumsily described as

a feat "worthy the future ruler of a great commercial nation." What

great commercial principle is comprised in the act which has thus

falsely, as we believe, been attributed to the Prince we are at a loss

to perceive; but, if our contemporary carries on its commercial concerns

in the spirit it seems so much to admire, we should decline having any

dealings with it "in any shape or way" whatever.

We should like to know what the proprietors of the paper would say if a

"smart" news-boy were to enter the office, asking the price of a quire

of the journal, and on being told sixpence by mistake, he were to throw

down that sum, and seizing up some ten shillings-worth of property, were

to hurry away with it. Such an "incident" would more probably become the

subject of a police charge than of a puffing paragraph.

* * * * *

AN IMPOSING SIGHT.--The sight of your Bill--at nine-tenths at least of

our "first-rate" Hotels.

* * * * *

PHOTOGRAPHIC "GLIMPSES OF THE MOON."

[Illustration: P]

PROFESSOR PHILLIPS, than whom ENDYMION was not a more fervent admirer of

the moon, has succeeded in inducing her, not merely to sit for her

portrait, but even to paint it. When

"His great bright eye most silently

Up to the moon is cast,"

we may be sure that

"Right graciously

She looketh down on him,"

since she allows him to carry away so many softened images of her

charms. For other men she exists only in apogee or in perigee, but he

possesses her also in effigy, and can contemplate her at his leisure,

when her face is "gone from the gaze" of ordinary mortals. Nevertheless

he intends, with a liberality that does him honour, to make his fellow

men partners of his good fortune, and has therefore entrusted her

relative, and namesake, the late eminent printseller of Threadneedle

Street, with the preparation of engravings from the aforesaid

photographs. _Punch_ is happy to present the world with a prospectus of

these engravings, which are three in number. The first depicts her as

she appeared on her "conjunction with JUPITER." She is attired in her

bridal dress, a robe of white aerophane, spangled with stars; JUPITER is

just stepping forward to "endow her with his ring;" and CHARLES'S WAIN

waits in the background to convey the happy couple to their destination.

The second picture is evidently meant to be a companion to the first,

for in it she is represented on the _wane_, whilst the celestial BOOTES,

who has been holding the horses' heads, is once more putting the ribbons

into the hand of CHARLES.

In the last plate of the series, the "expression of her features," (as

was said of the young lady who wore a wreath of roses) is "more

thoughtful than before," and we scarcely need to be told by the

accompanying letterpress, that she has just been reading in the

afternoon's _Sun_ an account of the difficulties by which her beloved

brother, the EMPEROR OF CHINA, is surrounded.

Great hopes were at first entertained that she would allow a fourth

plate to be executed, displaying her as she appeared when "the cow

jumped over the moon;" but she steadfastly refuses her assent to this

proposition, alleging, with much reason, that, whilst only the learned

few could trace in the legend of this saltatory performance an allusion

to the mystical fellowship of the Egyptian APIS with ISIS, the lunar

deity, the many would treat it as irreverently as did the little dog who

is said to have "laughed at such sport;" and that, although the dish may

on that occasion have run away with the spoon, the plate thus executed

would find no spoon spooney enough to elope with it.

* * * * *

PARSONS AND DOCTORS.

Many surgeons, doubtless, remarked an absurd letter from a clergyman

which appeared the other day in the _Times_, recommending charcoal in

combination with brandy and opium--as a cure for cholera. One of them,

dating his letter from Bloomsbury Square, has fortunately written an

answer to that communication, pointing out that the quantity of the

last-named drug prescribed by the parson would amount to 10 or 12 grains

every half-hour; and of course destroy the patient. This clergyman, no

doubt, is a well-meaning person, but he should confine himself to

pointing the way to Heaven, recollecting that the opposite place is

paved with good intentions. Possibly he overstated the quantity of

opium, by what may be called a clerical error; a proper dose of it is

well known to be beneficial in the complaint in question: brandy is also

found useful: and to these two ingredients of the mixture we should be

disposed to ascribe any favourable result of its administration. The

third is probably inert; otherwise it would be a convenient medicine, as

anybody, in case of need, might munch cinders.

Clergymen, in their anxiety to do good, are too often accustomed to add

the treatment of bodies to the cure of souls. In order to minister to

patients as well as penitents, they ought to possess the gift of

healing, and that having ceased to be supernaturally imparted, they had

better acquire it in the ordinary manner, by attending the hospitals.

Some add homoeopathy to what the rubric prescribes in the Visitation

of the Sick, and by so doing do the least harm that it is possible to do

by empiricism; as the swallowers of their globules at least die of their

diseases: but we would advise even the homoeopathic divines to stick

to theological mysticism, and not deal in "riddles" which will generally

be "affairs of death."

* * * * *

POETRY FOR THE PEACE CONFERENCE.

To preach a bully peace

Would I don a suit of drab,

With a white cravat and a broad-brimmed hat,

And rely on simple gab?

Oh no! my friends, not I;

I'd buckle sword on thigh;

And also a pair of pistols wear,

And keep my powder dry.

Of small avail are words

Alone, with headstrong foes;

But they go for much when they are such

As can be maintained by blows.

So, if policeman meet

With brawlers in the street,

At the word to be gone they won't move on,

Till he his truncheon shows.

With despots if we plead

By diplomatic notes,

Best speeds our pen when we show most men

In blue and scarlet coats.

Most regiments of the brave,

Most fleets upon the wave;

Let the style be bland, but strong the hand

That begs them to behave.

To charm vindictive rage

In warlike rival's breast,

It is well to preach in the softest speech

If at peace we wish to rest.

But arm meanwhile!--enlist!

Draw gauntlet upon wrist;

And in friendly grasp he soon may clasp,

And shake your doubled fist.

* * * * *

A RAILWAY DOG.

The papers contained the other day an account of an eccentric dog, who,

it seems, is in the habit of frequenting the railways, and travelling

about the country from station to station in company with different

engine-drivers. Surely this must be a very unhappy dog, who is afflicted

with a suicidal turn, and whose instinct directs him to the railways as

the surest mode of terminating his existence.

We should like some philosopher to take the matter in hand, and

ascertain whether the dog is a sad dog, a reckless dog, or a mad dog,

that is thus risking the shortening of his dog-days by pursuing such a

line of life, or rather such a line of death, as a line of railway.

* * * * *

EAGLES AT A DISCOUNT.

France has lately superseded the jolly old Gallic Cock, and mounted the

Eagle on the dunghill of national vanity. Eagles have, however, fallen

terribly low in France, and they are being publicly exhibited in every

variety of form and substance, from the Spread Eagle cut in paper, at

three sous, to the Eagle ready to seize on its prey, carved in gilt

wood, at one or two Napoleons. It is quite true that the French have

found their master not at all earlier than they wanted him; and we can't

help recognising the wisdom of substituting the Eagle for the _Egalite_

humbug that was, for a time, permitted to predominate.

* * * * *

THE TUNE CHANGED.

For the first day RICHARD COBDEN was supreme at the Peace Congress: the

bagpipers played nothing but _Oh Richard, oh man Roi!_ On the second

day, however, after old ADMIRAL NAPIER had fired off his speech, nothing

was heard but--_Charlie is my Darling._

* * * * *

"THE COMING STRUGGLE."

[Illustration: T]

The speculations about the "Coming Man" have amused us for some years;

but expectation having been tired out by waiting for the "man," who,

though always "Coming, coming, coming!" never came, a new dodge has been

started, and we are now called upon--in a pamphlet, price 6_d._--to

prepare for the "_Coming Struggle_." According to the author of this

rather lucrative speculation the world is very shortly to be at an end,

and indeed, it seems that we may as well make arrangements for

terminating all business transactions in 1866, for after that the

Millennium is to commence, when pecuniary affairs are to be a matter of

total indifference. If the author of the "_Coming Struggle_" is to be

believed--and between 100,000 and 200,000 copies of his "speculation"

appear to have been sold, which looks as if some people put faith in his

announcements--we may expect most of the public companies to begin

winding themselves up, and the Insurance offices especially should

already begin to refuse insurances on healthy lives, for after 1866 no

policy will be payable.

Such is the credulity of the age, that the author of the "_Coming

Struggle_" will, probably, realise by this sixpenny "spec.," a very nice

little competency. We would advise him, however, not to carry the

experiment too far, or he will invest in paper and print all that he has

made: and he has already shown symptoms of a tendency to over-do the

thing by bringing out a "_Supplement to the Coming Struggle_," price

also 6_d_. Sequels are never successful, and having finished off the

world comfortably in his first book, we think him injudicious to try the

experiment of another. Poor MURPHY made a hit with one "_Weather

Almanack_", and, if he had left the thing alone, he might have preserved

his reputation as a prophet, but when, unfortunately, he risked another

shot and predicted a "coldest day," on which the thermometer was at 60

in the shade, there was an end to his "_Weather Almanack_" as a source

of income. We advise the "_Coming Struggle_" gentleman to be warned in

time and not to speculate in "supplements," or "sequels," but to go

altogether on a new tack if he wishes to "put money in his purse," which

is probably the chief aim of his "philosophy."

* * * * *

A ROYAL "LUNCH" PREVENTED.

It must be a relief, indeed, to HER MAJESTY to get away to Scotland,

where in the retirement of Balmoral she is at least free from the

importunities of that sort of loyalty which deprives her of the common

comforts of a private individual. Provincial Mayors are perhaps the

greatest pests that Royalty has to encounter; and the Preston

Corporation seems to have made itself a fearful bore on the return of

the QUEEN from Scotland. No sooner was it understood that HER MAJESTY

would stop at Preston fifteen minutes to take luncheon, than the Town

Clerk issued a circular to all the members of the Corporation, calling

on them to meet for the purpose of deciding how the fifteen minutes HER

MAJESTY had allowed herself for refreshment could be consumed by some

municipal twaddle, of which Royalty was to be made the recipient.

Instead of the QUEEN being suffered to take her hurried basin of

mock-turtle at the station, she was to be bothered with calf's head, in

the shape of the Mayor, and a dish of hash was to be set before her in

the form of an adulatory address from the authorities.