It is indeed hard that Royalty cannot get a quarter of an hour free for

luncheon on a long journey, but is compelled to give up every minute of

spare time to the swallowing of a quantity of unwholesome stuff in the

way of flattery from the authorities. We admire a loyal address when

circumstances render it appropriate and convenient; but to intercept HER

MAJESTY at every resting point on her way, and subject her to the

fatigue of listening to and answering a mass of commonplace rubbish from

the mouth of a Mayor, is no less impertinent on the part of the

authorities, than it must be annoying to the Sovereign. We are quite

sure that the QUEEN would prefer a sandwich to a puff, and a glass of

sherry to all the milk-and-water in the world--notwithstanding all the

sugar that the authorities might put into it.

* * * * *

HOW BRITANNIA SALUTES HER BABIES!

BRITANNIA--like a most careful mother--expends a world of powder on her

babies. A week ago she flourished the powder-puff regardless of expense;

and regardless of noise. Her three youngest royal babies--the PRINCESS

LOUISA, aged five years; the PRINCE ARTHUR, aged three; and the dear

little poppet PRINCE LEOPOLD, aged not one--were all of them brought

down from the nursery at Osborne, and--with their nurses--embarked on

board the _Fairy_ to cross to Portsmouth, on their way to Windsor

Castle, to be smothered with kisses by one of the best of mammas, and

one of the tenderest of fathers.

Well, the precious babies passing through Spithead "were saluted by the

_Blenheim_, by the garrison, and by the _Victory_, flag-ship;" and this

was ordered by GRANNAM BRITANNIA, who, we think, by such smoke and

pother rather exposes her dotage than shows her affection. Why should

the "adamantine lips" of sixty-eight pounders salute those little

babies? LOUISA, being five years old, may be a little seasoned to the

custom; and ARTHUR--(as godson to the DUKE)--may have a precocious taste

for gunpowder; but consider the tender months of baby LEOPOLD! A

suckling, and saluted with a smack of thunder.

Poor little heart! No doubt GRANNY BRITANNIA means the noise as an

evidence of her love; but, we needs must think it a proof of her

foolishness. Dear little rose-buds! Why not go to be kissed at Windsor

in all their innocent freshness? Why should they be forwarded to their

parents, new too from Scotland, smelling of gunpowder in which is so

much brimstone?

* * * * *

[Illustration: OUR TRAVELLING CONTRIBUTOR, AFTER A SEVERE ATTACK OF

_INN_-FLUENZA.]

* * * * *

RETALIATION.

Photography, it was erroneously stated, had enabled forgers to commit

frauds upon the Bank of England. Had it been true, the retribution would

have been just. The Bank issues light sovereigns--why not repay it with

Light five-pound notes?

* * * * *

HOW TO MULL PORTE.--Ask LORD ABERDEEN.

* * * * *

EXIT G. V. BROOKE.--ENTER TOM BARRY.

[Illustration: T]

That MR. BROOKE--according to the information benignantly supplied to a

benighted public by his manager--has restored Drury Lane to its former

grandeur as a Temple of the Drama, is a grand fact. Having restored the

Temple, and made his exit--_en route_ for California--enter TOM BARRY

"the Deathless Clown."

MR. E. T. SMITH--like a modest flower--unconscious of his own merits,

has culled in "a wise discretion, the result of a deliberative council

in science." And the wisdom of his discretion shows itself in astounding

results. For instance, he has the youthful HERNANDEZ, who is, in

himself, "the very constellation in the hippodramatic hemisphere." Next,

he has EATON STONE; and he "confronts in a marvellous manner, the wild

horse of the prairies"--that animal being at the present hour rampant

and loose under Drury Lane stage. Next, there is ARTHUR BARNES, "the

champion of all the world" who throws "ninety-one summersaults in

succession;" a living anatomical illustration of the truth that one good

turn deserves another. TOM BARRY, "the deathless Clown--his name and

fame are enough." The Undying One! Immortal WILLIAM over the portico,

and the Deathless BARRY in the sawdust!

It is expected that the Deathless BARRY will, 'ere his engagement

concludes, be regaled with a complimentary supper of several yards of

property sausages. Among other expected toasts, is "The Memory of JOSEPH

GRIMALDI," which, it is believed, will be responded to by his late

dresser, a veteran of the good old school. On this festive occasion, the

horses of the company--deathless Barbs!--will have an extra feed of

beans.

* * * * *

THE "VOW OF POVERTY."

Some Benedictine monks, with a strange mixture of the secular and the

spiritual in their affections, presented themselves a few days ago as

claimants to vote for Members of Parliament. Though they profess to

entirely de-vote themselves to the Church, they do not wish to be

de-voted or deprived of votes for the county of Northumberland. But the

best of the joke--rather a solemn piece of mockery, by the bye--was the

fact of their appearing in the character of persons having taken "a vow

of poverty," to claim their right to certain property, in respect of

which they contended that they ought to have the electoral franchise.

The contradictory and anomalous position in which they stood led to a

cross-examination of the claimants, in the course of which some peculiar

views as to the effect of a "vow of poverty" were elicited. The result

seems to be, that a Benedictine monk may be a man of property, though he

has taken a vow of poverty, and that, in the words of one of the

professional men engaged on the occasion, "so far as respects property

the law of poverty has no effect whatever."

The Benedictine monk was a good deal pressed, and in spite of the

ingenuity appropriate to his "order" he was driven into a corner, from

which he could not escape except upon the prong of a fork which the

professional gentleman kept continually presented to the Benedictine

monk, for the latter to fall upon. When told that, "in making the vow of

poverty, he says he has no property whatever," the "monk" could only

reply "We must have property or we could not exist;" so that we are

justified in asking what is the meaning of a vow of poverty, if it can

be taken by a man of property who, on the strength of that property,

lays claim to a vote for the county? The witness when pressed admitted,

"We all have property"--all _we_ who have made a vow of poverty, or an

abnegation of property--but the way we manage it is this: "We have what

is called a 'peculium,' which is a separate thing from the vow of

poverty." It is convenient, certainly, to be able to be poor and rich at

the same time, and to combine all the temporal advantages of property

with the spiritual advantages of poverty. The "peculium" is, of course,

elastic, and there is no particular place for drawing the line in the

banker's book. A vow of poverty which admits of a "peculium" in the

shape of a private fortune is like a vow of tea-totalism, which allows

of a "peculium" in the form of a private gin-bottle.

* * * * *

THE GOD OF THE RUSSIANS

God of the Russians!--who is he?

A great--and bulky--deity:

He stands some six feet two, or three.

He is proportionally stout;

The lofty form is well filled out

Of the Controller of the Knout.

He ranks among the _Di Majores_,

And in despotic power he glories;

He once was worshipped by the Tories.

He banquets on celestial fare,

His Nectar's _Clicquot_, potion rare!

And his Ambrosia's _caviare_.

As to the Russian God's costume,

It is a cocked hat and a plume,

If so to speak we may presume:

Likewise, a military stock;

Belt, sword, and coat--a tail or frock:

He stands in jack-boots like a rock.

Yet any thinker might suppose

He'd wear a different sort of clothes,

More ancient--classical--than those.

For this same God of Russia seeks

To be the God, too, of the Greeks.

Then why does he sport coat and breeks?

Old NICHOLAS should wear the loose

Robe that once clad the form of ZEUS,

That is the garment for the DEUCE.

* * * * *

BRITANNIA'S SAFETY BELT.

Considering how much England is indebted for its safety to the magic

belt of water that runs round it, every Englishman, when speaking of St.

George's Channel, ought, in true nautical fervour, to ejaculate: "Bless

its old CHOPS!"

* * * * *

INFECTION GLEBE.

Everybody knows that an intramural churchyard has a tendency to enlarge

itself--not in area, but in perpendicularity. It is in every sense a

rising concern, and it swells like an investment at compound interest.

The attraction of mortality increases in a ratio multiplying with the

increase of the mass--and what is there to prevent so deadly a nuisance

from being immediately abolished? Hear the BISHOP OF LONDON in his

evidence given before the Lords' Committee on the Great Extramural

Cemetery Bill--opposed by the LORD BISHOP:--

"I wish, in a very few words, to explain that, when the bill was

first printed, the clergy were much alarmed. They saw that it would

interfere with the establishment of parochial burial grounds, and

they objected more particularly to the small amount of compensation

fees which the company intended to pay, viz., 1_s._ 8_d._ for the

open ground, and 2_s._ 6_d._ for the brick graves and vaults."

In the country it is a common thing to see sheep grazing in churchyards,

but in London, by the account of the Bishop, the same pastures afford

food to the shepherds. To the eye of chemists--who are ghost-seers--for

ghost and gas "are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little

variations"--what a picture is presented by a metropolitan incumbent

praying at his reading desk against pestilence with the cause of it

steaming up all around him in the shape of sulphuretted hydrogen, for

the generation of which he is principally responsible! By all means give

the intramural clergy compensation for the loss they may sustain by

extramural cemeteries, though the poor innkeepers did not get any when

their businesses were destroyed by the railroads. Let them be

compensated even at the Bishop's estimate, which he says he "prevailed

upon MR. CORFIELD" to adopt, viz., 2s. 6d. for the open ground and 6s.

6d. for the brick graves. Canterbury Registrars and fat pluralists will

cut up one of these days sufficiently well to supply the needful: in the

mean time let the _convives_ of the earthworm feed without the walls.

* * * * *

THE BRIDLE ROADS.

We see a book advertised under the title of "The Bridle Roads of Spain."

We know very little about Spain, but can inform our fair readers (we

mean the ladies) that the Great Bridal Roads of England are:--St.

George's, Hanover Square, and Gretna Green.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Cobden._ "WHO HAS THE DONKEY'S EARS, NOW?"

[_Mr. Punch answers the question._]]

* * * * *

OUR TOURIST IN PARIS.--No. 9.

My dear fellow-countrymen who throng the theatres, the _cafes_, and the

promenades of this gay city, may form very different opinions of its

inhabitants and institutions; but on one point, I believe, they are all

agreed; that, in common with the rest of the Continent, it is

over-ridden with bureaus and bureaucracy. Every third man is an

_employe_, a soldier, or a policeman. You cannot have a warm bath,

without taking a ticket from a lady at a desk, nor indulge in a mild

polka, without being watched by a man in a cocked hat. If you change

your hotel, instant information must be sent to the Prefecture; if you

want to send a telegraphic message to England, it must first receive the

sanction of the Minister of Police; if you enter Paris from a country

walk, with a great-coat on your arm, you will be pounced upon and

searched at the Barriere. All this is disgusting to honest JOHN BULL,

and he curses it with great force of language. "Thank goodness!" says

he, "at all events, we are free from this miserable drilling, and

marshalling, and boarding-school discipline." In England we certainly

are.

Occasionally the London newspapers take the opportunity of an

"illustrious foreigner's" visit, to contrast our liberty and their

thraldom. The leading journal will point out with its usual epigrammatic

terseness, varied illustration, good sense and eloquence, the advantage

of letting people alone, and the extent to which our Government does let

us alone. "His Highness, or Majesty, as the case may be, will ride for

hours in our metropolis with out seeing a soldier or (especially if

there's a row) a policeman." Blessed independence! but the contrast is

much more striking, because more disagreeable to a wretched Englishmen,

born to freedom, who finds himself in a mess on the Continent--a

contingency which happens to one out of every dozen tourists. Those

confounded passports form the monster grievance. Accordingly from July

to November, not a week passes but some victim writes to complain that

he is in confinement at Marseilles or Como, or somewhere or another,

because his passport is lost or not _en regle_. Old JOLLYBOY, I

recollect, wrote a tremendous letter to the _Times_ containing a column

and a half of his adventures. It ought to have produced a

reconsideration of the whole passport system, but it didn't. Those

foreign governments are so dense!

And now little BOMBAZINE (who is "reading for the bar," like every young

fellow about town that is not in the army) comes to your Correspondent,

and complains of a grievance which throws all the foreign misdemeanours

into the shade. He went to the English Embassy to get his passport

signed, and _the man there could not speak English_! Now, by JOVE, HARRY

is right, and it is too bad! Here are we every day ridiculing or cursing

the villainous antiquated machinery of passports. We all know, and are

never tired of repeating, that it works for the persecution of helpless

timid travellers and the protection of brazen and ingenious criminals.

(JOSEPH MAZZINI entered Italy a few months ago in the petticoats and

"front" of an old woman, the policemen taking off their hats and paying

compliments, while a poor English consumptive parson in search of health

was marched off between two chasseurs as if he had been a pickpocket.)

We complain reasonably enough that we travel everywhere scattering our

livres sterling, making the fortunes of innkeepers, creating watering

places, supporting entire branches of commerce, fostering capital

cities, everywhere cheated, pitied, and laughed at, and yet foreign

governments have not the sense to encourage such lucrative and harmless

visitors, but do everything they can to prohibit our free locomotion.

They are great asses, are they not? Call them all the names you like,

and now believe, if you can, that an English establishment abroad is

worse than them all. Our ambassador, as I understand from a diplomatic

friend, receives a very tolerable income from his country by way of

wages and compensation for exile, and yet cannot afford to keep a man in

his office capable of communicating with the multitude of Britons who do

not speak French.

We recollect a certain circular issued from the foreign office at

Washington, which invited the United States' consuls and ambassadors to

employ native Americans and none others in their offices. And quite

right. It is bad enough to have to deal with foreigners about our

passports where it is absolutely necessary, but when we go to our own

Embassy we hope to meet with, if not the _personnel_ at least the

language and plain good sense of the Anglo-Saxon. We _might_ expect to

meet also there a disposition to smooth instead of aggravating the

nuisances of the passport system, and, behold, we find an official with

all the French bureaucratic humbug, and without a knowledge of our

tongue. How such a monstrous absurdity could have arisen passes one's

understanding. Good heavens! why every hotel, every _cafe_, every shop,

nay every superior police office, contains one or more persons who speak

English, and the English Embassy is the only establishment without one.

Why don't some of those young swells come down from their room and do

the passport business? Do they think it "low?" But hear HENRY BOMBAZINE.

"You know MRS. TOODLEHAM, my Aunt, is given to reading the papers in

connexion with the prophecies, and has just got hold of a very

entertaining book on those subjects called 'The Battle of Armageddon,'

which has determined her to come to England at once with me. It's by one

of those immensely knowing parties, you see, who tell you about the end

of the world, give 'tips' in fact 'on future events,' like the Derby

prophets in _Bell's Life_. Well, he says, that Russia is going to invade

Jerusalem, and the English fleet is to sail into the Dead Sea--no--the

United States' fleet is to sail into the Caspian--no--hang it! I never

can recollect the names of places--at all events, there's to be an awful

shindy somewhere, and England is the only safe place to go to. So I went

to the Embassy to get the old lady's name put on my passport, and, as I

said, the fellow couldn't speak a work of English. I tried him with

French" (you _should_ hear dear HENRY'S French), "and could hardly make

him understand then. He wanted first to see her passport, but, bless

you, she hasn't got any. I don't suppose she ever had one, and at all

events, if she had, must have lost it years ago. You know she came over

to see LOUIS PHILIPPE crowned, and liked the place so much she has

stayed ever since. And when I told him that, and offered references to

bankers, and so forth--mind you, he's not over civil in his manner, I

suppose because he can't make anything by the job--he opened his eyes

till the eyebrows went right away into the hair of his head, and flatly

refused. '_Savvy vous, Mossoo_,' said he, '_savvy vous que c'est une

affaire tres serioose. Une affaire serioose_'--those were his very

words. What do you think of that, because a poor old woman wants to get

back to her native country out of the way of the battle of Armageddon?

By JOVE, I know what I'll do. I'll write to the _Times_."

No, no, HARRY my boy, we'll do better for you than that. I'll send your

history to _Mr. Punch_. He is great and good, my friend, and will see

you righted if anybody can.

* * * * *

AGRICULTURAL IMPROVEMENTS.

The old proverb informs us, that "a reformed rake makes the best

husband;" but, according to MECHI, it is "your reformed plough that

makes the best husbandman"

* * * * *

THE OATMEAL PHILOSOPHY.--"There is a _mean_ in all things."

* * * * *

DRAT THE EASTERN QUESTION!

_To my Son_ PUNCH.

[Illustration: T]

There now, _Punch_! Drat this nasty stupid good-for-nothing Eastern

Question. I am sick and sorry of hearing it talked of, din, din, din,

bother, bother, bother, every day, and all day long. Drat the Russians

and Turks both, one's barbarians and the other's savages. I wouldn't

give a fig for either of 'em; the Russians are just as bad as the Turks,

and the Turks every bit as bad as the Russians, there isn't a pin to

choose between 'em, six of one and half-a-dozen of the other. The Turks

commit double and treble bigamy, and the Russians drink train oil; the

Russians are beaten with the knout, and the Turks with the bastinado,

and deserve to be, both alike. Oh, I know all about it, although I am

only an old woman! and what's the whole to-do about but a parcel of

nonsense, ambassadors niggling with their diplomatic notes, and

quibbling backwards and forwards because an i wasn't dotted on one side

and a t crossed on the other. Hity tity! I've no patience with 'em. Of

course, if our bounden duty is to interfere, we must; but it's a great

plague, and sickness in the land, and raining cats and dogs, and bread

up and meat up, and how much higher they'll go goodness knows, but it

will be beyond everything if there should be a war. Drat it! we can't

help pestilence and famine, but it's our own doings if we add war. Not

that I'm for MR. COBDEN and your 'No Soldiers' people that want to do

away with the army and navy, and leave their sisters and mothers to

invasion. Drat them, too--I despise such dirty drabs. But I do think

it's such annoyance to be drawn in and forced to fight when you've no

heart in the quarrel. What a pity it is we can't leave 'em alone and let

'em fight it out. Neither of 'em is our fellow Christians, Turks being

Mahometans, and Russians Greek, which is as bad as Latin; and what I

should like would be to see them left to themselves and eat each other

up, like the Irish cats--poor things! Drat the ultimatums, drat the

Phosphorus--which is always causing a combustion--drat the Dardanelles

which I am sure they must be some forward husseys--drat the whole

business, it's altogether a bad job from beginning to end, if there is

to be any end, which if the scrimmage goes on I'm afraid will be the end

of everything. Drat it all I say! I wish I had a good large broom, and

power to sweep both your SULTAN and your EMPEROR, and all their forces

into the Red Sea, or Black Sea, or any sea deep enough to drown 'em out

of the way, interfering, by their nasty trumpery tiffs and tantrums,

with progress and civilisation, and arts and sciences, and the Crystal

Palace at Sydenham, and the comfort and happiness of everybody, to say

nothing of a poor old lady like me.

"Your affectionate,

"MOTHER GOOSE."

"_The Common, October, 1853._"

* * * * *

GREAT THEATRICAL STRIKE.

It is reported that MR. CHARLES KEAN the actor has struck for an advance

of salary from MR. CHARLES KEAN the manager. MR. CHARLES KEAN refuses to

advance another shilling to MR. CHARLES KEAN, actor, desiring him to act

his worst. It is believed that the actor has taken the manager at his

word. We deplore all strikes; especially one like the above, in which

the public are the greater sufferers. When bad's the best, what must the

worst be?

* * * * *

THE FASHIONABLE STRIKE AMONGST THE LOWEST CLASSES.

A BRUTE of a Husband is one who fancies, when he marries, that he is at

perfect liberty to treat his wife as if she were no better than a

street-door, on which there was nailed the polite request: "Please to

Ring and Knock."

* * * * *

BEWARE THE BEAR.--Let ABD-UL-MEDJID and NICHOLAS make it up, if

possible--but not embrace. The SULTAN must not trust himself to the hug.

* * * * *

THE FINE OLD ENGLISH INNKEEPER.

AIR--_Sufficiently Obvious._

I'll sing you a new song on a theme much stirred of late,

Of a fine old English Innkeeper, grown rather out of date,

Who keeps up his establishment in almost princely state,

And don't forget to charge you there at quite a princely rate,

Like a fine old English Innkeeper, one of the olden time.

His house, you're told, is fitted up "regardless of expense,"

Although one half is obsolete, and t'other make-pretence;

Exploded old four-posters, built in GEORGE THE SECOND'S reign,

Mock plate to serve mock-turtle in, sham ice-pails for champagne:

At this fine old English Innkeeper's, one of the olden time.

The swipes he draws is sour enough to turn a navvy pale,

Tho' by a bitter raillery he calls it bitter ale;

And tho' perhaps you don't see half a waiter all the day,

For "attendance" quite as much as for a lawyer's you must pay

To this fine old English Innkeeper, one of the olden time.

Then if to wine your tastes incline some home-made Cape you'll get,

Served up in a decanter like a vinegar-cruet,

As a "bottle of Madeira" this will in the bill be set,

And however nasty it may be a nice sum you're in debt

To the fine old English Innkeeper, one of the olden time.

And if your wife be with you, you must have a private room,

And use a pair of "wax-lights" (with a muttony perfume),

For which you'll pay a crown a day, and 'tis a burning shame

That whether they be lit or not they're charged for just the same

By this rare old English Innkeeper, one of the olden time.

But soon these fine old Innkeepers will find their race is run,

For men are up and doing, and no longer will be done:

And shortly we may hope to see a really good hotel,

Where we may be admitted, and not taken in as well,

As we were by our old Innkeeper, one of the fleecing time.

* * * * *

THE STARVED-OUT COMMISSION OF SEWERS.

Everybody is attacking the unfortunate Commissioners of Sewers, who are

said to be standing still with their hands in their pockets, and who

reply that they are obliged to stand still because they have nothing in

their pockets but their hands. It is true their hands seem to get very

deeply into the public pocket occasionally, but however large the sum

that may be extracted, the cry of the Commissioners is "We have no

funds." If a neighbourhood, thirsty for a good, wholesome fall of water,

applies to the Commissioners, their answer is "We can't stand a dram."

Their song is always to one tune, and that is the tune of "_I've no

Money_."

I've no money! so you see

Nothing can be done by me;

I own it to my sorrow;

But if I were rich, you'd see

Wonders would be done by me;

So call again to-morrow.

The fact is that the Commissioners of Sewers have such grand ideas that

execution is impossible. The imagination of the Commissioners riots in

such a sea of sullage, that nothing short of an arched avalanche of

refuse water presents itself to the minds of the functionaries who will

not stoop to anything short of an aqueduct, and consequently have souls

above the making of a common useful drain. Everything must be on such a

scale of grandeur, that unless London can be altogether excavated a few

serviceable pipes cannot be laid down. We are quite willing to admit the

difficulties of the position of the Commissioners with all the sewage of

London on their hands, and some people feel naturally tempted to throw

mud upon those who are in a degree responsible for getting rid of it.

The Chairman, however, seems to take the affair with a sort of

philosophic good nature, as if he felt himself somewhat in the position

of a glass bottle or a plaster bust perched on an eminence for everybody

to take a shy at him.

* * * * *

ART IN THE CITY.

Why not--if Temple Bar must be removed--why not to mark and preserve the

sacred boundary of the City, bring bodily GOG and MAGOG from Guildhall

to either side of Fleet Street? They would only make two ugly statues

the more: and in so large and such a city, what are two?

* * * * *

A HINT FOR THE CONSUMERS OF COAL.--The most cheerful kind of

fuel:--Keeping up a constant fire--of jokes.

[Illustration: MIGHT IS RIGHT.

_Van Driver._ "I DON'T KNOW NOTHUN ABOUT NO RIGHT SIDES, NOR WRONG

SIDES. YOU GET OUT OF THE WAY, IF YER DON'T WANT TO BE MADE A WAFER OF!"

[_Where are the Police?_]

* * * * *

THE FALLACY OF EXTERNALS.

In the _Times'_ report of the final meeting of the Peace Conference at

Edinburgh, it is remarked that

"MESSRS. COBDEN and BRIGHT were the great lions of the evening."

Apparently it is probable that they were; although some may consider

them to have been figuring as lambs rather than lions: but then the lamb

is not the only creature typical of passive endurance. Appearances,

however, are not realities, and the reporter, in inferring the animal

from the integument, made a mistake which has occurred before. MR.

BRIGHT and MR. COBDEN were going about in lions' skins; but, as those

who had just heard them might have perceived, they were not exactly

lions.

* * * * *

THE CRY OF THE BRITISH HUSBAND.--"Do you bruise your wife yet?"

* * * * *

THE ARMS OF ENGLAND,

As Improved by the Peace Society.

Of the poor old British Lion

The sentence has gone forth,

Since BRIGHT has lifted up his heels

Against him in the North.

Then let him vail the tufted tail

He once so proudly bore,

When coarsely vain of might and mane,

He guarded England's shore.

Be the soldier brute in council mute,

Nor more sound war's alarms;

Let him yield his place to a milder race

In Britain's coat of arms.

For the lion is a dangerous beast,

And so's the unicorn;

The one has teeth and talons,

And the other hoofs and horn.

So in a crack from Britain's back

Let's tear the coat she has on,

And in its place our 'scutcheon grace

With Peace's proper blazon:

_Gules_ we'll eschew--that bloody hue!--

With drab the field arrange;

But _or_ and _argent_ we'll retain,

As sovereigns and small change.

Nor lion for supporter,

Nor unicorn shall stand,

But a spaniel _mendiant_, and a hare

_Funkant_, on either hand;

_In the first and fourth_, where erst were charged

Lions _passant guardant_ three,

There three hares _boltant_ to the world,

Shall Britain's symbol be.

_In the second_, that was _or

In double tressure counterflowered_--

Where _gules_, in times gone by,

The Scotch lion _rampant_ towered--

In honour of great COWAN,

And his Embro' fellows true,

In a tressure of Scotch thistles,

An ass _prancant_ you shall view.

_In the third_, that once showed _azure_,

The harp of Ireland, _or_--

Since we'll not stand such vanities

As music any more,

We mean to blazon, _argent_,

A ledger, _proper_, blank--

As typical of squared accounts,

And a balance at the bank.

"_Dieu et mon Droit_," we will withdraw,

The phrase is simple gammon;--

For "_Dieu_" read _L s. d._,--since who

Should be our God but MAMMON?

And as for _Droit_, you know 'tis Might,

Not Right that wins the game--

So "_L s. d. et _NON_ Droit_" shall be

The motto we'll proclaim!

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE ROYAL ARMS AS IMPROVED BY THE PEACE SOCIETY.

"I WISH THE BRITISH LION WERE DEAD OUTRIGHT."--JOHN BRIGHT _at

Edinburgh_.]

* * * * *

THE SARCOPHAGUS OF ART.

It is said that LORD ONSLOW has revoked the bequest that he had made of

his collection of pictures by the Old Masters to the National Gallery.

His reason for taking this step, we understand, is, that the report of

the Select Committee on that Institution has convinced him that he had

better bequeath his pictures, together with his body, to the earth, to

be buried at once.

* * * * *

POLITICAL TABLE TURNING.

Table Turning, as practised by political parties, consists in turning

statistical tables to account.

* * * * *

MARRIAGE IN "MEDIOCRE" LIFE.

[Illustration]

One of our fashionable contemporaries, of which there are now three

(including the _Morning Advertiser_, which "goes in" upon the

aristocratic dodge), contained the other day the account of a marriage

of a Reverend Baronet with a young lady, whose name is not given, but

who is said to be "related to the EARL OF ROSSE." This scientific

nobleman may have numerous distant relations, who, on the strength of

his title and his telescope, would like to be looked upon as near

relations, and therefore the bride may or may not be a very close

connection of the Earl. At all events, the persons inserting the

advertisement in the fashionable paper, do not seem to have felt

themselves justified in heading the paragraph with the usual words,

"Marriage in High Life." It was most probably a sort of middle-class

matrimonial connection; though in these days it is hard to say where

high life ends and mediocrity begins. The couple seem to have been

"carriage people," at all events; for as the vehicle--probably a "neat

fly" with post horses--approached the bridge, the assembled multitude

raised such "vociferations," says the penny-a-liner, "as to make the

welkin ring." We should like to see the bell attached to the Welkin, and

the Welkin itself in which the phenomenon of "ringing" was produced by

the shouts of the multitude.

On reaching the village the vehicle "proceeded through a triumphal arch,

ornamented with a lamp." We beg leave to say that we have the honour of

passing under a triumphal arch--that which bears the Wellington

Statue--twice a day, and we do so without any feeling of undue vanity,

notwithstanding the fact that it is also "ornamented with a lamp,"--and

indeed two--for there is one on each side of it. The penny-a-liner adds

that "on reaching their residence the bride and bridegroom briefly, but

feelingly, returned thanks to the inhabitants." What a pity that we have

not had a full report of the speeches. Where was GURNEY, the short-hand

writer; where was SHERER, and what had become of MORTON?

The next time that a marriage in "mediocre" life is celebrated we trust

that a staff of stenographists will be in attendance to take down the

"speeches" of the bride and bridegroom, as they pass from the neat fly,

gig, or clarence to the inn or hotel they may have chosen for their

mellilunar abode.

* * * * *

THE TIGHT BLOCKADE.

If that old Bear in Boots, the CZAR,

Will drag old England into war,

Our fleet shall sail to Turkey's aid,

And we'll try the operation of a tight blockade.

We'll close each port along the shore

Of this confounded Bear--and Bore--

And if we can't his realm invade,

We'll shut up all his harbours with a tight blockade.

His hides and tallow we'll confine

With sundry vessels of the line;

In corn, too, we shall stop his trade.

'Twill be under the restriction of a tight blockade.

For all his troops, for all his hordes,

For all their lances and their swords,

To change his tune he may be made,

By a steady perseverance in a tight blockade.

If out of that he tried to dash--

And oh that he may be so rash!--

We'd pound him into marmalade.

What a happy termination of the tight blockade!

No matter if old NICK we drub,

Though we debar ourselves of grub,

Which might to Britain be conveyed,

But that Russian corn will lie beneath a tight blockade.

Each blow we deal at him will fall

Upon ourselves, both great and small;

But Honour's call must be obeyed,

And alas! it only can be by a tight blockade.

Would we could with the demon close;

Like DUNSTAN, seize him by the nose;

Old NICHOLAS would soon be laid,

And there wouldn't be occasion for the tight blockade.

* * * * *

A SPORTING REGIMENT.

Some Yeomanry heroes, whose head-quarters are at the "Spotted Cow," in

York, have been called together by a circular, of which the following is

a copy, to have a day's hunting, on Monday the 31st.

"_Spotted Cow Inn, Walmgate Bar, York, 18th October, 1853._

"SIR,--Through the kindness of our Captain (LORD VISCOUNT DOWNE), _a

day's hunt, or coursing_, at Sessay (to the members of his Troop

only), is given, which is proposed to take place on Monday, the last

day of this month. It is also proposed _to have a little drill--each

should attend with his sword and belt_. Be so kind as _say if you

can procure a dog_. An early answer is earnestly requested. Further

particulars will be gladly given, on application to me, or CORP.

SMITH.

"I am, Sir, yours, truly,

"GEO. SMITH."

It is desirable, we admit, that the yeomanry should be indulged in a

day's hunting, which may practise them in the art of pursuing an enemy,

who in war-time would be fair game. We are somewhat puzzled by the

proposition to mix up "a little drill" with the day's sporting, unless

the "dogs of war" are to hunt in couples--two abreast. We fear there

will be some difficulty in blending the huntsman and the warrior; nor

can we comprehend the idea of a sporting military gent running after a

fox with "his sword and belt," "taking close order" at the heels of

Reynard, or practising the goose-step by way of "a little drill"

previous to the starting of the game. The passage in the circular which

asks every trooper to "be so kind as to say" if he "can procure a dog,"

is suggestive of an awful assemblage of mongrels, and destructive to all

our ideas of "sport."

We can fancy the canine Babel that would be the consequence if the

brutes should happen to "give tongue." If everybody is "so kind as to

procure a dog," there would inevitably be a regiment of dogs as well as

a regiment of soldiers; there can be no objection to a vast assemblage

of dogs at any given point for a given period, but when the dogs have

had their day, we would ask in a spirit of much misgiving, what is to

become of these dogs when the drill is at an end? We can only say that

we should be sorry to eat a sausage within five miles of the place where

that troop had been assembled, until at least a month after they should

be disbanded, and their dogs should have disappeared.

* * * * *

PIUS PINGUIS.

That the POPE should have been ordered to play billiards to counteract

obesity, is a circumstance suggestive of certain natural remarks. A

person who fasts as often as the Roman Pontiff must fast, and yet gets

fat, is a wonder; and perhaps the plumpness of PIUS, attained

principally on red herrings, will be cited one of these days as a

miraculous circumstance. FALSTAFF lost his voice "by holloaing and

singing of anthems;" but in the meanwhile he gained flesh, as his

Holiness appears to have also done in a similar course of exercise. Many

prelates are oily enough; but the unction of the present Bishop of Rome

is peculiar. The Pontifical chair has often been said to be filled, but

now it is full, and no mistake. Perfidy, the Papists say, never

approached the see of PETER; however that may be, it certainly will be

difficult to circumvent its existing occupant, as his bulk will baffle

any attempt to get round him. Many of the Holy Father's predecessors

have been deep, but he is broad also.

We should have preferred rackets to billiards as a cure for the Papal

corpulence, if we thought the POPE could stand the rackets, as he will

have to do, whether he can or not, as soon as the state of Europe

obliges LOUIS NAPOLEON to withdraw the French troops from Rome; and that

will prove the most effectual proceeding for the reduction of his

greatness.

* * * * *

NEWS FOR THE PEACE CONGRESS.

The Submarine and European Telegraph pulsates with these glad tidings:--

"Six new steam-vessels, after the model of the _Napoleon_, are on

the stocks, and will be launched about the end of 1854."

Our own correspondent informs us that two of these vessels--in gratitude

to the peace-makers--will be called _The Bright_ and _The Cobden_.

* * * * *

JESUIT'S BARK.--This Bark is a small, black, pirate-looking craft, that

has fastened itself on, by some hook or other, to PETER'S Boat.

* * * * *

[Illustration: SPURIOUS IMITATION.

Unmitigated Effrontery of MESSRS. BROWN AND SMITH.]

* * * * *

ASTONISHING AND GENEROUS EXERTION BY CATHEDRAL CLERGYMEN.

The newspapers are continually making remarks of a painful nature on the

conduct of Deans and Chapters. It is pleasing to encounter an

opportunity of commenting in a more affectionate spirit on the behaviour

of one of those reverend fraternities. That pleasure is afforded us by

the _Morning Post_--wherein, under the heading of "Divine Service for

the Militia," we read that

"The necessity of providing some means by which the Militia, in a

body, could attend Divine Service on Sunday, and the difficulty of

this being secured by the ordinary church accommodation available in

Exeter, induced, we understand, the Lord Lieutenant of the county to

make an application last week to the Cathedral authorities,

suggesting that an extra service on Sunday in that spacious building

would meet the wishes of his lordship."

Now, when we consider the average scale on which Deans and Chapters are

remunerated in relation to their average services, and when, our

reflections guided by the Rule of Three, we inquire how much, at that

rate, an extra service of such a description is worth, we find the sum

considerable. A prebend's sermon is perhaps, as to its abstract merit,

inestimable: a pearl beyond any price: but even its actual cost may be

computed at a high figure. Such a discourse, gratuitously addressed to a

regiment of soldiers, may be regarded as a donation to them of something

handsome per head.

To ask a Cathedral establishment, then, for an extra service, is asking

it for not a little: to perform such a service is to do a munificent

action. Therefore it is highly gratifying to peruse the statement

following:--

"Notwithstanding, however, the difficulties which intervened, we

believe it was the earnest desire of the authorities at the

Cathedral to meet as far as possible the urgency of the case, a

desire which was manifested by the promptitude with which they acted

on the suggestions made by the Lord Lieutenant. An extra service was

fixed, exclusively for the Militia, at half-past eight on Sunday

morning, when the whole body of officers and men assembled within

the sacred building, the choir being densely filled from the organ

screen to the altar rails, and such as could not obtain admission

being within hearing in the side aisles. Prayers were read by the

REVEREND CHANCELLOR HARINGTON, who also preached an impressive and

appropriate sermon."

Besides, it is announced that on Sunday next, and for the two Sundays

following, indeed until the Militia are dismissed, the same service will

be performed at the same hour. It should be added, that the only Canons

in residence were the REV. CHANCELLOR HARINGTON and the VEN. ARCHDEACON

MOORE STEVENS, and that the Chancellor being also Chaplain to the

troops, "had, in addition to his duties at the Cathedral, to provide

extra services for both barracks." The reverend gentleman who has been

performing so many extra services, might almost be supposed to be called

Canon of Exeter by a mistake in pronunciation; his proper title being

Canon of Extra. At all events he ought not to be styled a Canon in

Ordinary, for he is an Extraordinary Canon; and in making this

observation, if anybody thinks that we intend a mere play upon words, he

is mistaken; for what we chiefly wish is to call attention to a fact.

That a prebend should occasionally preach and read prayers of a Sunday a

few more times than he is obliged to do, may hereafter come to be

regarded as not so very extraordinary a sacrifice of that _otium_ which

is enjoyed _cum dignitate_ by the dignified Clergy. The circumstance, at

least, will perhaps not be thought so extraordinary as to constitute a

special case for penny-a-lining.

* * * * *

NASAL INTELLIGENCE.

One of "our own Correspondents," speaking of the EMPEROR'S late

reception at Lille, remarks, as it appears to us, a rather curious

phenomenon. "At about nine o'clock," he says,

"The EMPEROR and EMPRESS drove to the theatre, where there was a

most loyal reception; and, but that the wet clothes and the soaking

umbrellas gave out the odours peculiar to wet coats, the scene would

have been splendid."

How the odours of wet clothes could possibly have prevented the

splendour of the scene, we confess we are rather at a loss to imagine.

For ourselves, we certainly should as soon dream of hearing a sight as

of smelling one. That there exists a certain connection between the

visual and olfactory organs we don't pretend to dispute. In the absence

of profounder proof we do remember an "eye-snuff," which they who were

up to it of course took nasally. At the same time we cannot well see how

the sense of seeing can be interfered with by the nose, unless indeed it

be a preternaturally long one.

* * * * *

A CHAUNT FOR THE CHOUSED.

Dine? who'd dine

At eight shillings a head, or even nine,

With the heaviest price for the lightest wine?

Ah! that house I know too well,

'Tis your "first-class" Hotel:

Sad "Tales of my Landlord" there they tell.

Far better for me

To order tea,

And go dinnerless at that hostelry.

Sleep? who'd sleep

Where a standing army their quarters keep,

And in countless legions upon you creep?

Ah! whose form is that I see,--

A flea! Sirs, a flea!

He cometh to sup off me.

Far better, say I,

On the sofa to lie;

I prefer his room to his company.

Stay? who'd stay

To be bitten and fleeced in this wholesale way,

And live at the rate of a fortune a day?

Ah! who'll expose their crimes?

The _Times_, Sirs, the _Times_,

The waiter his fee declines:

Tell the landlord from me

Him further I'll see,

Ere again I'll be fleeced at his hostelry.

[Illustration]

* * * * *

HE CAME--SMILED--AND SAID NOTHING!--Such is _Mr. Punch's_ short-hand

report of the interview granted by the EARL OF CLARENDON to the Finsbury

deputation on the Eastern question.

* * * * *

JAMES'S POWDER, AND HIS SQUIB.

[Illustration: S]

Some of the Virginian slaveholders, true to the kind of logic which one

expects from LEGREES, have made five attempts to burn down the house of

the English consul, MR. G. P. R. JAMES, as a reply to some objections

urged by that gentleman to negro slavery. It appears that years ago,

before MR. JAMES attained that world-wide celebrity which has

irrevocably placed him at the summit of English literature (we are sure

he will be the last person to contradict us), he concocted a "squib"

against the slave-owning system. The missile flew so silently and

harmlessly through English air that nobody seems to have listened to it,

but the case appears to have alighted on American ground, and to have

been treasured up by the fortunate finder as evidence against the

pyrotechnician and historiographer. MR. JAMES receives his appointment

and goes to Virginia, the squib is produced, and excites the fierce rage

of the man-stealers, who, as has been said, make five attempts to burn

down the great novelist's house. Whether, being as cowardly as MRS.

STOWE has taught us to regard them, the conspirators made their efforts

in the night, and being scared by the noise made by the distinguished

author in snuffing his candle, the click being mistaken for the cocking

of a rifle, or whether, in the frantic tipsiness which, the authoress of

_Uncle Tom_ tells us, accompanies their social orgies, they endeavoured

to set fire to a stone wall, or to the _Life and Times of_ LOUIS XIV.,

or any other impracticable mass, we are not informed--perhaps cowardice

and clumsiness were united, as in every other effort in defence of

slavery. Anyhow, MR. JAMES'S property had, at the last advices, escaped

the vengeance of those who, brutalised by slave-owning, can hardly think

much of arson. Meantime, we have been anxious to see this celebrated

squib, and having applied in vain to MR. JAMES'S London publishers, we

have been compelled to send over to America for it. The document arrived

by the United States' Mail steamship Washington, which reached Cowes on

Friday night, bringing mails to the 8th, and it was instantly forwarded

to us by a special train on the South Western line. We hasten to give

it.

THE SLAVE-OWNERS.

_Epigram by_ G. P. R. JAMES, _Historiographer to the Queen, author of

"Darnley," "De L'Orme," "The Gipsy," "The Life and Times of Louis the

Fourteenth," "Tales of the Passions," &c. &c._

Surely these men must have very _black_ hearts

To treat the poor _blacks_ in this way;

Rather than suffer such _terrible_ smarts,

I wonder _they don't run away_.

G. P. R. J.

* * * * *

PLATO, GOG, AND MAGOG.

MR. JONES told the Liverymen the other day, that if PLATO were to

revisit the earth to project a new Republic, he would take the theory of

the Corporation of the City of London as his model. Perhaps so. He would

have seen that the theory in question leads to a practical harmony

exhibited in an affection of united minds, amounting to the very love of

the turtle.

* * * * *

PECCADILLOS OF BEAKS.

The unpaid magistracy, so called, have been accused of licensing

public-houses on an arbitrary principle, but it is tolerably certain

that they do not grant any preference without a sufficient

consideration. Unpaid, perhaps these gentlemen ought not to be

denominated; for everybody knows that they pay themselves by the job.

* * * * *

NOT A DOUBT OF IT.--Of all the "tricks upon travellers" which are

practised at our Hotels, by all accounts decidedly the most deceitful

are the Bottle-tricks.

* * * * *

YACHT SIGNALS.

MR. PUNCH has merely to acknowledge a very useful little book, prettily

bound, with the Union Jack (white margin) on its cover, and entitled

"_Supplementary Code of Yacht Signals_." It is not of much use to him in

Fleet Street, but he intends to keep it until the yachting season begins

again, when he will astonish Cowes, Ryde, and "the Island" generally,

with the proficiency he displays in nautical, as in all other exercises.

That the Yacht Club may appreciate the value of the book, _Mr. Punch_

subjoins a page taken at random. Loungers on shore little know what is

meant by the innocent-looking flags which are perpetually being run up

from the _Salmagundi_, the _Olla Podrida_, the _Amontadillo_, and the

other pretty vessels about which they talk so learnedly. Perhaps this

extract may enlighten them:--

Subject. Number Message.

to be

Shewn.

GIRL. 1827. This, with MRS. ST. BROWN (black eyes) has L15,000.

I'd make sail if I were you, old fellow.

---- 1828. (Same, with addition). Quick, for ALGERNON JONES is

making enormous play, and telling awful falsehoods

about his Irish estates.

JEW. 1473. The, has come down. Is at the Pier Hotel. See him,

and do the best you can. I _must_ have L300 in time

for Doncaster.

---- 1474. (Same, with addition). No pictures, mind, but a little

bad wine don't matter, as I've some country bores

coming to stay with me.

WIDOW. 1163. The, won't do. FITZCLUMBER knew her in

Devonshire--estate incumbered, and a Chancery suit.

BORE. 1928. FRANK BLOKE is a dreadful. Send out word

to him that his governor wants him on shore, and

we'll go on to Cowes.

ICE. 1623. We're out of. Rough will do, if you can't get Wenham.

WIFE. 1525. Your, has got some clue to the Tuesday business. I am

inventing all sorts of things for you, but you had

better come off, and bring her a dog, or a bracelet,

or something. I think VANE has sold you.

---- 1625. My. Is in such a bad temper. Send off some French

novels.

PUNCH. 1999. New number not come, the girls are wild, and we shall

have a mutiny. Pray see about it, and telegraph to

town if necessary.

NIECE. 2348. The parson's, is first-rate. So pretty. I have

proposed, and she has taken till tiffin-time to

consider.

---- 2349. (Same, with addition). Has been asking your Aunt about

me, and has given me a flower.

---- 2350. (Same, with addition). Fly, old fellow, and find out

for me what, in the language of flowers, is meant by

double heart's ease.

---- 2351. (Same, with addition). All up. Your Aunt let out about

FANNY MONTGOMERY, and that's what double heart's ease

meant. Order supper. I shan't stay on board.

SCREWED. 3284. Was I, last night? Signal if I did anything very

absurd. WALTER bets that I offered the bishop a

cigar.

CHURCH. 3384. We are all coming to, in the morning, including

CATHERINE, _Verbum sap_. No more signals to-night.

* * * * *

SHE WILL BE A MARTYR.

A letter from France says that MISS CUNNINGHAME on receiving the order

for her release from prison, positively refused to go, until she was

literally turned out. The invitations of the officials to her to "come

out of that," were altogether idle; and indeed it is quite evident that

the lady felt how completely her pretensions to martyrdom had been cut

short by her premature release. MISS CUNNINGHAME in fact proved herself

a perfect "Buffalo gal" in her indisposition to "come out," until a due

amount of solicitation had been addressed to her.

For our own parts, had we been the British officials employed to

negotiate for her release, and she had shown a stubborn disposition to

cling to her prison bars, we should have allowed her to remain, and ride

as rusty as the bars themselves. We never could see what right she had

to scatter Italian BUNYANS all over the boot of Italy, and put her own

foot in it. We admit the severity of the punishment and the propriety of

getting her out of her prison, though as a general rule it must be laid

down, that those who enter a foreign country for the purpose of

disturbing its harmony, must expect now and then to have to take a few

bars rest.

* * * * *

A NAUTICAL QUEEN.

The QUEEN OF SPAIN has become decidedly nautical. In honour of her own

birthday she has ordered three screw frigates to be built in Spanish

dockyards; regretting that the screws must be constructed abroad. Surely

this is unnecessary; remembering the effect of Spanish bonds, Spain has

been especially eminent for her enormous screw power.

* * * * *

MARRIAGES AS WRITTEN IN THE POLICE COURT.

Considering the way in which your brute of a husband is in the habit of

treating his wife, it would be as well, for the classicalities of low

life, to alter the name of HYMEN into FLORA (_Floor-her_).

* * * * *

[Illustration: A WAKE IN THE MINING DISTRICTS.

_J'moimer Ann._ "HAS THEE FOWGHTEN, BILL?"

_Bill._ "NOOAH!"

_J'moimer Ann._ "THEN GET THEE FOWGHTEN, AND COOM WUM. DADDY GOT HIS'N

DONE BY FOWER O'CLOCK!"]

* * * * *

RURAL SELF-DENIAL CLUBS.

The laudable custom adopted by agricultural societies of rewarding

labourers for living and rearing families upon ten shillings a week,

might be carried further out. Mutual improvement associations should be

established among the rustics, for the purpose of cultivating abstinence

by means of emulation. Country gentlemen would formerly encourage

eating-matches among the peasantry: the reverse of this gross practice

should be adopted now: and clodhopper should be pitted against

clodhopper to do the greatest amount of work on the smallest quantity of

bread and water in a given time. The clowns should also be stimulated to

compete on holidays, particularly at those of Christmas, when the

weather especially affords the requisite conditions, by trying which can

continue longest sitting in the cold without any fire, and which can

dispense to the greatest extent with clothes and bedding. By these

wholesome exercises they will be trained to contentment with the very

smallest possible participation in the fruits of that earth which they

cultivate, so as to leave the larger share to the gentry who subsist by

their industry, to be expended in all manner of comfort, pleasure,

splendour, and magnificence. Thus, as happiness is attainable in either

of two ways--one consisting in the satisfaction, the other in the

conquest of our desires--they would make themselves happy by the former

method, and their labourers by the latter.

* * * * *

WINCHESTER SOUP.

Pantropheon!--What does SOYER mean by that?

All-Nourisher--the Guide to Getting Fat--

But in that Book of Cookery, I'll be bound,

There's one receipt, at least, that won't be found--

Debtor's _Consomme_:--Take a bit of beef,

Or mutton to make rations for a thief.

Then boil, remove the liquor from the pot,

Neat, pure, and simple--serve it cold or hot.

On such good fare doth Winchester regale

The debtor rotting in her model jail.

* * * * *

THE HUNGARIAN DIET.

Hunger, they say, is the best sauce; and this may account perhaps for

the reason why hungry people are generally so impertinent.

* * * * *

SINGING-BOYS MINUS SEVENPENCE AT ST. PAUL'S.

Parson Rook! Why Rook? What has Parson to do with Rook? a child might

ask, puzzled by that nursery collocation of bird and clerical gentleman.

Both black? Then why not Chimney Sweep Rook?--Undertaker Rook? The

explanation is too superficial to satisfy even the infant mind.

Now, when we consider that the Dean and Canons of St. Paul's have, as we

are credibly informed, stopped the sevenpence a week--the penny a

day--heretofore from time immemorial allowed the little chorister

children for pocket-money, we are induced to pursue some interesting

inquiries:--

Who took away the poor boys' stipends? Who has taken their lollipops out

of their mouths? Who robbed them of their penny tarts? Who keeps

cathedral stalls and ruins apple-stalls?--may be enumerated as some of

those questions which we are disposed to propound.

But we also revert to the child's interrogation--why Parson Rook?--and

we find we can answer it in a highly satisfactory manner.

Be it premised, that the reason assigned for this mulct of the acolytes

is that by the proceeds thereof the washing of their surplices may be

paid for. They are to wear fine linen, but not to fare sumptuously every

day: that mode of life is reserved for the port-vinous appropriators of

their cake money. Vainly has the tax been taken off soap, seeing that

the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's are so ill off for it. But the

article is an important one to close shavers. Therefore the choristers

are docked of their allowance, and the loud-voiced anthem will blend

with the secular strain, "_I've no Money_."

We now come to inquire what has happened to render the ecclesiastical

corporation of St. Paul's unable any longer to stand soap. What has

necessitated the demand for the sevenpences of the children to defray

their surplice-washing?--whereof the ordinary cost would be fourpence by

the tariff of our laundress.

This has happened: the relinquishment, on the part of that reverend

society, of the twopences formerly taken at the doors of their church;

which having been extorted from them by popular indignation, they now,

we suppose, indemnify themselves by a sevenpenny confiscation at the

expense of the little vocalists.

And thus we arrive at a perception of the connection between Parson and

Rook; for these men are Parsons: and we discover that they possess an

anatomical organ in common with that bird, and with other birds that

consume the fruits of the earth. The existence of that organ is revealed

by its symptoms of suffering. The Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's, in

withdrawing the sevenpences, show that the loss of the twopences STICKS

IN THEIR GIZZARDS.

* * * * *

THE POPE'S GAME.

England little suspected the game that the POPE has been playing. It

turns out to be billiards.

His Holiness no doubt has his cue given him by one of the astutest

Members of the College of Cardinals.

His aim, no doubt, is the old traditional one--to put the globe into his

pocket.

* * * * *

GOOD OLD ENGLISH PASTIME.

The Elizabethan age delighted in bear-baiting; and it seems not

improbable that the reign of VICTORIA will witness a similar amusement.

A formidable Russian bear has broken loose in the Danubian

Principalities, and a large number of British bulldogs have been already

collected to worry him, unless he speedily retreats into his den.

* * * * *

A MISTAKEN MEASURE.

A Strike is generally supposed to be another name for a Bushel. It is,

however, a Sack, which certain workmen are so infatuated as to give

themselves.

* * * * *

[Illustration: ALL IS VANITY.

_Frederick._ "THERE, NOW, HOW VERY PROVOKING! I'VE LEFT THE PRAYER-BOOKS

AT HOME!"

_Maria._ "WELL, DEAR, NEVER MIND; BUT DO TELL ME, _IS MY BONNET

STRAIGHT_?"]

* * * * *

THE LOVER'S FAREWELL TO PALE ALE.

Farewell, my bright, my brisk, my Pale,

I cannot say, my Sweet,

For thou art Bitter, oh, my Ale!

With Hops--I trust--replete.

Henceforth thou art estranged from me;

And dost thou ask me why?

Thou wilt not suit my low degree,

Since thou hast got so high.

It was not wise to raise thee so,

'Tis what thou wilt not bear:

Better, hadst thou been brought more low,

And made "not Pale but Fair."

Go, travel o'er the Ocean brine,

To grace some Nabob's cup;

Thy figure will not do for mine,

So I must give thee up.

With chamomile the goblet fill,

The cold infusion pour,

I'll quaff the dose, the draught I'll swill,

And sigh for thee no more!

* * * * *

LITERATURE AT LOW WATER MARK.

A book with the odd title of "_A History of the Fountains of Europe_"

has recently appeared. The subject cannot possibly be a dry one, but

(without wishing to throw cold water on the author) we are bound to say

that we have no particular thirst for the knowledge he undertakes to

impart. We fear that amid the fountains of Europe our own Metropolitan

fountains must cut as sorry a figure in history as they do in Trafalgar

Square. We feel some curiosity to know what an author can possibly say

about the Charing Cross fountain, and whether he is satisfied with

merely a glance at it--which is the case with every one who sees it--or

whether he traces its biography from the cistern to the slop-basin, the

cradle to the grave. The historian of the Fountains of Europe prefaces

his work with an essay on raising the water, but we are inclined to

think he would have a far more numerous body of readers if he could

offer a few hints on the possibility of raising the wind.

* * * * *

SHAVING BY MACHINERY.

We have tried every kind of shave at every variety of price, from the

shilling operation of the West End to that most frightful of tortures,

"an easy shave for a halfpenny," in the New Cut, Lambeth. We have been

shaved by a drunkard, under whose "effacing fingers" we have felt our

beard bristling up with fear, "like quills upon the fretful porcupine,"

and we have been shaved by an aged individual with the palsy, who has

made sudden darts at us with the razor, and ultimately triumphed over

the difficulties that stared him in the face--that is to say, in our own

face--with a "bloodless victory." We have been shaved by a woman in

Scotland; by an apprentice in Shoreditch; by a sailor on board ship in a

storm; by ourselves in the dark; by a schoolfellow, for fun; and by

young beginners, for practice. In fact, we have shown a sort of reckless

audacity in getting rid of our beard, that would have justified our

enemies in saying that we have evinced a wondrous amount of bold-faced

effrontery. But, notwithstanding all these perils which flesh is heir

to, in having the hair removed from the flesh, we should be afraid to

patronise, or give our countenance to, a certain new invention which is

described in the following newspaper paragraph:--

"SHAVING BY MACHINERY.--MR. WILLIAM JOHNSON, of North Shields,

Joiner, has invented a shaving machine. This machine is of singular

construction, and contains every qualification necessary for the

process. In appearance it is not unlike an old-fashioned arm-chair.

But the most unique feature in the whole affair is the arrangement

of the razor blades, which are fixed longitudinally on cylinders,

from three to six inches in length, four on each cylinder, at an

angle of 60 degrees, with fine camel-hair brushes between; for you

are lathered and shaved at one and the same time, the lather being

slipped from the interior of the cylinders, which are hollow. The

machine is put in motion by the weight of the patient, the seat

gradually giving way beneath, and sinking with him until he reaches

the ground, when the operation is completed. The seat, rising

immediately it is released from his weight, is ready to commence

again without any preparation. A musical-box, of MR. JOHNSON'S

construction, and capable of performing a great variety of airs, is

appended to the machine, and can be attached or detached according

to the pleasure of the person undergoing the operation, so that you

may be shaved to any tune you please! Experiments (says the

_Gateshead Observer_) have been tried and found

satisfactory."--_Durham Advertiser._

We must confess, that, however ingenious this machine may be, we should

feel very much in the same situation as the gentleman who was deposited

in the barrel of spikes before we took our seat amidst the cylinders,

with our face among a lot of razors, "four on each cylinder." As the

cylinders are "fixed," there can be no allowance for an extra amount of

cheek, an exuberance of lip, or protuberance of nose; but when the

"patient"--as he is very properly called--is once in for the operation,

he must take his chance as to the relative position of his features and

the fixed razors, nor must he think of being "nice to a shaving." When

the "patient" takes his seat off goes the machine, set in motion by his

weight, and stoppage seems to be out of the question until "he reaches

the ground, when the operation is completed." No wonder that the patient

should sink under an operation of such very alarming gravity, by the law

of which he comes to the floor with a degree of force commensurate to

the weight of his own body. The seat, having released itself from its

burden by shooting the "patient" on to the floor, is ready for another

victim.

We should hardly like to be operated upon by a single razor with our

chair trembling beneath us; but to find ourselves amidst a "forest of

blades"--four on each cylinder--with our seat giving way under us, would

be a position so frightful that it is one we hardly venture to

contemplate.

A shabby attempt appears to have been made to gloss over the more

alarming features of this infernal shaving machine, or guillotine, by

setting it to music. We hope the airs played by the box spoken of are

appropriate; and we should suggest the March in _Blue Beard_ as

peculiarly fitted to a machine reminding one of beards and blood, of

soap and scimitars.

* * * * *

NOT CHEAP, BUT EXTREMELY NASTY.

Considering the tremendous sums we pay every year for drainage of the

metropolis, we must say that it is a luxury for the enjoyment of which

we have, in every sense, but smelling most especially, to pay largely

through the nose.

* * * * *

MEMORIAL TO BELLOT.

[Illustration]

One noble heart the more hath Ocean stilled,

A heart that throbbed with brave humanity

And generous fortitude, which nothing chilled

But the grim water of the frozen sea:

Down to the deep, in doing well, went he.

No son of England--yet shall that be said,

Such kindred with the Hero as we claim?--

For we all mourn a Brother in the Dead,

Although from France he drew his birth and name;

Honour to France, increased by BELLOT'S fame.

Shall that fame have no other monument

Than pile of toppling ice-crags for a tomb,

A frostwork chantry, where, through cleft and rent,

The north wind sings his dirge, and sunless gloom

The Northern Lights are cressets to illume?

He died for England--so did one who might

Like him have perished, yet not so have died;

And when his spirit wakened into light,

NELSON, perhaps, was first that welcome cried,

Remembering what like fate his youth defied.

But had the floe ingulfed that fearless boy

Chasing the sea-bear on its faithless track;

Our more than HECTOR--for he saved our Troy--

It then had been our heavy doom to lack:

And Valour, unrenowned, had gone to wrack.

Not so with him in glorious fight who fell,

For fellow-man, with elemental foes.

They for their native land who die, die well;

But better yet, more notably than those,

Died he who sank amid the Arctic snows.

His country was his kind--in noblest strife,

Whose victors only suffer--did he fall;

Thus did this gallant Tar lay down his life:

Rest his brave soul with such good sailors all,

Beneath the flag of their HIGH ADMIRAL!

* * * * *

THE WAY OF TEMPERANCE.

"Education" (says the _Times_) "is the half-way house to Temperance."

But, judging from the ignorant way in which many of our rabid advocates

of Teetotalism act and talk, we should say it was a house that very few

of them ever stopped at.

* * * * *

CENTRALIZATION.--The Commissioners of Sewers are decidedly in favour of

this plan, for their drains are so admirably managed that every man's

nose, merely by passing one, is immediately made the (s)_centre_ of it.

* * * * *

THE CLAIMS OF SCOTLAND.

_To_ HER MAIST GRACIOUS MAJESTY VICTORIA, _by descent frae the_ STUARTS,

_o' North Britain, England and Ireland_, QUEEN, _Defender of the

Presbyterian Faith, &c._

_The Humble Petition o' the Undersigned, Inhabitants o' the Principal

Part o'_ HER MAJESTY'S _Dominions ca'd Scotland_.

HUMBLY SHEWETH,

That your Petitioners, leal subjecks o' Your MAJESTY, are muckle and

sairly fasht and vexed wi' unco' grievances, o' whilk the maist

considerable an' intolerable is the degradation, an' dislocation, an'

deposition o' the Scottish Lion.

That forbye the wrang, an' scaith, an' indignity dune to the Scottish

Lion, an' the ither indignities, an' scaiths, an' wrangs, whilk Your

MAJESTY'S Petitioners hae set forth, an' enumerated, an' recited to Your

MAJESTY'S Ministers, there are a wheen mair whilk they wad, wi' a'

humility, skirl intill Your MAJESTY'S lug.

That, _imprimis_, an' in the first place, the mither tongue o' Great

Britain, Your MAJESTY'S mither tongue, is erroneously, an' mistakenly,

an' vernacularly, an' vulgarly misca'd the QUEEN'S English; whereas the

English tongue is just a brogue, an' a corruption, an' a _patois_, an' a

dialeck o' the Scotch. And, as Your MAJESTY kens, the hail biggin o'

Your MAJESTY'S language was the wark o' LINDLEY MURRAY, o' wham the

varra name, ilka gowk can tell, belangs to Scotland.

Your Petitioners, therefore, beseech Your MAJESTY that the language o'

Scotland, an' the provinces thereuntill united under the sceptre o' Your

MAJESTY, whilk has heretofore been, as aforesaid, misca'd Your MAJESTY'S

English, may henceforth be rightly, an' truly, an' correckly denominate

the QUEEN'S Scotch. An' furthermair, that Your MAJESTY will be

graciously pleased to direck that the orthography an' etymology o' a'

Britain be just adapted, an' accommodated, an' reconciled to Scottish

institutions an' laws o' grammar; whilk dunna convene wi' thae o'

England, let alane just Suntax an' Prosody.

Your MAJESTY'S Petitioners do also pray that Your MAIST GRACIOUS MAJESTY

will be graciously pleased to command, an' decree, an' ordain that the

term Anglo-Saxon race shall nae langer be applied to the population o'

these Islands, mair especially not to emigrants from Great Britain to

ither kintras, the maist o' wham are Scotch, that gang awa' and dinna

come bock again. And that Your MAJESTY will, by virtue o' your Royal

prerogative, settle and determine that the tribe an' race, until the noo

entitled Anglo-Saxon, shall from this time forth be specified an'

distinguished by the title o' Scoto-Saxon instead.

Likewise your Petitioners do entreat Your MAJESTY that the

communications o' Your MAJESTY'S douce and honest liege subjecks shall

nae mair be denoted by the appellation o' Plain English, but shall, wi'

fit an' due regard to justice an' propriety o' diction, be designated as

Braid Scotch.

Your Petitioners lastly humbly request Your MAJESTY that, gin Your

MAJESTY shall be mindit to hae a decimal coinage, ye wad be sae gude as

to order an' provide that there shall be ane braw bright glitterm bit

chinkie amang the coppers to be ca'd a bawbee.

_And your Petitioners as in duty bound will ever bray, &c._

* * * * *

THE GOOSE CLUBS.

Our eyes are again edified by the announcement so familiar to us at this

season--"A GOOSE CLUB HELD HERE." We really should like to have a set of

the rules of one or more of these Clubs, for we are puzzled to think

what amount of goosedom can be a qualification for membership. Surely

the Peace Society people must be honorary members for life of every

Goose-Club in the kingdom, if merit has its reward, and admittance to a

Goose-Club is to be obtained by personal gooseishness, or a

corresponding amount of quackery. We have heard that the manager of a

certain highly patronised theatre has consulted his solicitor upon the

advertisement of a Goose-Club near Oxford Street, with the view of

ascertaining whether the word goose is meant to apply to himself in a

libellous manner. The legal sage not being prepared, the Goose question

is in abeyance.

* * * * *

REVIEWING.

The review of a young girl's life is frequently like any other review--a

quantity of smoke, and noise, with here and there a red coat seen

through it.

* * * * *

BAD NEWS FOR THE PEACE SOCIETY.

Although we have lost the Hero of a Hundred Fights we are promised a

Sovereign of a thousand _mils_.

* * * * *

A PAPER WAR.--Some monarchs fight for gold; but the CZAR and the SULTAN

are at war about notes.

* * * * *

LETTERS FROM THE BOSPHORUS.

MR. WILLIAM TAYLOR, _of Her Majesty's Bomb, the Thunder_, _to_ MRS.

WILLIAM TAYLOR _of Wapping Wall_.

[Illustration: V]

Vell, u see, Polly, ve wos a getting sicker and sicker of lyin' in

Besicker Bay, wen ve got our sailin' horders, an cum here has fast has

we could drive to help the Muzzlehims. And a rummer lot than them

Muzzlehims, hi never set hies on. For has soon has hever we cum'd to a

hanker, a feller called a Capstan Bashy, wich is all as one as our Port

hadmiral, cums on bord to pay his respex to our capting. And, hinstead

of sayin 'How air yer, old Boy?' or 'Tip us yer daddles my buck,' as a

gentleman would, he makes a bob and stix his great beerd out, and he

sez, sez he 'Sally may lick 'em.' Vell, in coorse you'll think he got

mast-edded for his himperence, but no, he warn't, for our capting were

perwented by resins of state, like the tiger has couldn't get his por

thro the bars of his cage to curry the monkey's hide; so the captin

honely looked sivvil and sez, quite cheerful like, 'Lick' em Sally' wich

wos taint a mouse with tellin the Turk to lick 'em hisself. An then wun

can't be hangry with the poor hignorant fellers as nose no better than

to call their hone hemperor a Paddyshaw, when he haint a Hirishman, nor

his name haint SHAW. And their primeer, who is wun WRETCHED PASHUR, they

calls a Grand Wheezy, and all their chief hossifers they calls Agurs, so

you see they've grate rume for himprovement in the names they gives

peepul. Howsumever their hall werry hot for fitin just now, and goes

about braggin theyr has brave has ROOSTUM, who was a grate cock of the

walk in these parts formerly. Their reglar harmy they calls Nishan, wich

I spose is the short for hammunishan, as I hear their werry strong in

the hartillery line. But they puts most faith in a lot of hold women

called High Ma'ams, which is their parsons, and a parcel of yung fellers

called Softers, wich ansers to hour Hoxfora coves, and hever so many of

these High Ma'ams and Softers air goin to jine the army, and fite for

their profit, as they sez, from wich I conclude they gets good pay. And

if theyr honely harf as plucky as our Chaplin, they may purtect the

Golden Horne, as they calls this place, werry well. But has for us, our

fear is that if they thrashes the Rooshans, the Rooshans wont come here,

an then _we_ shant get no fitin. Howsumdever we kepes up our spirits,

and opes for the best, so no more at present from your luvin husband,

"B. TAYLOR."

* * * * *

FORTUNE-TELLERS FOR NATIONS.

What the _Edinburgh Review_--in a highly superior article on "Church

Parties"--calls the "Prophetic Press," is now in a state of violent

eruption. The volcano in labour, however, brings forth only the bottle

of smoke. You can hardly take up your morning paper without being

invited, in the advertising columns, by some half-dozen several

expositors, to take so many new walks into futurity. The Overthrow of

the Papacy, the Destruction of the Ottoman Empire, the Battle of

Armageddon, the Millennium, demand your attention together with the last

novel, and SOYER'S Pantropheon, and the Propriety of Legalising Marriage

with a Wife's Sister. It is a remarkable circumstance that the gentlemen

who announce these awful things, so calculated to wean the soul from all

earthly solicitudes, do not omit to affix prices to their productions.

Like common Gipsies, these reverend Romany require their hands to be

crossed with silver. This shows that whilst they direct the attention of

others to future certainties, they give no small share of their own to

the main chance. On that account we hesitate to compare them to MOTHER

SHIPTON, who was an old woman, or to NIXON, who was an idiot. Otherwise

we should regard them as common asses, pretending to rank with the ass

of BALAAM.

French, Italian, German, without a Master, are studies not very

generally successful; and the language of prophecy must be rather more

difficult, independently of proper direction. Those who are inclined to

entertain the idea that MR. STIGGINS and MR. CHADBAND are illuminated

expositors of DANIEL and the Apocalypse had better pay a visit to MR.

WYLD'S Great Globe, to acquire, if possible, some enlargement of the

views of the world and the destinies of the human race. The patrons of

the "Prophetic Press" will find it best to await that explanation of

prophecy which is afforded by its fulfilment; but they will have to wait

a long time for any such thing in reference to the commentaries of

CHADBAND and STIGGINS.

To infer the future from the past, however, is to prophesy with some

security. At all crises of the world's history have CHADBANDS and

STIGGINSES applied their prophetic wisdom to the question of the day. At

all those times they have made money--and mistakes. On all similar

occasions in future will they, in precisely the same manner, succeed,

and--fail.

* * * * *

DOLOURS OF ST. DUNSTAN'S IN THE WEST.

Ye citizens of London, who some filial pity feel

For all her noble monuments, give ear to our appeal:

Leave meaner things, the strife of kings, of SULTAN and of CZAR,

And think of perils nearer home--the fate of Temple Bar.

Mad lev'llers shake their axes o'er our venerable gate--

The City's porch, where monarchs proud are told that they must wait:

To make more space for dingy dray, for omnibus and car,

The revolutionary cry is "Down with Temple Bar!"

Utilitarians, stern and cold, who argue, like the goose,

That ev'ry thing is useless which is not of any use,

Bethink you what our plight will be in times of civil jar:--

Where shall we stick our rebels' heads if we've no Temple Bar?

And if our relics, one by one, are thus to disappear,

What shall we have but narrow lanes to tempt a visit here?

How blank and pale will be their cheek, when pilgrims from afar

Shall pace Fleet Street, with pious feet, and see no Temple Bar!

The doom of Smithfield market's sealed;--gone is its ancient fair;

And soon the pomp of LORD MAYOR's show may vanish into air;

Blackfriar's Bridge, pure Puddle Dock, the Monument, and, ah!

Ev'n GOG and MAGOG are not safe--then save poor Temple Bar.

* * * * *

A PEACEFUL SOLICITOR.

A Guildford and guileless solicitor "and a Member of the Peace Society,"

denounces all war as un-Christian. War at _no_ price! He says, the

soldier disobeys the law of Christianity by killing a man. How about the

attorney? Does he obey the Christian law by helping to lock a man up? As

Christians, should we not be of charity and forgiveness all compact?

Does the solicitor make out his bill of costs according to the behest of

the Prince of Peace? Would our solicitor act in a cause of action for

unprovoked and brutal assault? Hardly, if he denounces "the soldier's

bloody calling" on every occasion. What is war but an action?--NICHOLAS

_v._ ABDUL-MEDJID. The Cossack attacks the Turk, and the Turk, whipping

out his scimetar, shaves off the Cossack's head. What is this but an

action--the Cossack, for the first assault, paying righteous costs?

Now, if the enemy were to march to Guildford, would "A Solicitor and a

Member of the Peace Society" open his door to the intruders,

saying--"Enter ye, who are heavy laden with ball-cartridge?"

Does our Solicitor give advice gratis against going to law; even as

benevolent doctors give advice against disease?

* * * * *

MUSIC, MALT, AND HOPS.

Messrs. Bass and Co., the teetotallers will be glad to hear, have

published a circular in the name of the Burton Pale Ale Brewers,

announcing the intention of raising the price of their beer by 6_s_. per

cask. This concert among the Brewers, with a Bass for leader, exhibits

some novelties in harmony. The Bass rises instead of descending in the

scale of price, and by thus increasing in height, will, strange to say,

reach up to Double Bass. One more step will raise it to Treble Bass; but

that will be a contradiction in terms, and absolutely ridiculous.

* * * * *

A Soporific.--Why is the practice of praising children like

opium?--Because it's Laudanum.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE BEARD AND MOUSTACHE MOVEMENT.

_Railway Guard._ "NOW, MA'AM, IS THIS YOUR LUGGAGE?"

_Old Lady (who concludes she is attacked by Brigands)._ "OH YES!

GENTLEMEN, IT'S MINE. TAKE IT--TAKE ALL I HAVE; BUT SPARE, OH SPARE OUR

LIVES!!"]

* * * * *

DR. CANTWELL'S INCOME-TAX MADE EASY.

DR. CANTWELL--by appointment of the POPE, LORD BISHOP OF MEATH--has

written a letter to MR. POLLARD URQUHART, M.P., to inquire how far he,

the said DR. CANTWELL, is liable to the Income-Tax, inasmuch as he

appears to be prohibited, by the Ecclesiastical Titles' Act, from

returning himself under Schedule D as the recipient of any income by the

title of BISHOP OF MEATH. MR. URQUHART, who seems to be the MAWWORM to

the CANTWELL, answers, that he is rejoiced at any incident that has

tended to make more manifest the absurdity of the Ecclesiastical Titles'

Act; but that he is "unable to propound any solution of the difficulty,

and, indeed, thinks it would require a very wise man to do so." In that

opinion he may be correct; nevertheless the problem is very obviously

soluble to _Punch_.

All that DR. CANTWELL--who declares himself "unwilling even to appear to

resist any law, however unjust and oppressive"--all that titular BISHOP

CANTWELL has to do--is simply to return himself as being in the receipt

of an income in this country derived from an office which he holds under

a foreign power. What may be the denomination of that office he need not

state, unless he would wish to contribute to HER MAJESTY'S Exchequer the

fine of a hundred pounds, in addition to the lesser penalty of

sevenpence in the pound.

It is not everybody that _Punch_ would take the trouble of teaching how

to place himself under Schedule D; but really DR. CANTWELL appears so

very anxious to pay his Income-Tax conscientiously, that _Mr. Punch_

cannot deny himself the pleasure of assisting the right reverend

gentleman in the discharge of that agreeable duty.

* * * * *

SYNONYMOUS SLANG.

The opinions of a certain eminent member of the Peace Society respecting

the British Lion are calculated to render the phrase "Honour Bright,"

equivalent in popular estimation to "Hookey Walker."

* * * * *

THE DYE OF GUILT.

The Kentucky Legislature have resolved--

"That the keeper of the Penitentiary shall procure a suitable

chymical dye, such as will stain the skin perfectly black, so that

it cannot be removed, until time shall wear it away, and Nature

furnish a new cuticle or surface."

When the dye is obtained, the nose of each male convict is to be painted

thoroughly black; the paint to be renewed until about to be restored to

the world, when the convict shall be restored to society with a clean

nose. We hardly perceive the moral and social use of this nose-dyeing;

it may also be difficult to obtain the dye of sufficient blackness. In

which case _Punch_ advises Kentucky to apply to MRS. STOWE for the use

of her ink-bottle: for that lady has dyed not only the noses, but the

whole faces of the LEGREES with such well-merited blackness, that Nature

must find them not only new skins, but new hearts, ere they can show

even tolerably white again.

* * * * *

AN ARMY OF RESERVE.

The foreign correspondent of the _Times_ announces that the Porte has

issued an address, "calling on those troops whose courage may fail them

to avow the fact without hesitation, so that they may be employed at a

distance from the scene of combat." For our own parts, having more of

the civil than the military in our composition, we should expect the

invitation to be rather generally responded to, as the scenery of a

combat is of that kind with reference to which "distance lends

enchantment to the view." If the majority of the troops of the Porte

should make a "candid avowal" of their desire to remain at a respectful

distance from the scene of action, the whole affair might become "void

for remoteness"--as the lawyers expressively have it.

* * * * *

AN ARCH IMPOSTOR.--Temple Bar.

* * * * *

[Illustration: A CAUTION TO IMPERIAL BIRDS OF PREY.

_Mr. Bull (to his French Friend)._ "THERE, I DON'T THINK HE'LL WORRY THE

TURKEYS ANY MORE."]

* * * * *

THE PRIDE OF ENGLAND.

(_A slight liberty taken with the "Bride of Abydos"._)

[Illustration]

Know ye the Inn where the laurel and myrtle

Well emblem the green who are done 'neath its sign?

Where they serve you on plate which is mock as their turtle,

Now fleecing the tourist, now maddening the _Times_?

Know ye the shams of that ill-managed house,

Where the host ever bows, and the bills ever chouse;

Where the "wax-lights" that don't half illumine your room

Give a muttonish rather than waxy perfume;

Where, although you don't see half a waiter all day,

For "attendance" as much as a lawyer's you pay,

And find even then there's an extra for "Boots:"

Nor the porters in asking for liquids are mutes;

Where your "bottle of Sherry" (Cape, under disguise,)

Scarce equals the vinegar-cruet in size,

And analysation completely defies;

Where the sofas are soft as yourself if you dine

At eight shillings a head--perchance even nine,

With the heaviest price for the lightest of wine?--

'Tis the English Hotel: and 'tis twenty to one

That, where'er you may enter it, brown you'll be done.

For more than e'en _Punch_ in a volume could tell,

Are the shams they serve there, and the victims they sell.

* * * * *

OUR TOURIST IN PARIS.--No. 10

If there is a point upon which an Englishman can dwell with pride, it is

the high character of the English press. He will never be more impressed

with this than when he turns over the French journals and examines the

matter of which they are made up. A little foreign politics, Paris

scandal, theatrical criticism, and a chapter of a vile novel. Fancy

taking up the _Times_ and finding, instead of three solid leading

articles, a portion of _Jack Sheppard_, or _The Mysteries of the Court

of St. James_, the debates cut down to an analysis, and no home or

foreign correspondence! The change would hardly be made agreeable to him

by the fact that the milk-and-water or poisonous contributions that did

appear were guaranteed by the name of the author of each, and that its

only polemics were waxed by some individual SMITH _eo nomine_, against

some individual BROWN of another paper. Yet this prosecution against

libel is recommended by a public person (I was nearly saying a

statesman), who is "by way of being" a patriot, but wants to have a

monopoly of influence and vituperation in his own hands. However, it is

happily not of the least consequence what that disinterested politician

wants, for he certainly will not get it, as we cannot afford to part

with our Fourth Estate just yet, and suspect the motives of any one who

advises us to do so.

The Tourist makes these reflections with a little bitterness as he sits

in a _cafe_ waiting for breakfast. A beautiful lady, with a ravishing

little cap on the back of her head, is sitting at the receipt of custom.

Two or three smart waiters with long clean aprons are bustling about in

attendance on an elderly benevolent looking gentleman, with an

impediment in his French, who has ultimately succeeded in ordering a

_chop de mutton_ and _une bottel de Stout de Dublin_, solacing himself

meanwhile with _Galignani's Messenger_. Through a door is seen another

saloon, where bearded men are drinking _eau sucre_ and _liqueurs_.

The sage waiting for his chocolate turns again to the journals, and

gratifies himself by picking out the places where THEOPHILE or ALPHONSE

or EUGENE pitches into the English. What a useful thing it is to see

ourselves as others see us! We find out so much that we were ignorant

of. Your Tourist candidly confesses that he had no notion of the

wickedness and absurdity of his countrymen, or even of their manners and

customs, or the very localities of the country, until he read them,

detailed, in the pleasing pages of French feuilletonists. Until he read

M. MERY'S English sketches, he was ignorant, and he boldly affirms that

many others are ignorant too, of such common facts as that English

gentlemen hire post-captains in the Royal Navy to sail their yachts;

that Greenwich hospital is a retreat for old soldiers; and that the late

DUKE OF WELLINGTON, when COLONEL WELLESLEY, was Governor-General of

India. He has selected one _feuilleton_, entitled "SIR JOHN BULL _a

Paris_," for its masterly exposure of British foibles. It will be sent

to you, translated by his little brother at DR. SWISHAM'S, Turnhambrown,

who has made great progress in French, and is sure to do it justice. DR.

S. says the boy's English is remarkably pure and idiomatic. The author

is the well-known HIPPOLYTE CANARD, whose _bon mots_ are so successful,

and who wrote the noble apology for the massacres of February, which

gave such umbrage to the present despicable Government.

"I walk myself on the Boulevart. All the world regards me in smiling.

And for what? It is true that I have the insular air, at one time

respectable and ferocious. I carry the long _redingote_, the scarlet

waistcoat, the pantaloon of nankeen, and the umbrella, peculiar to the

sons of Albion. JOHN, my jockey, follows me clad in the traditional

costume which recalls the courses of Derby and Newmarket. With one hand

he holds '_the Times_,' this journal so powerful with which the

'gentlemens' voyage everywhere. With the other he retains my _bouledog_,

charming little beast, who testifies a lively desire to eat the calves

of the passengers. By what it seems, he recognises his hereditary

enemies.

"A sun of spring gilds with his young rays the boughs of the noble trees

that like a scarf of green velvet border this so delicious promenade.

These good Parisians, veritable children of light and heat, sit at

tables outside the Coffee of Paris and the Coffee of the Cardinal, and,

refreshed by floods of sugar-and-water, play the national game of

dominoes. Cigars, fabricated of a tobacco denied to our sterile soil,

regale the nostrils with their astonishing perfume. Young and beautiful

ladies, dressed with an extreme elegance, attract upon themselves

admiring regards. Crowds of nurses lead children with heads of angel,

and hear all in blushing the compliments of soldiers in a red pantaloon.

In effect there is not but the braves who merit the belles.

"All respires gaiety, and however I feel my heart moved by a profound

sadness. Rhum and gin drunk at long draughts in the English manner fail

of their effect and inspire me with but a lugubrious gaiety. I am exiled

from all I love. I remember my youth spent among the solitary thickets

of Brompton and of Bethnal, and the savage mountains of Middlesex. I

miss the sport, the box, the chase with guns, the combats of dogs and

cocks. I long for my native land, its porter-beer, its rosbif, its

eternal mists, and its polismens. I have gained the spleen.

"Fatal and mysterious malady, which on the banks of the Thames produces

effects so desolating! It is to thee that we owe those numerous suicides

of which the frightful details encumber our journals, a veritable black

page in the history of England. I hear on all sides a confused mixture

of strange voices, and the bizarre accents of the French tongue. It is

an affair of Babel. I am struck with a vertigo.

"When JULES DE PREMARAY, writer of the first force, visited Albion, he

was oppressed by a similar melancholy. He sighed for something of

French, a word even. Suddenly an ass began to bray, '_A la bonne

heure_,' exclaimed he with joy, '_en voila un qui parle Francais_.' He

knew his brother and was glad. It is not long before I receive an equal

consolation.

"I meet LORD JONES, who comes from selling Miladi according to the usage

a little severe of the English _noblesse_, and has the air of being

pleased to find himself again a boy. With him is his son SIR JONES,

simple baronet, who has completed his studies at the ancient college of

Cambridge. I know them amidst the crowd by their stiffness, their

whiskers, their enormous white cravats, their hats with narrow borders,

reposed on the backs of their heads. It must be confessed our

compatriots have not the elegant _tournure_ and mien full of distinction

carried by the grand nation.

As I make my compliments to Milord, a movement of the crowd denotes

something of interest. We advance, followed always by the faithful JOHN.

I see a sight which recalls the innocent games of my country. Two cocks

combatted with indomitable fury. Their eyes sparkled like ardent coals.

They leaped by force of wings and tore themselves with beak and claw. It

was a spectacle to make fear, a strife to death! At length one fell. The

other, victor but bleeding, mounted on the corpse and chaunted his hymn

of triumph. My eyes wet themselves with tears.

"Wagram, Marengo, Austerlitz," said, with _brusquerie_, a soldier who

observed my emotion.

"'Waterloo,' I proudly answered.

"'BLUCHER, SIR LOWE,' rejoined he, with dignity.

"I bite my lips."

* * * * *

ADIEU, THOU DREARY PILES!

Every one admits that Westminster Bridge is tumbling to pieces, and yet,

strange to say, the evil report of the structure is scarcely to be

credited, for there is the weakest possible foundation to go upon.

* * * * *

WOMEN'S RIGHTS--MEN'S NOSES.

The female members, advocating Women's Rights in New York, have had a

terrific engagement with LLOYD GARRISON and others on the subject of

Christianity. Peace, love, and humility dissolved "in a grand row." The

ladies could not convince LLOYD GARRISON; and so one of their male

champions pulled his nose! This is truly the _argumentum ad hominem_. A

man's skull may be so dense that not even female arguments piercingly

delivered may penetrate to his brain; but if arguments be too subtle,

there is still the convincing thumb and finger. Missing a man's

conviction, the next noblest appeal to his reason is, unquestionably, to

pull his nose! We hear that a pair of silver gauntlets have been

presented by the Christian ladies to their champion who pulled the nose

of the stout GARRISON. Indeed, he pulled it so vigorously, it was at

first thought he had quite carried it.

* * * * *

BURGLARY AND BRONCHITIS PREVENTED.

[Illustration]

According to the ingenious MR. JEFFREYS, nobody should be without a

respirator in his hand to clap on his own mouth by way of extinguisher

to an incipient cough, or to pop on any unfortunate child who exhibits a

tendency to choke. The respirator seems to be of two kinds; the one

simply oral, which is calculated to check equally the wheeze of asthma

or the whistle of age, and the other, ori-nasal, adapted to nose and

mouth, so as to make it impossible either to sneeze or to snore.

According to the assertion of the inventor the Respirator is, in fact, a

warm climate for five and sixpence; a portable Madeira that may be

always put to the mouth like an inexhaustible bottle, at the mere price

of the wine. Many gentlemen and ladies seem to have been starting for

warmer latitudes--one individual seems to have been on the top of the

'bus bound, _via_ Paddington, for Barbadoes, when, somebody having

recommended him a Respirator, he descended from the knife-board of a

City Atlas, rushed into a shop, where he laid out a few shillings, and

became the fortunate possessor of a warm climate, to be put on or taken

off _ad libitum_.

[Illustration]

But perhaps the most valuable feature of the Respirator has been

hitherto overlooked, for it is as a defence against Burglary rather than

Bronchitis, that it will obtain the highest renown. Let any family go to

bed wearing Respirators, and we defy the boldest burglar to execute his

purpose if the family should be disturbed. JACK SHEPPARD himself, or any

other romantic ruffian, would start back with terror at the aspect of a

household armed all in Respirators, and presenting such a picture as one

of our artists has supplied. Or suppose the midnight marauder to have

made his way into the bed-room of a pair of parents lying with an infant

between them, the entire domestic trio wearing the frightful appendage

invented by MR. JEFFREYS, we are convinced that the panic-stricken

miscreant would shrink out of the "Chamber of Horrors," and proceed to

give himself up to justice at the nearest Police Station. We are

convinced that a Respirator would be as effectual in frightening away

burglars as a blunderbuss, or, rather, as an air-gun, to which, from its

effect on the breathing, the instrument may be aptly compared.

* * * * *

THE FAST MEN OF EDINBURGH.

LORD PALMERSTON--through his secretary--has administered a very

wholesome rebuke to certain of the Presbytery of Edinburgh yearning,

hungering for a fast, to stay the scourge of the Cholera. His Lordship

suggests instead of fasting, washing. Eat your daily bread, says his

Lordship, only take plenty of soap with it. Attend to your own

dinner-table, as usual, only see that those places--

"Which are inhabited by the poorest classes, and which, from the

nature of things, must most need purification and improvement, may

be freed from those causes and sources of contagion which, if

allowed to remain, will infallibly breed pestilence, and be fruitful

in death, in spite of all the prayers and fastings of a united but

inactive nation. When man has done his utmost for his own safety,

then is the time to invoke the blessing of Heaven to give effect to

his exertions."

Surely, this is very true. Prayers, however, earnest, will not sweeten a

common sewer. Folks who fast for a long day will hardly do as much to

remove the causes of Cholera, as even folks with brooms. An empty belly

is scarcely so efficacious for the removal of disease as a clean Wynd.

Whitewashed walls are surely quite as good, if not better, than lank

jaws, pale with mortification. All Edinburgh wants a sweet clean shirt

next a clean skin--not a shirt of penitential bristles, clothing (with

hairy piety) a dirty hide. First do your best--says PALMERSTON--and then

ask a blessing on it. For the days of miracles are over. The deadly reek

of sewers is not to be turned into airs from Heaven, though the most

pious MALACHI MALAGROWTHER shall, for a long day and night, go without

his porridge for it!

When you have worked, then it is good to ask a blessing on the labour.

But hands first--and then, knees.

* * * * *

A LOST LETTER.

An advertisement has appeared in the _Times_, headed "Wanted, Left off

Clothing!" and directing the possessors of such articles to apply to

"MR. 'AKED." Looking to the character of the want expressed, one would

imagine that by some typographical error the initial letter of the

gentleman's name had been omitted.

* * * * *

AN UNERRING BILLIARD PLAYER.

How can the POPE get anybody to play billiards with him, unless he gets

a Protestant, or a heathen? Who else would expect to have any chance

with Infallibility?

* * * * *

RATHER TOO NICE.

A strict business man of our acquaintance is so extremely particular in

all his transactions, that since the new Act came in force, he never has

been known to pay a compliment, without insisting upon taking a stamped

receipt.

* * * * *

THE GOD HYMEN TO THE DEMI-GOD _PUNCH_.

"_Saffron Hill, Olympus. Prid. Id. Oct._

[Illustration: W]

Well beloved, joyful am I to see you Britons--_penitus toto divisos orbe

Britannos_, as a friend near me says--returning or relapsing into

Paganism. So my altar, 'the altar of HYMEN,' is at last erected in your

places of worship, is it? I had doubted whether the news could be true;

but I now read the statement so repeatedly in the _Morning Herald_, who

asserts herself to be the only exponent of religion (and Irish grammar),

that I doubt no longer The 'Hymeneal ceremony' is constantly performed

by your priests--so I read. OLYMPUS rejoices--we all rejoice. My father,

APOLLO, has composed a capital song in honour of your conversion; and my

respected mother, URANIA, is making a new star, which will be hung out

in a few nights in commemoration of the same. But, Well-beloved, there

is a good saying by PERIANDER of Corinth, '_Prius intellige, et deinde

ad opus accede._' The 'Hymeneal Ceremonies' ought to be performed

accurately and properly, if at all, or JUNO (between ourselves, a

stuck-up party) will show little favour to the nuptials. Instruct your

priests and officials, Well-beloved, and let us gods shortly read in the

_Morning Herald_, that you are not content with foolishly applying Pagan

phrases to Christian facts, but that you are consistent. Something like

the following, eh?

"_S. dicit_,

"Yours very faithfully, HYMEN."

* * * * *

MARRIAGE RITES IN HIGH LIFE.

(_From the Morning Herald._)

The long talked of espousals of LORD JULIUS FITZMARLINGSPIKE and the

lovely and accomplished ROSA AUGUSTA, youngest daughter of his Grace the

DUKE OF BOPPS, have at length come off. Some delay was occasioned by the

gentlemen of the long robe, but the _Sponsalia_ having been finally

perused and settled by the eminent barrister CHRYSOSTOM SILVERTONGUE,

Q.C., were engrossed on the _Legitimae Tabellae_, and were sealed on

WODEN'S day last. LORD JULIUS took the opportunity of presenting his

betrothed with a splendid _Annulus Pronubus_ of diamonds alternating

with emeralds, expressly manufactured by the talented jewellers, RUNT

and HOSKELL. There was a difficulty in fixing the marriage day, there

being so many unlucky days, and _Atri_, in this month's kalendar, and

_Salii_ and the _Parentalia_ festivals approaching. But yesterday having

been selected, the lovely bride was dressed in a long white robe

bordered with purple fringe, or embroidered ribbons (we could hardly say

which), bound with a girdle of wool, and tied, of course, with the

time-honoured _Nodus Herculeus_. Her face was covered with a

flame-coloured veil, denoting modesty, and her beautiful hair having

been divided into six locks with the point of a spear (kindly lent from

the New Zealand Museum), was crowned with flowers supplied from a

well-known _bouquetiere_ in Covent Garden. Her shoes were of the same

colour as her veil. The auspices had been duly consulted, and a very

fine hog having been sacrificed to JUNO (the animal was supplied from

the long-established styes of MESSRS. CHITTERLINGS AND CO.), the omens

from its inside were pronounced very favourable. We must not omit to

record a _bon mot_ of the bride, which shows that she possesses all the

wit for which her _spirituel_ family has been so long celebrated. On the

question at the espousals being put to her, "_An spondes?_" she

instantly replied, with an arch smile, "_Spondeo, sed nomen meum non

est_ ANNE." The marriage ceremony was performed at the house of the DUKE

OF BOPPS, but in the evening the bride was conducted to her husband's

_domus_. Three boys, whose parents were alive, attended her, two holding

her by the arms, and one flourishing a link, which we regret was made

the subject of ribald remark by the other boys in the street. The

maid-servants followed with distaff, spindle, and wool, and a boy from

the Lowther Arcade bore the playthings--the _crepundia_--for the family

with which it is to be hoped ROSA will be blessed. The boys let off more

than usually good _sales et couvicia_, which is accounted for by _Mr.

Punch_ having kindly undertaken to supply the jokes for the day. On

arriving in Park Lane, the house of LORD FITZMARLINGSPIKE was found

tastefully adorned with leaves and flowers, and the rooms with tapestry.

ROSA, being asked by LORD JULIUS who she was, replied, in a firm voice,

"_Ubi tu_ CAIUS, _ibi ego_ CAIA," and immediately bound the door-posts

with woollen fillets, supplied by MADAME CRINOLINE, of Bond Street. She

was lifted over the threshold, touched fire and water--a wax lucifer and

some _Eau de Cologne_ doing the symbolic duty--the nuptial song, written

by M. CATNACH, and composed by M. COSTA, was sung; LORD JULIUS scattered

nuts (best Barcelona, from SHADRACK'S) among the boys; and then several

matrons, who had been married but once (the HON. MRS. JONES, the HON.

MRS. BROWN, and the HON. MRS. ROBINSON), singing all the way, conducted

the happy bride to the nuptial bower, which was erected in the hall, and

covered with flowers. Young women sang outside the house until midnight,

when they were ordered off by the Police. The second entertainment, the

_Nepotia_, will be given this day. We should add that the ceremony was

impressively performed by the HON. and REV. PONTIFEX MAXIMUS, assisted

by the HARUSPEX BOBBUS MONTGOMERIENSIS.

* * * * *

PLAYHOUSE PEGS.

[Illustration: T]

The _Morning Post_, by a Correspondent, begs to call the earnest

attention of an emotional public to the use and abuse of a wooden peg at

the Princess's Theatre, "for the accommodation of a lady's bonnet." That

bonnets are the source of a multitude of evils is a truth that every

married man will not, for a moment, hesitate to avouch; however HENRY or

AUGUSTUS--not yet married--may hypocritically venture to dispute. Now a

bonnet at the Princess's Theatre--according to the _Post_

correspondent--carries with it a peculiar worth: namely, price sixpence.

On the 25th instant at half-past 9, the dress-circle of the Princess's

"less than half-full," a lady was required to give up her bonnet. Well

and good. That bonnet was hung upon a peg. As bonnets are now worn, a

bonnet, for that matter, might be hung upon nothing. When the bonnet was

reclaimed, the complaining gentleman proffered 4_d._, which was

"indignantly rejected. Nothing less than sixpence could be taken;" which

being given, the gentleman remarks commercially "that 6_d._ per evening

is too heavy a rate to exact for the use of a peg."

By no means. At least, not at the Princess's Theatre: there, the whole

management is a management of pegs. What is poor BYRON made of, but a

peg--a mere peg--whereon to hang the fine clothes of a _Sardanapalus_?

Plays, as mere plays, are not to be thought of; but pegs--pegs that will

hold any number of fine suits, any weight of canvas. In fact, the peg is

the play.

To return to the bonnet peg, it may be advisable for good

housewives--visiting the Princess's--to follow the advice of MISS

MARTINEAU to travellers. She says: Fail not to take a few gimblets; they

serve on board ship admirably for pegs. Perhaps the manager of the

Princess's will make it known in future bills whether ladies with

bonnets visiting his theatre may be permitted to bring their own

gimblets.

* * * * *

A DEVOURING FLAME.

Three removes, it is said, are as bad as a fire; but a fire is not so

bad as an extravagant woman, by many removes. The one simply burns you

out of house, but the other, if she is your wife, burns you out of both

house and home; and then again, you may put out the former, but, as long

as you have a place to live in, you have no chance of putting out the

latter.

* * * * *

AWFUL CALAMITY IN BASS'S BREWERY.

Last week ten thousand barrels of ale--(just advanced 6 _s._ per

barrel)--in BASS'S brewery were turned sour by the thunder of--the

_Times_.

* * * * *

SCANDAL-MONGERS should take timely warning from the Chinese Rebellion,

before the same law is enforced in England as in China; the summary

punishment being instantly inflicted on every person who is convicted of

being a _tale-bearer_.

* * * * *

A SOVEREIGN REMEDY (_for Bankrupts and Insolvents_).--Paying twenty

shillings in the Pound.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE MOUSTACHE MOVEMENT.

_Railway Official (waking Old Gent from a sweet sleep)._ "TICKETS,

PLEASE!"]

* * * * *

EVERY CONVICT HIS OWN CHESTERFIELD.

MR. JOHN MITCHEL--by the astute and graceful manner with which he

resigned his "comparative liberty," revoking his "parole of

honour"--displayed a politeness that would have charmed LORD

CHESTERFIELD, and a casuistry that would have ravished IGNATIUS LOYOLA.

Determined upon escaping from bondage--(for which we say the smallest

blame to him)--he nevertheless resolved to escape like a gentleman. He

would resign his "comparative liberty" gracefully, as a bride resigns

her hand--he would revoke his parole smilingly, as a high-bred

cardplayer would revoke at whist. He enters the police-office--walks

into the magistrate's room--gives him a bit of paper. "What's this?"

asks the magistrate. "That's to signify," says JOHN MITCHEL, "that you

may chain me--lock me up." "May I, indeed!" cried the magistrate. "You

may," answers the magnanimous patriot; who, disdaining to take the least

advantage, bolts from the court, jumps on a horse ready saddled for the

work, and gallops his hardest.

We have heard of splitting a hair; but never before was word of

man--parole of honour--broken with such nicety. The flaw is so delicate,

it is hard to say where it begins or ends. In future, perhaps, when an

Irish convict gentleman waits upon an Australian magistrate, to

surrender, on paper, his "comparative liberty," the magistrate, before

perusing the document, will take the precaution of shutting the

office-door.

* * * * *

THE MILKY WAY IN LANCASHIRE.

Many of the farmers about Preston are giving their cows apples, in

consequence of that fruit being more plentiful, and so much cheaper,

than potatoes. We wonder whether this difference of diet produces any

difference in the milking; and whether a cow, so fed, instead of

yielding so many pints of milk, gives now so many bottles of cider; or

whether it was a combination of both--a sort of milk-cider? In the cause

of temperance, we pause for a reply.

* * * * *

CALEDONIAN FIDDLE-DE-DEE.--The irritation of the Scotch agitators may be

only skin-deep, but the disorder nevertheless may prove contagious.

* * * * *

PAYING CULPRITS THROUGH THE NOSE.

[Illustration: W]

We see that old Kentucky is going ahead in the practice of humanity

towards an unfortunate and degraded class of beings. Witness the _New

York Journal of Commerce_, which contains the subjoined paragraph:--

"MARKING CONVICTS.--A resolution has been introduced into the

Kentucky Legislature, which provides 'that the keeper of the

Penitentiary shall procure a suitable chymical dye, such as shall

stain the cuticle or outer surface of the skin perfectly black, so

that it cannot be washed off, or in any way removed until time shall

wear it away, and Nature furnish a new cuticle or surface; and that

with this dye he shall have the nose of each male convict painted

thoroughly black, and renew the application as often as it may be

necessary to keep it so until within one month of the expiration of

his sentence, when it shall be discontinued for the purpose of

permitting Nature to restore the feature to its original hue

preparatory to the second advent of its owner into the world.'"

It has long been the reproach of America that she has one law for the

blacks, and another for the whites. This is in one sense the case in

Kentucky; but there the advantage is on the side of the blacks. It is

quite obvious that the project for staining the noses of malefactors

black would not be feasible in the case of negroes: at least, in that

case, it would be a scheme analogous to that of gilding refined gold, if

not of painting the lily. That equal justice might lay hold of the

nigger's nose, it would be necessary to resort to a converse expedient,

and colour the African proboscis white. But for this purpose nothing

could be used but a mere pigment; for Chemistry does not supply any

substance which would have the effect of bleaching, even temporarily,

the blackamoor's skin. If that science could afford such a cosmetic, it

would emancipate several millions of persons in America, who are

deprived of their liberty and their rights as men for no other crime

than their complexion, but who might obtain their freedom as easily as

insolvent debtors if they could only manage to procure some sort of wash

by which they might be whitewashed.

* * * * *

A THEATRICAL TITLES' BILL WANTED.

We have had an Ecclesiastical Titles' Bill to prevent things from being

called by any but their right names; and we are now about to suggest the

passing of a Theatrical Titles' Bill, with the view of putting a stop to

an assumption of certain high-sounding styles and dignities in the

dramatic world, which are becoming offensive to the common sense of our

countrymen. "His Eminence," as applied to CARDINAL WISEMAN, may be

ridiculous enough, but it is even still more absurd, when usurped as it

is, by a number of so-called "eminent" tragedians. There is scarcely a

theatrical hole or corner in London that does not advertise its

possession of the services of some "eminent" individual, whose

"mummeries" are quite as objectionable as those complained of in the

Popish priesthood. We suspect, however, that some of the objectionable

titles are conferred on the parties without their own consent; and we

feel convinced that our honest friend, MR. JOHN COOPER--the comic

representative of _Henry the Eighth_, and the original _Bumps_ in

_Turning the Tables_--can never have given his adhesion to the bigotry

and superstition of Exeter Hall, whose concert conductors have

advertised him as the "eminent tragedian."

* * * * *

HUNTING FIXTURES.

BARON ROTHSCHILD'S Hounds will meet on the Banks of the Danube.

* * * * *

CRUEL TREATMENT OF THE POOR AND LOWLY.

[Illustration: A]

Although we are aware that the contemplated evil will be perpetrated too

late for the interference of _Punch_: nevertheless, for the sake of

future coachmen and footmen of future Lord Mayors, we must indignantly

protest against the cruelty exercised by LORD MAYOR SIDNEY on his

hapless vassals! Will it be believed that--with the City corporation in

_articulo mortis_--the Lord Mayor's coachman and footmen are for the

first time to be "in rich Genoa velvet!" The colour a beautiful

gunpowder green, "with a scarlet bordering of the same material!" There

are moreover to be "hundreds of yards of gold lace," the pattern

continuous sprigs of the tea-plant! "Gorgeous aiguillettes of unusual

length" (according to the ears of the corporation) "terminating with

rich bullion balls;" an improvement that might have been reserved for

any future Lord Pawnbroker. "In addition to the rich bullion wings on

the shoulders"--the left arm will bear the family crest. Only think of

JEAMES with wings! How beautifully does the notion illustrate MILTON!--

"So dear to Heav'n is humble May'ralty,

That when a SIDNEY'S found sincerely so

A thousand liveried angels lacquey him!"

Besides the wings, the gorgeous creatures will carry SIDNEY'S arms and

crest, "a porcupine with six mullions!" The porcupine has quills of real

gold--no other quills being used in the SIDNEY ledger. In addition to

this, the hats of coachman and footmen will be constructed in the form

of magnificent tea-pots; made of solid silver, thickly gilt.

All this is very splendid; but what is to become of the poor men, their

year of glory out? Two of the footmen--after only trying on their

wings--gave signs of incipient insanity; declaring they "felt themselves

all over cherubims and no mistake." If, in November, 1854, three of

these winged flunkies be found perfectly sane, LORD SIDNEY may be

thankful. In the meanwhile, can he ever pass Bedlam, without a tender

feeling for the future destiny of his footmen and coachman?

Certain civic enthusiasts glorify LORD SIDNEY for the grandeur that

seems to be intended as a fine defiance--like a gilt lion--of the

Corporation Commission. The cause for which SIDNEY bleeds in his

tailor's bill is, no doubt, a cause very dear to aldermen and

councilmen; and it is expected that, emulating his Lordship, they will

on the present ninth--as it may be the _last_ show--die gloriously;

dying like dolphins in surpassing colours.

Meanwhile, we trust that a watchful eye will be kept upon the angelic

footmen and archangelic coachman. What have they done, poor fellows!

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