Punch - Volume 25 (Jul-Dec 1853) by Various






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On Christmas Eve, MR. PUNCH, on the strength--or, rather, length--of a Message from PRESIDENT PIERCE, visited her Majesty QUEEN MAB. He was received by a most courteous Dream-in-Waiting, who introduced him through the Gate of Horn, whence, as COLONEL SIBTHORP beautifully remarks,

"Veris facilis datur exitus Umbris."

Dream-World was merrily keeping its Yule-tide, with shadowy Sports and dissolving Pastimes. As MR. PUNCH entered, the Game was


The LADY BRITANNIA was enthroned, Mistress of the Revel, and her golden apron was heaped with Pledges. The owners, a miscellaneous group, awaited the sentence of penalties.

Down, at a smile-signal from the Lady in the Chair, down went the broad brow of MR. PUNCH, to repose on her knee, while Kings, and Ministers, and Hierarchs, and Demagogues came rustling round to listen.


"Answer, dear MR. PUNCH," said the Lady in the Chair. "You always say exactly what I wish said."

"The Owner," said MR. PUNCH, "will retire." And the EARL OF ABERDEEN, who had forfeited Public Confidence, withdrew, and BRITANNIA murmured her intense satisfaction with the proceeding.

The next forfeit was called. "The Owner," said the oracle, "will go down upon his knees, will, in all abjectness of humiliation, beg pardon of all the world, and will humbly deposit his purse at the foot of the Ottoman nearest to him." A heavy tread, and the EMPEROR OF ALL THE RUSSIAS sullenly stalked away, sooner than thus redeem his Honour.

The third forfeit. "The Owner will find a Lady, whose well-omened Christian name is VICTORIA, and to her he will recite some verses, of his own making, in praise of Chobham and Spithead." "I am not much of a poet," said MR. COBDEN, "but if my Friend, BRIGHT, will help me, I will gladly so redeem my Blunder."

The fourth. "A poor Foreigner," whispered the over-kindly Lady, but MR. PUNCH sternly buttoned his pockets. "The Owner will behave with common honesty until further notice." A gentleman in a Spanish costume looked surprised at such a desire, and said that he did not care whether he did or did not redeem his Bonds.

The fifth was called, and a light step approached, and somebody was heard humming a melody of TOM MOORE'S. "The Owner," said MR. PUNCH, "will carry three times through the chamber something to help you, Madam, to hear your own voice better." LORD JOHN RUSSELL smiled, and said that he hoped his Reform Bill would so redeem his Promise.

And the Dream--it is dream fashion--grew confused, but MR. PUNCH thinks there was a scramble for the rest of the things, and that everybody snatched what he could. MR. GLADSTONE, seizing, with tax-gatherer's gripe, what he thought was a work on Theology, got "The Whole Duty--off Paper." EMPEROR LOUIS NAPOLEON departed very happy with a Cradle. LORD PALMERSTON went out, angry with a Scotch Compass, which though only just out of the Trinity House, had an abominable bias to N.E. POPE PIUS ran about most uncomfortably, apprehending the loss of a French Watch and Guard, to go without which would, His Holiness said, be his ruin. MR. DISRAELI made several vain grabs at a portfolio, which BRITANNIA, laughing good-natured scorn, refused to let him have; and when the EARL OF DERBY tried for the same thing, she presented him with a Racing Game, as more suitable to his capabilities. Several Aldermen, who had presented specimens of Mendacity, received packets of tickets, inscribed Mendicity, to everybody's delight, and there was a cheer for a bold Bishop, who had put down a Carriage and was content to take up a little Gig. Another Bishop--he had a Fulham cut--found his mitre, but some one, in unseemly satire, had surmounted it with a golden and most vivacious Weathercock.

"And what would _you_ put down, dear MR. PUNCH," said the Lady of the Revel, "if we began again?"

"This, dear Lady," said MR. PUNCH, gracefully bending, and proffering an object at which the eyes of BRITANNIA sparkled like diamonds, "this--which--as your game is over, I will pray you to keep in pledge that, six months hence, I will present you with its still richer successor."

And BRITANNIA--the smile at her heart reflected in her face--accepted



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First Lord of the Treasury EARL OF ABERDEEN. Lord Chancellor LORD CRANWORTH. Chancellor of the Exchequer RIGHT HON. W. E. GLADSTONE. President of the Council EARL GRANVILLE. Lord Privy Seal DUKE OF ARGYLL. Home Office VISCOUNT PALMERSTON. Foreign Office EARL OF CLARENDON. Colonial Office DUKE OF NEWCASTLE. Admiralty RIGHT HON. J. R. G. GRAHAM, BART. Board of Control RIGHT HON. SIR C. WOOD, BART. Secretary at War RIGHT HON. SIDNEY HERBERT. First Commissioner of Works, &c. RIGHT HON. SIR W. MOLESWORTH, BART. Without Office LORD JOHN RUSSELL Without Office MARQUESS OF LANSDOWNE.

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The unjust demands of the EMPEROR OF RUSSIA on the Ottoman Porte, and his subsequent occupation of the Danubian Principalities, occupied the earnest attention of the Parliament and the people throughout the year, and was the occasion of much inquiry and discussion.

We cannot do better than add a summary of LORD JOHN RUSSELL's Speech, towards the close of the Session, in explanation of the position of affairs:--

"When he entered office, he said, his attention was called to the question of the Holy Places; and he instructed LORD COWLEY, at Paris, to give the subject his earnest attention. Soon after he, LORD JOHN RUSSELL, learned that a special Russian Minister would be sent to the SULTAN, to put an end, by some solemn act, to the differences that existed with regard to the Holy Places. He did not object to that; and PRINCE MENSCHIKOFF arrived at Constantinople on the 2nd of March. From this point, LORD JOHN RUSSELL went over the subsequent events--the resignation of FUAD EFFENDI; the message of COLONEL ROSE To ADMIRAL DUNDAS, sent at the request of the Grand Vizier, and subsequently retracted; and the notification by the Turkish Ministers to LORD STRATFORD, in April, that certain propositions had been made to them to which they were unwilling to accede. 'I should say,' continued he, 'that up to this time the Government of HER MAJESTY at home, and Her Majesty's Minister at St. Petersburg, had always understood that the demands to be made by Russia had reference to the Holy Places; and were all comprised, in one form or another, in the desire to render certain and permanent the advantages to which Russia thought herself entitled in favour of persons professing the Greek religion. LORD STRATFORD understood from the Turkish Ministers, that it had been much desired by the Russian Ambassador that the requests which were made on the part of Russia should be withheld from the knowledge of the representatives of the other Powers of Europe; and these fresh demands were as new to the Government of France as they were to the Government of HER MAJESTY.' The propositions were changed from time to time, until PRINCE MENSCHIKOFF gave in his ultimatum, and left Constantinople. 'I consider that this circumstance was one very greatly to be regretted. It has always appeared to me, that, on the one side and the other, there were statements that would be admitted, while there were others that might be the subject of compromise and arrangement. The Russian Minister maintained that Russia had, by certain treaties (especially by the treaties of Kainardji and Adrianople) the right to expect that the Christians in the Turkish territory would be protected; and he declared at the same time, that Russia did not wish in any manner to injure the independence or integrity of the Turkish Empire. The Sultan's Ministers, on their part, maintained that it was their duty, above all things, to uphold the independence of the Sultan, and to require that nothing should be acceded to which would be injurious to his dignity or would derogate from his rights; but at the same time, they declared that it was the intention of the Sultan to protect his Christian subjects, and to maintain them in the rights and privileges which they had enjoyed under the edicts of former Sultans. Such being the statements on the two sides, I own it appears to me that the withdrawal of the Russian mission from Constantinople, accompanied as that measure was by the preparation of a large Russian force, both military and naval, on the frontiers of Turkey, was a most unfortunate step, and has naturally caused very great alarm to Europe, while it has imposed great sacrifices both upon Turkey and upon the Turkish provinces adjoining Russia.' These appearances became so serious that the fleet was ordered to approach the Dardanelles; the French fleet advanced at the same time; and the Russians entered the Principalities. This, Turkey had an undoubted right to consider a _casus belli_; but France and England induced the Sultan to forego that right, thinking it desirable to gather up the broken threads of negotiation, and strive for some arrangement for maintaining peace. The French Minister for Foreign Affairs--'a gentleman whose talents, moderation, and judgment it is impossible too greatly to admire'--drew up a note, omitting what was objectionable on both sides. The Austrian Government, which had previously declined to enter on a conference, changed its views when the Russians occupied the Principalities, and COUNT BUOL took the proposal of M. DROUYN DE LHUYS as a basis for a note. This note was agreed to by the Four Powers; and the EMPEROR OF RUSSIA had accepted it, considering that his honour would be saved, and his objects attained, if that note was signed by the Turkish Minister.

"Supposing that note 'to be finally agreed upon by Russia and Turkey as the communication which shall be made by Turkey, there will still remain the question of the evacuation of the Principalities. It is quite evident, Sir, that no settlement can be satisfactory which does not include or immediately lead to the evacuation of those Principalities. (_Cheers._) According to the declaration which has been made by the General commanding the Russian Forces, PRINCE GORTSCHAKOFF, the evacuation ought immediately to follow on the satisfaction obtained by Turkey from the EMPEROR OF RUSSIA. I will only say further, that it is an object which Her Majesty's Government consider to be essential: but with respect to the mode in which the object is to be obtained--with respect to the mode in which the end is to be secured--I ask the permission of Parliament to say nothing further upon this head, but to leave the means--the end being one which is certain to be obtained--to leave the means by which it is to be obtained in the Executive Government. With respect to the question which has been raised as to the fleets of England and France at Besika Bay, that of course need not be made any question of difficulty, because, supposing Turkey were in danger, we ought to have the power at all times of sending our fleets to the neighbourhood of the Dardanelles to be ready to assist Turkey in case of any such danger, and we ought not to consent to any arrangement by which it may be stipulated that the advance of the fleets to the neighbourhood of the Dardanelles should be considered as equivalent to an actual invasion of the Turkish territories. But, of course, if the matter is settled--if peace is secured, Besika Bay is not a station which would be of any advantage either to England or France.'

"In conclusion he said, he thought we had now a fair prospect, without involving Europe in hostilities, or exposing the independence and integrity of Turkey, that the object in view would be secured in no very long space of time. 'I will only say further, that this question of the maintenance of Turkey is one that must always require the attention--and I may say, the vigilant attention--of any person holding in his hands the foreign affairs of this country. This, however, can only be secured by a constant union between England and France--by a thorough concert and constant communication between those two great Powers."

In our next Volume we shall have to treat of the results of these difficulties.

One effect of these "rumours of wars" was the introduction of the Naval Coast Volunteers' Bill, a very necessary and important measure for the establishment of a Naval Militia, and by which 18,000 to 20,000 well-trained seamen are placed at the disposal of the country.

Other bills of considerable importance in themselves, though not of political interest, became Law, and have been productive of great good to the community. The Act for the Suppression of Betting Houses has saved many a thoughtless fool from ruin, and dispersed, though not destroyed, the bands of brigands who then preyed upon the unwary. The prisons of London gave abundant and conclusive testimony of the vast number of persons, especially the young, who had been led into crime by the temptation held out by Betting Houses.

MR. FITZROY's Act for the Better Prevention and Punishment of Aggravated Assaults upon Women and Children has done much, though not all that is required, to lessen the brutality of the lower orders, and the Smoke Prevention Act has removed in part one of the disgraces of our metropolis.

The Vaccination Extension Act was a sanitary measure of great importance, as the mortality from small-pox had long been greater in England than in any other country in Europe.

On the 16th of December LORD PALMERSTON resigned his office of Secretary of State for the Home Department, but he was subsequently induced to resume his position in the Government.

On the 20th of August the Parliament was prorogued by commission, and a Parliamentary Session of an unusually protracted and laborious character brought to an end. The year had been generally very prosperous, but the scanty harvest, and the unsettled condition of the labouring classes, who resorted to the desperate and suicidal agency of "strikes" for bettering their condition, added to the probability of a war with Russia, brought it to a gloomy close, and it was as much as _Punch_ could do to sustain the nation in moderate cheerfulness.

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THE CAMP AT CHOBHAM.--The July of 1853 was particularly wet.

THE CAMP.--A fact.


A GENTEEL REPROOF was really required to check the somewhat indelicate curiosity of lady-visitors to the camp.

POISONOUS PUFFS still disgrace many provincial papers and a few metropolitan ones. Newspaper readers have the remedy in themselves by adopting the advice given in this article.

A STARTLING NOVELTY IN SHIRTS was barely an exaggeration in 1853.

A DETERMINED DUELLIST.--See Note to p. 39.

THE NEW ACT.--The Cabman is the picture of a man then about town, and a member of a very respectable family, to annoy whom he drove a Hansom Cab.

A GOOD JOKE.--See _Introduction_.


MORNINGTON'S CHALLENGE.--LORD MORNINGTON, formerly MR. WELLESLEY TYLNEY LONG POLE, recently challenged LORD SHAFTESBURY, who declined the folly. _Pop Goes the Weasel_ was the name of a popular tune.

EAST INDIA HOUSE.--MR. HOGG was a distinguished director of the East India Company and M.P.

THE AMERICAN CUPID.--MR. HOBBS, the celebrated lock-picker, to whom reference has been frequently made in preceding Volumes.

LOGIC FOR MR. LUCAS.--See Notes to preceding Volumes.

EFFECT OF THE CAB STRIKE.--About this time the Cab Proprietors of London struck against the new Cab Act, and London for a day was left cabless.

WANTED, A NOBLEMAN.--An EARL OF ALDBOROUGH was advertised as a patron of HOLLOWAY'S Pills, for whose real value, see _Punch_, No. 1126, February 7, 1863.

THE MEMBER FOR LINCOLN AS HE WILL APPEAR AT THE NEXT GENERAL ELECTION.--A Street Musician used to play several instruments in the manner here indicated.

THE BATTLE OF SPITHEAD.--The QUEEN held a grand Naval Review at Spithead.

THE DOOM OF WESTMINSTER BRIDGE was fulfilled in 1862 by the opening of the beautiful structure built by MR. PAGE.

A PRESENT FOR ABERDEEN.--LORD ABERDEEN was suspected of Russian tendencies.

FLOWERS OF THE TOWZEREY PLANT.--The Towzerey Gang was a set of swindling warehousemen well exposed by the _Times_.

A CONSULTATION ABOUT THE STATE OF TURKEY.--Turkey was described at this time as "the sick man."

TAVERN EXPERIENCE.--See large cut opposite.

THE INSTITUTION OF OUR SPECTRE OF CHELSEA.--An Apparition called the Lady of Salette was said to have appeared to a Shepherd boy, and was accredited by the Romish Church.

MEMORIAL TO BELLOT.--A Monument to the memory of this gallant Frenchman, who perished during one of our Polar Expeditions, is erected opposite to Greenwich Hospital.

A LETTER AND AN ANSWER.--The Cholera was rife at this time.

A NUISANCE IN THE CITY, &C.--The Corporation of London strongly opposed the Health of Towns' Bill.

LORD SID-NEE SHOW.--SIDNEY was a Tea-dealer.

A BISHOP ON THINGS SOLID.--A most ridiculous movement was made in the City to obtain subscriptions for a Statue for PRINCE ALBERT. It was very properly discountenanced at Court.

A LONELY SQUARE.--This was the age of "stick-ups."

THE REMONSTRANCE, and A NEW CHIME FOR BOW BELLS.--The LORD MAYOR and Corporation of London had fallen, sadly "fallen from their high estate" in public estimation.

EXPOSTULATION WITH PALMERSTON.--LORD PALMERSTON had left the Ministry at this time. See _Introduction_.

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[Illustration: the twenty fifth volume]

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"Yes, with much pleasure," said _Mr. Punch_, M.P. for England, as he entered the Octagon Hall in Parliament Palace; and, in his usual elegant and affable manner, extended his white-gloved hand to a courtly gentleman who had requested his presence.

"I was sure you would say so," said the gentleman, and he raised a finger. A watchful official at a door instantly turned to the electric dial, and _Mr. Punch's_ gracious assent was known at Holyhead, before he had finished congratulating his companion, in the most truly charming style, on a promised knighthood, of which the Viceroy of Ireland had whispered something to _Mr. Punch_.

"No man ever earned his spurs better than the man who has been spurring railways into increased activity for so many years," said _Mr. Punch_, with a beautiful bow.

"I have not called you from the House at an unfortunate time, I trust, Sir," said the other. "Not that you can ever be spared, but--"

"WILLIAM GLADSTONE is quite up to his work," replied the great patriot. "He has but a couple of dozen of the Brigade in hand at present, and he is tossing up one after the other, cup-and-ball fashion, cupping or spiking him to taste, with the precision of a RAMO SAMEE. I can leave WILLIAM. Let us go."

"You will take care that no other passenger is put into _Mr. Punch's coupé_, guard," said the gentleman, as the Euston whistle sounded.

"No masculine passenger, please tell him, Mr. RONEY," said _Mr. Punch_, facetiously. "Good night."

"This Irish journey is capitally done, certainly," said _Mr. Punch_, as, thirteen hours later, he found himself over his coffee and prawns in Sackville Street, on a radiant morning, and all the bright eyes of Dublin sparkling round the door of his hotel, eagerly glancing towards his balcony. _Mr. Punch_ rushed forth, _serviette_ in hand. His large heart beat high at the sight of so much loveliness, and at the sound of those angel-voices, rising into musical cheering.

"Bless you, my darlings!" _Mr. Punch_ could say no more, but finished his prawns, and, throwing his manly form upon a jaunting car, he dashed over the bridge, and to Merrion Square.

"An' it's for luck I'll be takin' your honour's sixpence, and not for the dirthy money," said the excited driver, as he rattled round the corner, and into the Square, and the gigantic cylinders of the EXHIBITION burst upon _Mr. Punch's_ gaze.

"My Irish friend," said _Mr. Punch_, gravely, but not severely, "do not talk nonsense. Your carriage is clean, your horse is rapid, you are civil, and your fare is certain. In London, we have as yet neither clean carriages, rapid horses, civil drivers, nor certain fares. We may learn those lessons of you. Learn two from us. Do not believe in luck, but practice perseverance; and do not call that money dirty which is the well-earned pay of honest service. To sweeten the advice, there is a shilling." And _Mr. Punch_ entered the Exhibition building, and was drawing out his purse at the turnstile. But two gigantic policemen, in soldierly garb, welcomed him with a respectful smile, and the turnstile suddenly spun him into the building gratis, but a little too fast for dignity. What a sight was that before him! The vast hall, with its blue lines and red labels, looked a handsome instalment of Paxtonia. Plashing fountains, murmuring organs, a MAROCHETTI Queen high pedestalled, white statues, glistering silver-blazoned banners. A fine and a noble sight, and worthy of all plaudit; but it was not that which almost bewildered the great patriot, as he was shot into Dargania. Those eyes again--two thousand pairs at least--Irish diamonds, worth mines of Koh-i-noors, suddenly flashing and sparkling and melting upon him. That telegraph message from the Octagon Hall--and, as they say in the Peers' House, "and the Ladies summoned." Staggered though he was, you do not often see such a bow as that with which _Mr. Punch_ did homage to his lovely hostesses.

Two of the fairest stepped forward gracefully, and blushingly proffered themselves as his guides through the building.

"Chiefly, that I may set them in my prayers," murmured _Mr. Punch_, "if you happen to have names----"

Those blue eyes belong to HONORA, and those violet eyes to GRACE, and all to _Mr. Punch's_ heart henceforth and until further notice. They proceeded, and there was a sound as of a great rustling, as of a world of feminine garments forming into procession and following, but it was vain for _Mr. Punch_ to think of looking round, for he never got further than the face of one or other of his companions. They paraded the building.

GRACE bade him look from her, and observe the five halls, in the central and greatest of which they stood. She showed him that Royalty had contributed a gorgeous temple, rich in gems and gold, richer in an artist-thought of the Prince who designed it. And, standing on the platform, she pointed out that the forge and the loom and the chisel had all been busy for that huge hall, whose area offered a series of bold general types of the work to be seen in detail around it. And China was near with her carvings, and India with her embroideries, and Japan with a hundred crafts (now for the first time revealed, thanks to our brother, the King of Holland), and Belgium with her graceful ingenuity, and France with her artistic luxury, and the Zollverein with its bronzes, and Austria with her maps, and flowers, and furniture. And then GRACE led him on to the Fine Arts Hall, where the original thoughts of a thousand painters, new and old, glowed upon him from walls which the DEVONSHIRES, and LANSDOWNES, and TALBOTS, and PORTARLINGTONS, and YARBOROUGHS, and CHARLEMONTS, and others, had joined to enrich with the choicest treasures of their castles and mansions. And amid the priceless display, _Mr. Punch_ felt justly proud of his aristocratic friends, who could at once trust and teach the people.

HONORA bade him look from her, and they passed from an exquisite Mediæval Court, its blue vault studded with golden stars, crossed the hall, and observed a long range of machinery doing its various restless work, and doing it noiselessly, thanks to a silent system and a tremendous rod, sent from Manchester by FAIRBAIRN, through whose Tubular Bridge _Mr. Punch_ had flown at dawn. And HONORA showed him where Ireland had put forth her own strength, and thrown down her linens and her woollens in friendly challenge, and with her hardware, her minerals, her beautiful marbles, and her admirable typography. They ascended, and passing through long lines of galleries, _Mr. Punch's_ adorable guides pointed out, amid a legion of wares, things more graceful and useful than he had seen assembled since the bell (on that 11th of October last but one) tolled for the fall of Paxtonia.

"And now, dear _Mr. Punch_," said HONORA, "you have looked round our Dublin Exhibition, and--and--"

"And," said GRACE, "you know that you sometimes say rather severe things about Ireland--"

"Never," said _Mr. Punch_, dropping upon his knees. "Never. But here I register a vow."

The whole assembly was suddenly hushed, and had _Mr. Punch's_ words been literal, instead of only metaphorical, pearls and diamonds, you might have heard them fall on those boards.

"That for your sakes here present, and for the sake of all the wise, and energetic, and right-hearted men of Ireland who have to do with this building, and with your roads, and railways, and schools, and the like, I will henceforth wage even more merciless and exterminating war than hitherto with the humbug Irish patriots (dupes or tools), who tarnish the name of a nation which can rear and fill an edifice like this."

A shout which made the good SIR JOHN BENSON'S broad arches ring again and again. And, as it subsided, there came forth from the crowd of ladies, whose eyes all turned affectionately on the new comer, a stalwart presence. _Mr. Punch_ sprang up.

"This is your work!" he exclaimed. "Don't say it is not, WILLIAM DARGAN, because I know it is, and because England knows it too, and holds your name in honour accordingly."

That day's proceedings are not reported further. But all _Mr. Punch's_ friends who wish to please him will have the goodness to run over to Dublin, and see the finest sight which will be seen between this and the First of May next.

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A real, genuine, out-and-out Teetotaller says he likes this Table-turning vastly; for, though it keeps folks to the table, still it keeps them from the bottle. "The table may go round," he says, "but the wine does not circulate." There may be more in this teetotaller's chuckle than wine-bibbers imagine. We ourselves have heard an instance of a wealthy City man, who is nearly as mean as the MARQUIS OF NORTHMINSTER, who spares his Port regularly, by proposing to his company, as soon as the cloth is removed, that "they should try a little of this table-moving that is so much talked about." The decanters are removed, and he keeps his company with their fingers fixed upon the mahogany, until Coffee is announced. We warn all persons who are in the habit of dining out, against lending their hands to this favourite trick.

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Though, perhaps, not strictly within our province to attend to the Commissariat of any but ourselves, we beg leave to announce that we have undertaken to supply the whole of the Camp at Chobham with chaff.

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THE AUTHOR OF SCOTCH BEER.--We lately read an advertisement of a book entitled _The Scottish Ale-Brewer_. The author's name is ROBERTS; but it ought to have been MAC ENTIRE.

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Ye reverend Fathers, why make such objection, Why raise such a cry against Convents' Inspection? Is it not just the thing to confound the deceivers, And confute all the slanders of vile unbelievers?

It strikes me that people in your situation Should welcome, invite, and court investigation, As much as to say, "Come and see if you doubt us; We defy you to find any evil about us."

For my part I think, if I held your persuasion, That I should desire to improve the occasion, And should catch at the chance, opportunely afforded, Of showing how well Nuns are lodged, used, and boarded.

That as to the notion of cruel inflictions Of penance, such tales are a bundle of fictions, And that all that we hear of constraint and coercion Is, to speak in mild language, mere groundless assertion.

That an Abbess would not--any more than a Mayoress-- Ever dream of inveigling an opulent heiress, That each convent's the home of devotion and purity, And that nothing is thought about, there, but futurity.

That no Nuns exist their profession regretting, Who kept in confinement are pining and fretting; And to fancy there might be one such, though a rarity, Implies a most sad destitution of charity.

That all sisters are doves--without mates--of one feather, In holy tranquillity living together, Whose dovecote the bigots have found a mare's nest in, Because its arrangements are rather clandestine.

Nay, I should have gone, out of hand, to SIR PAXTON, As a Frenchman would probably call him, and "axed 'un," As countrymen say--his ingenious noddle Of a New Crystal Convent to scratch for a model.

Transparent and open, inquiry not shirking, Like bees you might watch the good Nuns in it, working; And study their habits, observe all their motions, And see them performing their various devotions.

This is what I should do, on a sound cause relying, Not run about bellowing, raving, and crying; I shouldn't exhibit all that discomposure, Unless in the dread of some startling disclosure.

What makes you betray such tremendous anxiety To prevent the least peep into those haunts of piety? People say there's a bag in your Convents--no doubt of it, And you are afraid you'll have Pussy let out of it.

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Our contemporary, _Household Words_, has given an account of Canvas Town in the new world, but we doubt whether a description of one of the Canvas Towns--or Towns under Canvas--in the old world, would not reveal a greater amount of depravity and corruption than anything that exists even in Australia. A Canvas Town in England is no less bent on gold discovery than a Canvas Town at Port Phillip--the only difference being that the candidate's pocket, instead of the earth, is the place that the electors or gold diggers are continually digging into. In the Colonies the inhabitants of a Canvas Town are huddled together irrespective of rank, and frequently the best educated persons are found doing the dirtiest work, just as may be seen in a Canvas Town in England before election time. The inhabitants of a Colonial Canvas Town think only of the gold and the quartz, just as at home the inhabitants of a Canvas Town think of nothing but filthy dross and drink--the quarts taking of course precedence of the pints in the estimation of the "independent" voters.

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MR. DISRAELI calls "invective a great ornament in debate." According to this species of decoration, Billingsgate ought to be the most ornamental place of debate in the world; and MR. DISRAELI himself, than whom few orators deal more largely in invective, deserves taking his rank as the most ornamental debater that ever was born.

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[Illustration: T]

The gallant fellows now assembled under arms and over ankles in the mud and dust of Chobham, were on Tuesday, the 21st of June, led--or rather guided--into one of the most civil wars to be found in the pages--including the fly-leaves--of history.

It having been understood that a battle was to be fought, every one seemed animated with the spirit of contention, and the struggle commenced at the Railway Station, where a company of heavy Cockneys, several hundred strong, besieged with great energy the few flys, omnibuses, and other vehicles, that were to be met with. The assault was vigorously carried; but the retaliation was complete; for the cads, drivers, and other marauders, having allowed the besiegers to fall into the snare, drove them off to the field, and exacted heavy tribute as the price of their ransom. Some few took refuge by trusting to their heels, rather than undergo the severe charge to which they would have been exposed; and they arrived, after a fatiguing march of nearly five miles, much harassed by the ginger-beer picquets and tramps that always lie on the outskirts of an army.

It was, however, on the field, or rather among the furze-bushes of Chobham, that the battle was really to be fought; and in the afternoon, the Guards, the 1st and 2nd Brigades, with the Artillery and Cavalry, took up a sheltered position under a hill, to conceal themselves from the enemy. This "concealment" was rather dramatic than real; for the enemy had already determined not to see, and as none are so blind as those who won't see, the "concealment" was quite effectual. When the force had had full time to get itself snugly out of sight, the "foe" poured down with immense vehemence from Flutter's Hill, and began squeezing into ditches, or hiding behind mud walls, to avoid the "observation" of the enemy, who knowing from signals where it was proper to look without the possibility of seeing anything, kept up the spirit of this truly "civil" war in the politest manner.

The moment of action was now eagerly looked for on all sides, and particularly by our old friend the British Public, who had perched himself on all the available eminences commanding a view of those who were about to give--and take--battle. Aides-de-camp were now seen flying about in all directions with breathless speed, delivering "property" despatches, similar to those with which the gallant officers at Astley's are in the habit of prancing over the platformed planes of Waterloo. Suddenly the skirmishers of the 42nd made a sally from the heights, and poured an incessant volley of blank cartridge into the ears of the Highlanders; who, after one decisive struggle--though we defy anybody to say what the gallant fellows really struggled with--dislodged the foe, who had on the previous day received regular notice to quit their lodging at the time agreed on. The Guards now came on from the O. P. side, Upper Entrance, of the Common, and turning back the wing, made for an adjoining flat, marching fearlessly over the set pieces under a heavy fire--of nothing--from the muskets of the enemy. Victory seemed hesitating on which side to declare herself, when a rush of cavalry turned the scale, scattered the weights, and upset the barrow of a seller of sweet-stuff, who had incautiously--as a camp follower--ventured too near the flanks of the horse on the field of battle.

The _mélée_ now became general, and it being impossible to discriminate between friend and foe, the Guards, seeing a large assemblage of the public on Flutter's Hill, were immediately "up and at 'em." This put the Hill in a more than usual flutter, for the British public having been given to understand there was "nothing to pay" for their position, were not prepared to expect there would be any charge whatever, and still less a charge at the point of the bayonet. It was here that the war assumed its most civil aspect, for the public, though vigorously charged, were most civilly requested to get out of the way, and the request was met on all sides with the most civil compliance. Thus ended the battle of Chobham of the 21st of June, in which several fell on both sides; but of all who fell every one happily jumped up again. A few lost their balance, but as these kept no banker's account the loss did not signify. We annex a spirited drawing of


* * * * *

A City Ballad.

At the Metropolitan Free Hospital Dinner, the LORD MAYOR in the Chair, we find it reported that MISS M. WELLS obtained great applause by the spirit and feeling with which she sang the ballad of "_Annie Laurie_." Is the Reporter sure that it was ANNIE? Is he quite certain it wasn't PETER?

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There is one objection to the Bill for the Recovery of Personal Liberty in Certain Cases. That is, its title. False imprisonment, in certain cases, is remediable by _Habeas Corpus_. What inspection of nunneries is chiefly needed for, is the recovery of personal liberty in uncertain cases.

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[Illustration: A BIT OF THE CAMP.


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Two attorneys quarrel about a matter of business; one of them accuses the other of trickery; the latter retorts on the former by calling him a liar and a scoundrel: and the first attorney brings an action for slander against the second. Whereon, according to the report of the case:--

"The LORD CHIEF JUSTICE, in summing up, said it was not actionable to say of a man personally, 'you are a liar,' or 'you are a scoundrel;' nor was it actionable to combine the epithets, and say, 'you are a lying scoundrel;' but, if said of an attorney in his professional character, those words would be actionable."

What the law--speaking by the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE--means to say, is, that abuse, in order to be actionable, must be injurious; that to call an attorney a lying and scoundrelly man does him no injury; whereas, calling him a lying and scoundrelly attorney tends to injure him in his profession. The law, therefore, presumes, that you may esteem a man to be a true and honest attorney, whilst in every other capacity you consider him a false and mean rascal; so that you may be willing to confide the management of your affairs to him, although you will not trust him with anything else.

It is curious that the rule applied to the defamation of lawyers is reversed in its application to invective against legislators. Members of Parliament are censurable if they impute falsehood and scoundrelism to each other in a personal sense, but not censurable for making those imputations in a Parliamentary sense. The theory of this anomaly seems to be, that the affairs of political life cannot be conducted without deceit and baseness, and accordingly that there is no offence in accusing an honourable gentleman of evincing those qualities in labouring at his vocation, that is to say for his country's good, for which it is necessary that he should cheat and deceive.

The law of slander, partially applied to attorneys, ought perhaps to be wholly inapplicable in the case of barristers. If a counsel may suggest to a jury a supposition which he knows to be false, and particularly one, which at the same time tends to criminate some innocent person; and if he is to be allowed to make such a suggestion for his client's benefit, he is allowed to be base and deceitful for the benefit of his client. To charge him with deception and villainy in his character of advocate, is to accuse him of professional zeal; to advantage him, not injure him, in his business. It ought to be lawful to call him a liar and a scoundrel in a forensic sense, as well as in every other.

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When LORD BROUGHAM, the other evening, was presenting some petition for the abolition of oaths, there were certain oaths in particular which he might have taken the opportunity of recommending the Legislature to do away with. They are alluded to in the following passage from a letter signed CENSOR in the _Times:_--

"As a condition of admission, the Head and Fellows of all Colleges are enjoined to take oaths to the inviolable observance of all the enactments of the statutes. These oaths, to use the words of the commission, increase in stringency and solemnity, in proportion as the statutes become more minute and less capable of being observed. These oaths are not only required but actually taken. Men of high feeling, refinement, education, and, for the most part, dedicated in an especial manner to God's service, are called on suddenly to swear that they will obey enactments incapable of being obeyed."

Oaths such as these are enough to make any man turn Quaker--at least by quaking as he swallows them. Any amount of swearing that ever disgraced a cabstand is preferable to such shocking affidavits; and there is something much more horrible in the oaths of college Fellows than there is in the imprecations of such fellows as coster-mongers. Our army once "swore terribly in Flanders," but never at such a rate as officers of the Church Militant appear to be in the habit of swearing at the Universities: and although there is said to be an awful amount of perjury committed in the County Courts, it is probable that the individuals forsworn at those halls of justice are far exceeded in number by the Reverend Divines who kiss the book to untruth at the temples of learning. It is a strange kind of consistency that objects to rapping out an oath, and yet obstinately retains such oaths at Oxford and Cambridge.

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THE PLAIN TRUTH OF IT.--There is NO "medium" in Spirit Rapping; for, in our opinion, it is all humbug from beginning to end.

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_Jones (a Batman.)_ "DID YOU SOUND, SIR?"


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[Illustration: A]

A Great fact in India--nay, why should we not throw affected modesty on one side, and say at once, _the_ great fact in that great country--is the position occupied in the most flourishing Indian communities by our humble--pooh! why blink the truth--our noble selves!

India is a country of contrasts--of wealth and want, of prosperity and decay, of independence and servility, of self-government and despotism.

The want, the decay, the servility, and the despotism are to be found among all the native races--Bengalee and Madrassee, Maratta and Telinga, Canarese and Tamul, Bheel and Ghoorka, Khoond and Rohilla, Sikh and Aheer--it will be seen that _we_ too have been getting up our India;--under all sorts of authorities--Potails and Zemeendars, Kardars and Jagheerdars, Ameers and Mokaddams, and Deshmucks; with all kinds of tenures--Zemeendaree and Ryotwaree and Jagheerdaree. But the wealth, the prosperity, the independence, and the self-government, are to be met with in one class of communities, under one form of authorities, among one kind of holders only. These oases in the desert of Indian native existence are those in which _Punch_--the _Punch_--the _Mr. Punch_--in one word the Indian representative of OURSELVES--bears sway!

This remarkable circumstance--so deeply gratifying to us of course--is no imagination of our own brain, no dream of our self-satisfaction, no figment of any of our numerous flatterers and admirers; but an historical truth, recorded in his distinctest and dryest manner by one of the distinctest and dryest writers upon India--MR. CAMPBELL, whose work has been much bought, much read, and unblushingly cribbed from by pillars of the state in the House of Commons, and by leading columns of the morning papers.

Hear then upon this great fact MR. CAMPBELL--of the Bengal Civil Service--whose civil service to Punches in general, and Indian Punches in particular, _Punch_ is glad here to acknowledge. Hear MR. CAMPBELL, on the nature and effects of the authority and administration of Punch in India. Where Punches preside, "the system" he tells us "is infinitely better than anything we have hitherto seen." The revenue is larger and more easily collected; the condition of the cultivator more flourishing; property more secure, and the police better administered. Each village, under the beneficent and equal rule of its Punch, "is one community, composed of a number of families, all possessing rights in the soil, and responsibilities answering to their rights." Still Punch is no tyrant. "The Democratic Punch has no official power or authority except as representing this body of proprietors"--like ourselves, who have no authority except in so far as we represent the people of Great Britain, which we flatter ourselves we do in most things.

"The Punch," MR. CAMPBELL tells us (page 88), "is as a rule of the plural number"--(that is, there are several contributors);--"a clever well-spoken man, who has a good share of land" (we substitute brains), "and is at the head of a number of relatives and friends" (in our case, readers and admirers), "becomes one of the Punch, which office he holds for life, if he continues to give satisfaction to his constituents" (the public and proprietors are enough for us); "but if he becomes very old, or incompetent, or unpopular, some one else, probably, revolutionises himself into the place" (and serve the old, incompetent, unpopular contributor right). "The office of _Punch_ is much coveted" (we should think it was), "and all arrangements are by the Punch collectively" (if the gentle reader could be present at one of our Saturday dinners, he would see what very small beer we think of the Editor). "They act not as persons having authority over the community, but always as representatives, and on many subjects they consult their constituencies before deciding." (When did _we_ not consult public opinion, and when did _we_ claim any other authority than as representing the country at large?) "There is generally in the village a leader of opposition," (poor creature!) "perhaps the defeated candidate for the last Punchship" (obviously a rejected contributor), "who leads a strong party" (oh, dear no! MR. CAMPBELL, you are misinformed on that point), "accuses the Punch of malversation, and, sometimes, not without reason, of embezzlement" (not on this side the water), "and insists on their being compelled to render an account of their stewardship" (our proprietors' books are open to all the world); "for there are abuses and grievances in all corporations, in all parts of the world" (_i.e._ "even Punches are not perfect"--a truth, probably, though we trust we shall never exemplify it in our own case).

Such is the rule of the Punches of India--and now for its effect. It produces communities, "strong, independent, and well-organized" (page 90). It is established over what MR. CAMPBELL styles "a perfect democratic community."

In short, this rule of Punch is the only one MR. CAMPBELL is able to rest on with entire satisfaction, as the model to which all the other native organizations of India ought to be, as far as possible, assimilated.

Yes--give every community its _Punch_, and India would be something like what it ought to be--something like what England has become since the rule of _Punch_ was firmly established here--something which would render altogether unnecessary these dreadful Indian debates, and the immense amount of Indian "cram" which members, journalists, and conscientious persons, who follow the Parliamentary reports, are obliged to bolt, and of which we have disgorged a sample, with great relief to ourselves, at the beginning of this article.

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I'm a free indepent Brish Elector--I swear-- And I'll have s'more bremwarra--anbanish dullcare!-- I know I've a trustodischarge in my vote, And my countryexpex--I shall getfipunnote!

At 'lecksh'n shey 'n vied me to come up anget Some breakf'st--so I did--an' I drank--an' I eat-- At the Chequers this was--zhere was morebesides me-- And not one blessed shixpence--to forkout had we.

Dropowhisky I had; bein' indishpo--posed-- Sha truth and sha whole truth I 'clare I'vedisclosed-- I feel almosasleep--I've been trav'linallnight-- Had but one smallglass gin--and you know tha's not right.

I have had a shov give me--to come uptatown, An' shey paid my fareup--and shey paid myfare down-- Who shey was--I donow--any more than an assh-- But I hadmyplacepaidfor an' comebyfirsclassh.

I'm a true tenpun householder--noways a snob-- Though I did sell myself for the shummofivebob-- They wanted myvote--which I toldem theysh'd have, If they'd give sunthink for it--and tha's what they gave.

While I'm shtoppinintown, I has ten bobaday, Witch that money's mylowance myspenses to pay, For peachin' on myside byzh 'tother I'm paid, And a preshusgood thingouto' boshsides I've made.

I don't feel no 'casion for 'idinmyface, Don't consider sh' I'm kivver'd wizh shameandisgrace, I don't unstand what you should 'sfranchise me for-- And 'tis my 'termination to have s'more bremwarr'!

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The Russian Minister has long been connected by name and parentage with one of the nicest puddings to be found in the receipts of SOYER, or in the _carte_ of the _Trois Frères_. We must, however, protest against the Russian Diplomatist's endeavouring to combine with the practice of cookery the science of medicine, for though we always eat with pleasure NESSELRODE pudding, we cannot undertake to swallow NESSELRODE'S recent draught.

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The thunder of war turns the milk of human-kindness sour. Moreover, it may be said to spoil the beer of brotherly love.

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The SUBLIME PORTE and the EMPEROR OF RUSSIA, regarded in an æsthetical point of view, present examples of the Sublime and the Ridiculous.

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LITERATURE FOR THE CAMP.--There are not many books to read at the Chobham encampment; but, besides going through all the Reviews, the Camp will, doubtless, take in a great many numbers of this periodical.

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The following Indexes have been compiled by a gentleman who is rather strong in that useful, but much-snubbed and little-read, department of literature. They are intended to keep in countenance the well-known "face," which is said to be "the Index of the Mind."

Cold Soup is the Index of a Bad Dinner. A Bang of the door is the Index of a Storm. A "Button off" is the sure Index of a Bachelor. An Irish Debate is the Index of a Row. A Popular Singer is the Index of a Cold. A bright Poker is the Index of a Cold Hearth. A Servant standing at the door is the Index of a Wasteful House. A Shirt with ballet-girls is the Index of "a Gent." The Painted Plate is the Index of the Hired Fly. Duck, or Goose, is the Index of "a Small Glass of Brandy." A Baby is the Index of a Kiss. A Toast (_after dinner_) is the Index of Butter. Cold Meat is, frequently, the Index of a Pudding. A Favour is, more frequently, the Index of Ingratitude. A Governess is the Index of suffering, uncomplaining, Poverty. A Puseyite is the Index of a Roman Catholic. Home is the Index Expurgatorius of Liberty; and lastly, Mismanagement is the Index (at least the only one published yet) of the Catalogue of the British Museum.

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Whether, in the event of MR. SANDS being subject, like _Amina_, to fits of somnambulism, it would be likely that he would walk in his sleep head downwards with his feet on the ceiling?

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A POPULAR TAX.--If MR. GLADSTONE taxes any kind of license, he ought to tax the license of Counsel.

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A YOUNGER SON.--The Blade of the "Cold Shoulder."

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THURSDAY, MAY 23, 18--

"It would be something to say, FRED, that we'd been to France."--

"To be sure," replied FRED. "And yet only to have something to say and nothing to show, is but parrot's vanity."

"But that needn't be. We might learn a great deal. And I _should_ like to see Normandy; if only a bit of it. One could fancy the rest, FRED. And then--I've seen 'em in pictures--the women wear such odd caps! And then WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR--papa says _we_ came in with him; so that we were Normans once; that is on papa's side--for mamma won't hear that _she_ had anything to do with it--though papa has often threatened to get his arms. And now I think of it, FRED, what are _your_ arms?"

"Don't _you_ know?" asked FRED, puckering his mouth--well, like any bud. "Don't you know?"

"No, I don't;" and I bit my lip and _would_ be serious. "What _are_ they?"

"It's very odd," said he, "very odd. And _you_ are Normans! To think now, LOTTY, that I should have made you flesh of my flesh, without first learning where that flesh first came from. You must own, my love, it was very careless of me. A man doesn't even buy a horse without a pedigree."

(I _did_ look at him!)

"Nevertheless"--and he went on, as if he didn't see me--"nevertheless, my beloved, I must say it showed great elevation of mind on your part to trust your future fate to a man, without so much as even a hint about his arms. But it only shows the beautiful devotion of woman! What have arms to do with the heart? Wedlock defies all heraldry."

"I thought"--said I--"that, for a lawful marriage, the wedding ring must have the Hall mark?"

"I don't think it indispensable. I take it, brass would be as binding. Indeed, my love, I think according to the Council of Nice, or Trent, or Gretna Green--I forget which--a marriage has been solemnised with nothing more than a simple curtain-ring."

"Nonsense," said I; "such a marriage could never hold. Curtain-rings are very well in their way; but give me the real gold."

"True, my love, that's the purity of your woman's nature. In such a covenant we can't be too real. Any way"--and he took my wedding-finger between his--"any way, LOTTY, yours seems strong enough to hold, ay, three husbands."

"One's enough," said I, looking and laughing at him.

"At a time"--said FRED; "but when we're about buying a ring, it's as well to have an article that will wear. Bless you," and he pressed his thumb upon my ring, "this will last _me_ out and _another_."--

"FREDERICK," I cried very angrily; and then--I couldn't help it--I almost began to weep. Whereupon, in his kind, foolish manner he--well, I _didn't_ cry.

"Let us, my darling," said FRED, after a minute, "let us return to our arms. And you came in with the Normans?"

"With WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR, papa says, so we _must_ have arms."--

"I remember"--said FRED, as grave as a judge--"once, a little in his cups, your father told me all about it. I recollect. Very beautiful arms: a Normandy pippin with an uplifted battle-axe."

"I never heard that"--said I--"but that seems handsome."

"Yes; your ancestor sold apples in the camp. A fact, I assure you. It all comes upon me now. Real Normandy pippins. They show a tree at Battle--this your father told me as a secret; but as man and wife are one, why it's only one half talking to the other half--a tree at Battle grown from your ancestor's apple-pips. Something like a family tree, that."

"I don't believe a word of it," said I.

"You must. Bless you"--said FRED--"arms come by faith, or how many of the best of people would be without 'em. There's something innocent in the pippin: besides it would paint well. And with my arms"--

"Yes;" I cried; "and what are they, FRED?"

"Well, it's odd: we were--it's plain--made for one another. I came from Normandy too."

"You _did_?" and I _was_ pleased.

"Yes," said he. "I wonder what terms our families were on a thousand years ago? To be sure, I came to England later than you; and I can't exactly say who I came with: but then--for I'm sure I can trust my grandmother--my descent is very historical. I assure you that your family pippin will harmonize with my bearings beautifully."

"We'll have the hall-chairs painted," said I, and I felt quite pleased.

"And the gig of course," said FRED.

"Of course; for what is life if one doesn't enjoy it?" said I.

"Very true, love. And the stable-bucket," continued FRED.

"Just as you please, dear," said I; "but certainly the hall-lamp."--

"Yes: and if we could only get--no, but that's too much to expect," said FRED.

"What's too much?" I asked; for FRED'S manner quite excited me.

"Why, I was thinking, if we could get your great aunt merely to die, we might turn out a very pretty hatchment."--

"Now, FREDERICK!"--for this was going too far.

"I assure you, my love"--said FRED--"'twould give us a great lift in the neighbourhood: and as you say, what's existence without enjoying it?--What's life without paint?"

"Well, but"--for he hadn't told me--"but your descent, love? Is it so very historical?"

"Very. I come in a direct line--so direct, my darling, you might think it was drawn by a ruler--a direct line from JOAN OF ARC."

"Is it true?" I cried.

"When we cross over to Dieppe, it isn't far to Rouen. You'd like to see Rouen?"

"Very much, indeed," I answered. "I always wanted to see Normandy; the home of my ancestors;" and I _did_ feel a little elevated.

"It's very natural, LOTTY"--said FRED. "A reasonable, yes, a very reasonable ambition. Well, at Rouen, I have no doubt I can show you my family tree; at the same time, I shouldn't wonder if we could obtain some further authentic intelligence about your pippin."--

"Nothing more likely," said I; for I _did_ want to see France. "Nothing more likely."

"I'm afraid there's no regular packet across"--said FRED--"but we can hire a boat."--

"A boat? Why, my dear, a boat is"--

"Yes; in a nice trim sea-boat we can cross admirably; and, my love," said FRED, moving close and placing his arm about me--"my love, the matter grows upon me. Let us consider it. Here we are about to begin the world. In fact, I think I may say, we have begun it."--

"Mamma always said marriage wasn't beginning, but settling."

"Let us say the beginning of the settling. Well, we are at a very interesting point of our history; and who knows what may depend upon our voyage?"--

"Still, you'll never go in a boat that"--but he put his hand over my mouth, and went on.

"I declare, beloved LOTTY, when I look upon ourselves--two young creatures--going forth upon the waters to search for and authenticate our bearings--when I reflect, my darling, that not merely ourselves, but our unborn great grandchildren"--

"Don't be foolish, FRED," said I; but he _would_.

"That our great grandchildren, at this moment in the dim regions of probability, and in the still dimmer limbo of possibility"--

"Now, what _are_ you talking about?" I asked; but he was in one of his ways, and it was of no use.

"Are, without being awake to the fact, acutely interested in our discovery; why our voyage becomes an adventure of the deepest, and the most delicate interest. Open your fancy's eye, my love, and looking into futurity, just glance at that magnificent young man, your grandson"--

"Now, I tell you what, FRED, don't be foolish; for I shall look at nothing of the sort," and with the words, I shut my eyes as close as shells.

"Or that lovely budding bride, your grand-daughter"--

"No," said I, "nor any grand-daughter, either; there's _quite time_ enough for _that_."

"Any way, my love, those dearest beings are vitally interested in the matter of our voyage. Therefore, I'll at once go and charter a boat. Would you like it with a deck?"--

"Why, my love, my dearest--as for a boat, I"--and I felt alarmed.

"COLUMBUS found America almost in a punt," said FRED; "then surely we may seek our arms in"--

"But stop," I cried; for he was really going. "After all, love," and I resolutely seated myself on his knee, and held him round the neck--"after all, you have not told me what _are_ your arms? I mean your arms from JOAN OF ARC."

"Why, you know, my love, that JOAN OF ARC was a shepherdess?"

"I should hope I knew as much as that," said I.

"Very good. Well, in order to perpetuate the beautiful humility of her first calling, CHARLES THE SEVENTH magnificently permitted her and all her descendants, to carry in her shield--a lamb's fry!"


"Such are my bearings, inherited in a direct line--I say in a direct line--from the MAID OF ORLEANS!"--

"From the MAID OF--" and then I saw what a goose he had made of me; and didn't I box his ears, but not to hurt him; and didn't we afterwards agree that the hall-chairs should remain as they were, and that life might be beautiful and bright enough without a touch of herald's paint.

How we _did_ laugh at the family pippin!

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[Illustration: A]

A well-founded objection has been raised against the Zoological Gardens; one objection: and that the only one that we can think of. It is complained, with truth, that no proper liquor is provided for the children to drink there. Ginger-beer, soda-water, and lemonade are not fit for children at all times, if they are fit at any, and cherry-brandy is good for nobody; not even for the young ladies who alone drink it; for it neither quenches thirst, nor causes hilarity: which are the sole valid reasons for drinking anything whatever, except physic. It appears that the only juvenile taps in the Gardens are those which supply water to the gardeners. If these afforded the pure element, it would be all very well; but their contents are much more suitable for the nourishment of plants than for the refreshment of little boys and girls. Numerous and interesting as are the varieties of the animal creation contained in these Gardens, the collection does not include that useful individual of the mammalia, the common cow, to produce a drop of milk for the little ones.

Even if children could drink soda-water and cherry-brandy, it would be, for many a father of a family which he takes to the Zoological Gardens for a holiday, much too heavy a disbursement to treat his progeny with soda-waters and cherry-brandies all round. If the Society cannot manage to add an ordinary milch cow to their quadrupeds, they might, at least, establish the cow with an iron tail. They have evinced great solicitude for the comforts of all the specimens of the inferior orders of animals on their grounds; and doubtless, now that their attention has been directed to the subject, they will make the requisite provision for a very pressing want experienced by the young of the genus Homo. With such a fact before them as the Camp at Chobham, they would indeed be inexcusable if they were not immediately to rectify a glaring deficiency in their Commissariat for the Infantry.

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The gin-shop keepers and Sabbatarians ought to get up a petition to the QUEEN, praying HER MAJESTY to remove SIR WILLIAM MOLESWORTH from her councils, because the Right Hon. Baronet has directed the Royal Pleasure Grounds at Kew, and the Royal Botanic Gardens also, to be opened on Sundays; which must cause a shocking desecration of Sunday to be committed in the enjoyment of flowers and fresh air, accompanied by an equally awful decrease in the consumption of "Cream of the Valley."

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The House of NESSELRODE and Co. has issued a Circular Note--which, however, is a very different thing from a Letter of Credit. We don't think they are very likely to get it discounted.

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HER MAJESTY'S Drawing Room was remarkable for the carriage of every lady who attended it; and it may be observed that each one came in a special train.

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[Illustration: THE CAMP.--A NIGHT SURPRISE.]

* * * * *


MR. PUNCH observes that his friends the parliamentary reporters did a sensible thing lately. An Irish faction-fight was detaining the House of Commons from its bed at the unseemly hour of three in the morning, and seemed likely to last until six. As the dawn broke, the gentlemen of the gallery, wearied with the gesticulations of LORD CLAUDE CLAMOUROUS--for the best Peter Waggey that ever came out of the Lowther Arcade ceases to amuse after a time--wearied with the iterations of LORD CHAOS, for a man cannot always have an eminent statesman, or an old friend, to carp at--wearied with what MR. GLADSTONE gently called the "freshness" of MR. CONNOODLE, fresh as dew from the mountain--the reporters, we say, suddenly shut up their note-books, and retired into their own apartment. The tongues of the Irish orators faltered, they looked up piteously at the long row of empty benches, murmured that it was unreasonable that the reporters should think that eleven hours and a half of talk was as much as the journals for which they work could conscientiously republish, and the profitless squabble was brought to a speedy close. _Mr. Punch_ cordially approves of the remedy, and suggests that on another and a similar occasion it be tried a little earlier.

* * * * *


A few more such showers as we have had lately, and the Camp at Chobham will become a flotilla.

* * * * *


(_As they should be written for Young Ladies_).

A history of England for young ladies remains yet to be written. The usual ingredients of a reign cannot be interesting to the youthful female mind. Battles, with the number of killed and wounded; party feuds, with the names of the ministers who succeed one another in place; the slow march of public events, and the men who march slowly with them; the eternal round of diplomatic and political relations--which, as they never marry, are the last relations a lady cares for; these, we say, are not exactly the subjects that would engage the sympathies or the attention of a young girl. What romance, what possible interest is there in any one of them? No! we would change all that, and have our English History written in a style popular, easy, and graceful, and alluding only to such subjects as ladies understand, or can best appreciate.

Our proposal, however, will be at once apparent by the nature of the following questions, which we have extracted from a History supposed to be written according to our sensible plan;--


(_Taken principally from the Reign of_ QUEEN VICTORIA.)

What do you mean by the "Crush-Room of the Opera;" and why is it so called?

When did _gigot_ sleeves go out of fashion, and did such sleeves have anything to do with the popular French phrase of "_Revenons à nos Moutons?_"

What do you mean by "Crochet Work"? and can you set the pattern for ladies of "How to make a purse for your brother?"

Who edited the "Book of Beauty?" and mention a few of the aristocratic names whose portraits have had the honour of appearing in its splendid pages.

Can you describe the habits and haunts of the "Swedish Nightingale?" and can you mention the highest note it ever reached, and also why it sang in a Haymarket?

State the name of the "Bohemian nobleman" who first brought over the Polka to England.

In what year of VICTORIA'S reign was the celebrated _Bal Costumé_ given at Buckingham Palace? and describe the dress that HER MAJESTY wore on that interesting occasion.

Give the names of the principal singers who distinguished themselves at the two Italian Operas during the rival administrations of GYE and LUMLEY, and describe the nature of the feud that existed between those two great men.

Give a description of "Pop Goes the Weasel," and state all you know about the "Weasel," and what was the origin of his going "Pop."

Who succeeded WIGAN in the _Corsican Brothers_?

Mention the names of the principal watering-places, and say which was considered the more fashionable of the two--Margate, or Gravesend?

When did flounces come into fashion, and state the lowest and the highest number a lady could wear?

Describe the position of Chiswick--and give a short account of its Gardens, and the _Fêtes_ that were held there every year.

What were the duties of the Ladies of the Bedchamber, and in what respects did they differ from the Maids of Honour at Richmond?

Mention the names of the most delicious novels that were published between the years 1840 and 1853, and name the character and scene that pleased you the most.

Whose gloves do you consider were the best?

What was the last elopement that created any sensation at Gretna Green?

State who was JULLIEN? also, whether he had anything to do with the soup that bears his celebrated name?

* * * * *


A lady living at Peckham Rise has nearly ruined her husband by the enormous prices she has been giving for Cochin-China fowls. The poor fellow is always pointed at in the neighbourhood, so the story goes, as "the Cochin-China-pecked husband."

A gentleman at a party, where table-turning was the principal amusement of the evening, upon hearing that the power of turning mainly depended upon the will, instantly recommended his wife, as he "begged to assure the company she had a very strong one, and he had never known anything able to resist it."

* * * * *


It is pleasant to find that the Commissioners of Sewers are stirring; notwithstanding the result proverbially ascribed to stirring in such matters: and we hope we shall soon be enabled to expect that the Metropolis will be drained with some degree of rational assewerance. If this great object is successfully accomplished, we take the liberty of recommending that the Chairman of the Commission should be raised to the Peerage, by the title of LORD SCAVENGER.

* * * * *

TEST OF GOOD HUMOUR.--Wake a man up in the middle of the night, and ask him to lend you five shillings.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE CAMP


* * * * *


(_After_ T. CAMP-BELL. _By_ A. CAMP-BEAU.)

We were wet as the deuce; for like blazes it poured, And the sentinels' throats were the only things dry; And under their tents Chobham's heroes had cowered, The weary to snore, and the wakeful to sigh.

While dozing that night in my camp-bed so small, With a Mackintosh over to keep out the rain-- After one glass of grog, cold without--that was all-- I'd a dream, which I hope I shall ne'er have again.

Methought from damp Chobham's mock battle-array, I had bowled off to London, outside of a hack; 'Twas the season, and wax-lights illumined the way To the balls of Belgravia that welcomed me back.

I flew to the dancing-rooms, whirled through so oft With one sweet little partner, who tendril-like clung, I saw the grim chaperons, perched up aloft, And heard the shrill notes WEIPPERT'S orchestra flung.

_She_ was there--I would "pop"--and a guardsman no more, From my sweet little partner for life ne'er would part, When sudden I saw--just conceive what a bore-- A civilian--by Jove--laying siege to her heart!

"Out of sight, out of mind!" It was not to be borne-- To cut her, challenge him I was rushing away-- When sudden the twang of that vile bugle-horn Scared my visions, arousing the Camp for the day.

* * * * *


It seems that DR. PAUL CULLEN and the Ultramontanists have procured the rejection, from the Irish National Schools, of the ARCHBISHOP OF DUBLIN'S _Evidences of Christianity_. Hence it may be presumed that the "_Evidences_" of ARCHBISHOP WHATELY are favourable specimens of WHATELY'S logic, and afford some really sensible and satisfactory reason for believing in the Christian religion.

* * * * *


FRIDAY, MAY 24, 18--.

I am not superstitious--certainly not: but when I woke this morning, I felt as if something would happen; though I said nothing to FRED. With the feeling that came upon me, I wouldn't have thought of going to France for worlds. I felt as if a war must break out, or something.

"I knew it; I was certain of it," said I, when I'd half read the letter from home.

"In that case," said FRED, in the most unconcerned way, which he _will_ call philosophy, whereas I think it downright imprudence--but I fear dear Mamma's right; all men are imprudent--"In that case, we might have saved postage."

"Now FRED, don't be frivolous. But I see, there'll be nothing right at home till we get fairly back. Everything will be sacrificed."--

"Is that your serious belief, my love?" said FRED, finishing his tea; and I nodded very decidedly.--"Well, then, suppose we pack up our traps and return to-day. And talking of home, you can't think, LOTTY, what a present you've made me without knowing it."

"Have I indeed? What present, love?"--

"It was in my sleep; but then, it was one of those dreams that always forerun the reality. Do you know I dreamt that we'd returned home, and somehow when I tried to sit down in my chair, up I jumped again; and so again and again. Whenever I tried to be quiet and stretch my legs out at my fireside, I seemed possessed with a legion of imps that would lift me from my seat and pull me towards the door."--

"Hm! That's a very ugly dream, FRED," said I; and I know I looked thoughtful.

"Very: but it's wonderful how, like a tranquillizing spirit, you appeared upon the scene. I thought, my dear, you looked more beautiful than is possible."--


"Not but what I'm quite content as it is. You know, my love, it might have been worse."--

"Well," said I, "Mamma needn't have written to me that my honeymoon was nearly ended. It seems I'm not likely to forget _that_."

"And when it was impossible for me to remain in the chair--when I continued to get up and sit down, and run here and run there--then, as I say, you appeared like a benevolent fairy--bearing across one arm what seemed to me a rainbow turned to silk; and in the other hand carrying a pair of slippers."

"Well; and then?"--

"And then, with a thought, I had put on the morning-gown;--for it was that you carried--and placed my feet in the slippers. There never were more beautiful presents; never richer gifts for a wife to make her husband. For would you think it, LOTTY? No sooner had I wrapped the dressing-gown about me, than I became settled in the sweetest repose in my chair: and the very walls of the room seemed to make the softest music. And then the slippers! Most wonderful! Would you believe it, LOTTY--wherever the slippers touched, a flower sprang up; flowers and aromatic herbs! The very hearth seemed glowing and odorous with roses and thyme. But then, you know, it was only a dream, LOTTY. There's no such dressing-gown--and in this world no such slippers;" and then--I could see it--he looked in his odd way at me.

"I suppose not, FRED," said I; for I wouldn't seem to understand him. "And then, if such slippers could be found, where's the husband's feet to fit 'em? 'T would be another story of the glass slipper."

"Who knows when we get home? But what's happened?" and he pointed to the letter.

"Well, then, the pigeon-house has blown down; and Rajah's flown away; and a strange cat has killed the gold-fish; and, in fact, FRED--as dear Mamma writes to me; not, as she says, she'd have me worry myself about the matter--in fact the house wants a mistress."

"I have no doubt your excellent mother is right," said FRED; "and as you won't go to France, suppose we make way for _The Flitch_. Do you know, LOTTY, I'm curious to know if--after all--those slippers mayn't be found there."

"_I'll_ take care of that," said I; "but you know, FRED, we can't go back yet."

"Why not?"--

"Why, you know our honeymoon isn't quite out; and"--

"And what of that? We needn't burn all the moon from home. What if we put the last fragment on a save-all, and see it out at _The Flitch_?"

"It isn't to be done, FRED," said I; for I knew how people would talk. "Of course, 'twould be said we were tired of our own society, and so got home for company."

"Nevertheless," said FRED; "you take the flight of Rajah, that dear bird, with wondrous serenity."

And it then struck me that I did _not_ feel so annoyed as I ought. "Ha, FRED," said I, "you don't know what my feelings may be; don't misjudge me because I don't talk. I can assure you, I am very much disturbed;" and I _was_ vexed.

"Perhaps, then"--said FRED--"you'll take a little walk towards the Steyne; and recover yourself? I've some letters to write, my love: and--'twill do you good--I'll join you."

"Certainly"--said I--"of course; if you wish it," and then I wondered why he _should_ wish to get rid of me. It never happened before. Yes--and the thought came again _very forcibly_ upon me--it's plain the honeymoon's nearly out; and then I left the room; and as I left it, didn't I _nearly_ bang the door?

"Why should he wish to get rid of me?" I seemed quite bewildered with this question. Everything seemed to ask it. He could have written his letters without my leaving the house. However, I felt glad that I contained myself; and especially glad that I didn't bang the door.

Well, I ran and put on my bonnet; and then just peeping in at the door to FRED, said, "I'm going;" and in another minute was taking my way towards the Steyne. It was such a beautiful day; the sky so light; and the air so fresh and sweet, that--yes, in a little minute, my bit of temper had all passed away--and I did well scold myself that, for a moment, I had entertained it. I walked down upon the beach. Scarcely a soul was there: and I fell into a sort of dreamy meditation--thinking about _that_ morning-gown and _those_ slippers. "I'll get 'em for FRED, that I will;" I resolved within myself. "Roses _shall_ grow at the fireside; and repose _shall_ be in his arm-chair. _That_ I'm determined:" and as I resolved this with myself, everything about me seemed to grow brighter and more beautiful. And then I wished that we were well at home, and the slippers had, for once and all, been tried and fitted. The gulls flying about reminded me of Rajah: and I _did_ wonder at myself that I could think of his loss--that would have nigh killed me at one time--so calmly. But then, as Mamma said, and as I've since discovered,--it's wonderful what other trifles marriage makes one forget.

There was nobody upon the beach: so I sat down, and began a day-dreaming. How happy we should be at home, and how softly and sweetly all things would go with us! And still, as the waves ran and burst in foam upon the beach, I thought of the slippers.

I hardly knew how long I'd been there, when a little gypsey girl stood at my side, offering a nosegay. I looked and--yes, it was one of the gypsies, at whose tent FRED and I took shelter in the thunderstorm. However, before I could say a word, the little creature dropt the nosegay in my lap; and laughing, ran away.

Such a beautiful _bouquet_! Had it been a thing of wild or even of common garden flowers--but it was a _bouquet_ of exotics--and how were gypsies to come by such things? Then something whispered to me--"stole them."

I didn't like to throw the thing away; and as I remained meditating, FRED came up. "Pretty flowers, LOTTY," said he.

"Yes: selected with taste--great taste, an't they?" said I; and I cannot think what whim it was possessed me to go off in such praise of the _bouquet_.

"Pretty well," said FRED.

"Pretty well! my dear FRED; if you'll only look and attend, you'll own that the person who composed this _bouquet_ must have known all the true effect of colours."

"Indeed," said FRED; as I thought very oddly; so I went on.

"Every colour harmonizes; the light, you see, falling exactly in the right place; and yet everything arranged so naturally--so harmoniously. The white is precisely where it should be, and"--

"Is it truly?" and saying this, FRED twitched from among the flowers a note that like a mortal snake as I thought it lay there.

"Why, it's a letter!" I cried.

"It looks like it," said FRED.

"It was brought by a gypsey," said I; and I felt my face burning, and could have cried. "It's a mistake."

"Of course," said FRED: "what else, my love? Of course, a mistake."

And then he gave me his arm, and we returned towards the Inn. FRED laughed and talked; but somehow I felt so vexed: yes, I could have cried; and still FRED was so cool--so very cool.

* * * * *


Every liberal-minded person will be glad to hear that LOUIS NAPOLEON is about establishing baths and washhouses in Paris. The cause of order in France has been threatened chiefly by the unwashed; and the EMPEROR will promote the peace of society by causing that dangerous class to disappear.

* * * * *


According to the _Athenæum_, a Cardinal's hat is about to go round--in obedience, however, to no new force or principle. Our learned contemporary says:--

"There has been only one English Pope, and of him there has been hitherto no public monument in the city over which he ruled. The omission is now, it seems, to be rectified. A committee has been formed with a view to collect subscriptions; PIO NONO has given his blessing, CARDINAL ALTIERI his countenance, and CARDINAL WISEMAN has received instructions to collect the money in this country....The sum named for the monument is £6,000 ... A magnificent memorial is to be erected to him in St. Peter's. The attempt to elicit such a declaration in England at such a time is a clever trick enough; and in order to its success, one of the grounds of appeal to the pockets of Englishmen shows a profound knowledge of the weak side of our national character. Wherever JOHN BULL wanders, it has been observed that he carries with him a passion for recording his autograph. The BROWNS, and SMITHS, and JONESES write their names on the Pantheon and Pyramids, temple and tomb. The Cardinals have had the wit to make a direct appeal to this passion; they offer to inscribe the name of every donor of £60--which they are willing to receive in monthly instalments of 20s.--on the base of the monument of POPE NICHOLAS BREAKSPEARE."

Under POPE NICHOLAS BREAKSPEARE, _alias_ ADRIAN IV, ARNOLD of Brescia was burned alive--having first, we believe, had his nose wrung off with red hot pincers. Who will indorse the sentence upon ARNOLD by causing his name to be carved on the monument of NICHOLAS?

As nearly seven centuries have elapsed since the time when this mild and beneficent Pontiff flourished, there may perhaps be no portrait in existence to afford any idea of his venerable physiognomy. With what sort of a face to represent him, then, may be a difficulty: unless the problem should be solved by a special miracle. Failing that, the best plan would be to give him the features of somebody likely to resemble him. NERO might do for the model: but NERO'S is not an English face. Under these circumstances GREENACRE might be suggested: but as ADRIAN IV was a man of some force of character, perhaps, on the whole, it would be better to choose RUSH.

* * * * *


_With a Wine Cup of the Period._]

* * * * *


WESTMINSTER BRIDGE--The new one, is, according to SIR WILLIAM MOLESWORTH, to be built of stone from Ireland. Another evidence of the eagerness of the Saxon to trample upon everything Irish.

* * * * *


Of a certain author--or artist--or actor--or somebody else--who had acquired much notoriety by laudatory criticisms--it was said that his reputation was built of plaster.

* * * * *


It is not often that _Punch_ has to protest against anything that happens at our own Court, but unless the Court Newsman has misinformed us, there was something very objectionable in the proceedings at Buckingham Palace on the occasion of the last Royal Christening. Recollecting that the Sponsors promise in the name of the infant to renounce "the pomp and glory of this world," we cannot help asking whether the following description of what took place is not lamentably at variance with the spirit of the promise that was given:--

"The sacred rite was performed in the private chapel in the Palace, which was duly prepared for the occasion. Two rows of chairs of crimson satin and gold were placed on each side of the centre, for the use of the QUEEN, the Sponsors, and the Royal personages invited to be present."

This might pass as coming under the head of luxury rather than of pomp, but what shall we say to the next paragraph?--

"The altar was lined with crimson velvet, panelled with gold lace, and on the communion-table were placed the golden vessels used in the Sacrament, with salvers and two large candlesticks. Seats of crimson and gold were placed for the officiating clergy. The font was placed in advance of the _haut pas_; it was a most elegantly formed tazza of silver gilt, the rim was formed of the leaves and flowers of the water lily, and the base from which its elegant stem sprang was composed of infant angels playing the lyre; in the front was the Royal arms. The font was placed on a fluted plinth of white and gold."

Riches, we are taught, add to the difficulty of entering the Kingdom of Heaven, then why this profusion of gold to encumber the first step of a Royal infant on his entrance into the Church which is to secure his eternal happiness? "Gold lace," "golden vessels," and seats of "crimson and gold" for the clergy, are scarcely the appliances that would seem appropriate to the ceremony of receiving the "sign of the cross," which is certainly not typified by any of the accessories of pomp and splendour that abounded on that occasion. Surely this must have struck on the mind of some one or more of the assembled grandees, who, if not too much wrapt up in the idea of their own and the surrounding grandeur, may have remarked that

"Over the altar was a fine piece of tapestry representing the baptism of our Saviour."

If the tapestry told the truth, there would be no clergy in gold seats; no font appropriated to Royalty by a vulgar display of the Royal arms over the front of it; and no infants or any one else "playing the lyre" at the simple solemnity, of which a Royal Christening is but a gaudy mockery.

As a further assistance to the infant in renouncing the pomps and vanities of the world, we find that

"The Heralds and Kings of Arms were on duty to usher the distinguished personages to their places in the chapel, and conduct the Royal processions. There were present ALBERT WILLIAM WOODS, ESQ., Lancaster Herald; WALTER ASTON BLOUNT, ESQ., Chester Herald; JAMES PULMAN, ESQ., Clarenceux King of Arms; ROBERT LAURIE, ESQ., Norroy King of Arms; and SIR CHARLES GEORGE YOUNG, Garter Principal King of Arms; the whole wearing their splendid tabards, and the Kings of Arms their distinctive insignia."

It is really sad to think that in an age which prides itself on common sense, and at a Court confessedly adorned by the many virtues of the Sovereign and her family, conventionalism still holds such sway, that one whom it is no flattery to call an ornament to her high position still feels herself under the necessity of converting a solemn religious ceremony into a vulgar display of luxury and vanity. Can it be supposed that the admission of the Royal infant into the Christian flock required the assistance of archbishops, bishops, and clergy on seats of crimson and gold, the presence of Heralds and Kings-of-Arms, a whole bundle of Gold and other Sticks, the Master of the Buckhounds, and the whole hue and cry of Court "pride, pomp, and circumstance;" which, however appropriate to some occasions, are utterly at variance with the admission of an infant to a religion for which humility is one of the chief requisites?

The Court is justly looked to in this country as an example; and the QUEEN, as mother, wife, and woman, is indeed one whom all would do well to imitate. For this reason we still more regret the recent display which will set all the servile crew of imitators to work to emulate, as far as they can, the pomps and vanities of a Royal Christening. The influence will extend down to some of the humblest ranks of society, and we shall have the _Herald_ and the _Post_ full of accounts of how MRS. JONES of Jonesville had the altar decorated, the Bishop got up, the font covered with the arms of JONES, and all the appliances of Royalty aped at the baptism of the JONESIAN infant.

We have no objection to the party, and the banquet after the ceremony, but when the next comes--and we hope there may be many yet--we trust HER MAJESTY will use her own good sense, and release all future Royal Christenings from the trappings of pomp and vanity with which custom has hitherto entangled them. We must say, in conclusion, that HER MAJESTY is not responsible for all the pompous foolery against which we have raised our voice, for it has been customary long before she came to the throne, and she has, in many instances, had the courage and good sense to abolish many empty observances. We hope, on the next occasion of a Royal Christening, to find her exercising her own proper feeling in divesting the occasion of all those forms which are at variance with its spirit.

* * * * *


[Illustration: T]

There is one species of Stock in the conversion of which no difficulty whatever would be experienced. Indeed, the experiment with this description of Stock has been successfully tried in the Indian portion of the British Empire; as is proved by the following extract from a general order:--

"The Commander-in-Chief is pleased to direct the entire discontinuance of the leather stock in all the Honourable Company's European regiments under this Presidency."

The British soldier would be very much obliged to LORD HARDINGE, if the gallant nobleman would please to convert his Stock from a rigid, galling, strangling band of leather into a collar of more flexible material. That common tailors occasionally discount bills is no reason why "clothing Colonels" should have to do such a "bit of stiff" for their men as the military Stock. The infliction of flogging in the army has been greatly mitigated, even in the cases of grave offenders; would it not be as well to abolish altogether the gratuitous punishment of the Stocks?

* * * * *


REV. GLENDOWER S. FIBBS, of Salem, U. S., has been induced, by the extensive interest of the British aristocracy in the SPIRITUAL MANIFESTATIONS which have lately been introduced from America, to visit this country with a view to the exhibition of OCCULT PHENOMENA, on a scale which, owing to the prevalence of an illiberal spirit of persecution, has been hitherto unattempted in this or any other country since the era of Egyptian magic. He is accompanied by three ACTUALLY POSSESSED MEDIUMS, who will utter responses, and afford correct information on doctrinal subjects, under the influence of SPIRITS. He has also, at the expenditure of a considerable sum, secured the co-operation of a genuine WIZARD and WITCH from Boston, Mass., who will prove the REALITY OF SORCERY and MAGIC by OCULAR DEMONSTRATION, to the satisfaction of the most incredulous and determined sceptic.

The WIZARD will evoke the SPIRIT of any DECEASED PERSON who may be agreed upon by the Party Assembled, and compel it to appear in a visible form before the eyes of the Spectators, deliver predictions, &c. The WITCH will perform the much controverted, but undeniable and surprising feat of RIDING ON A BROOMSTICK; and to illustrate the power of SORCERY over the elements, will raise a Tempest on a small scale by BREWING A STORM in a Tea-pot. She will also exhibit the marvellous PHENOMENA of TRANSFORMATION, by changing herself succesively into the shape of various animals: after which she will summon her FAMILIARS, in the shape of CATS, TOADS and SPIDERS, and finally, together with her ATTENDANT IMPS, VANISH UP THE CHIMNEY. The WITCH and WIZARD are really and truly what they profess to be, having both of them effected a _bonâ fide_ sale of themselves for 100 dollars a-piece to the GREAT MASTER, well known as the LARGEST SLAVE OWNER OUT OF THE STATES.

The _soirée_ to conclude with the APPEARANCE of the DEUCE himself, whom the REV. GLENDOWER S. FIBBS will raise in a magic circle upon the platform, entirely divested of supernatural terrors which might be calculated to alarm the timid and nervous. The circle will be so carefully charmed, as to preclude all possibility of his breaking through it, as effectually as if he were a bear on the top of a pole. The object of the REV. G. S. F., being to convince the Public of the fact of Spiritual Existences, will, he trusts, meet with the SUPPORT and APPROBATION of serious and enlightened minds.

_At home every morning from 10 to 2, for private consultations._

Obnoxious Parties bewitched; Discovery of Stolen Goods, Philtres, &c., &c., on moderate terms.

_Magic Mirrors, Divining Rods, &c., Loaned or Sold, Soirées commence at 8._


* * * * *


* * * * *


We cannot help regretting that anything should be done by our military authorities to irritate the sore place which has been established in our relations with Russia. We, therefore, read with a degree of pain--which made us almost cry out, for we were really much hurt--that a letter dated June 27th, 1853, has gone out from the Horse Guards, prohibiting all general and staff officers from wearing Russia ducks by way of trousers. Whether this is meant as an insult to Russia we are unable to state; but we fear that Russia in the present sensitive state of affairs will regard this declaration of war against Russia ducks as an indication of a desire to provoke hostilities.

* * * * *

DIPLOMATIC PASTRY.--There is every probability that the dish heretofore known as NESSELRODE Pudding will, in future, be denominated Humble Pie.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE CAMP

_Captain Holster._ "HERE! HI! SOME ONE!--STOP MY _BED ROOM!_--HI!"]

* * * * *


The _Glasgow Chronicle_ describes a sewing machine, which has been introduced by a MR. DARLING. This DARLING will be considered a duck by some of our fashionable milliners; and his Jenny will be just the seamstress for their money, as she will ask no wages, want no food but a little oil, and be able to do without any rest whatever. Our own shirts, also, will be more comfortable to wear when we shall be enabled to think to ourselves that their manufacture has been ground out of wheels and cogs at small cost, and not out of human nerves and muscles for miserable pay.

* * * * *


MR. HARKER will perhaps have the goodness to propose at the next great Civic banquet this toast:--"Extramural Interment: or the Incorporation of London with Gravesend."

[Illustration: A GENTLE REPROOF.


* * * * *


[Illustration: I]

It seems after all that the great _casus belli_ between the Porte and Russia is "Who shall keep the key of the Greek Church?" The contest is to determine whether the key in question shall dangle on the watch-chain of the Greek, or hang on the bunch with the street-door and other keys of the Latin patriarch. We might as well allow the EMPEROR OF CHINA to interfere with us, and insist on appointing a protector of Temple Bar, for the purpose of deciding whether the QUEEN or the LORD MAYOR shall have the custody of that rusty old myth, the Key of the City. It is absurd, and yet awful to think, that all Europe should be kept on the _qui vive_ about a key of no real value, and which, in fact, nobody cares about.

We think we can furnish a key to the whole difficulty, and we can point the way to a pacific solution of the question by putting the affair into the hands of our friend CHUBB of St. Paul's Churchyard, or our equally enlightened friend BRAMAH of Piccadilly. We are convinced that either of these ingenious individuals will undertake to dispose of the question, "Who shall keep the key?" by furnishing each party with a duplicate. By this arrangement either of the individuals claiming custody of the key will have it in his power to avoid the necessity of either picking the lock or picking a quarrel.

* * * * *


OPHELIA, in her madness, exclaims, "They say the owl was a baker's daughter." This was a delirious mistake. What they do say, or ought to say, is, that the owl is an undertaker's son. For truly the son of a certain sort of undertaker has an owl for his father: is an owl and the son of an owl, that ominous bird which

"Puts the wretch that lies in woe, In remembrance of a shroud."

Witness the subjoined statement by a correspondent of the _Daily News_:--

"A member of my family is just recovering from an illness which, for a time, kept all about her in daily apprehension. The fact of the illness becoming known in the neighbourhood, I am forthwith inundated with undertakers' circulars, in which all the horrid paraphernalia of the tomb are set forth, together with the various merits, "readiness," "dispatch," &c., of the applicant, expectant of his job, and all this is shamelessly, indecently, wantonly, thrust before the very eyes of afflicted relatives, watching the sick bed with feelings racked between the alternations of hope and despair."

Precisely as the light in the sick chamber elicits the shriek of the screech-owl, so does the muffled knocker attract the puffs of the advertising undertaker. With the attributes of the owl, however, these death-hunters combine the propensities of the crow and the vulture, which repair to the spot whereon a creature is dying, and hover impatiently about their prey that still breathes. Occasionally, no doubt, the vultures and crows, by a premature bite or dig of the beak, expedite the process of dissolution, and very likely the other birds of prey not unfrequently do the same thing: for one of these undertakers' circulars getting, by the folly of an old nurse, or any other misfortune, into the hands of a person dangerously ill, would be extremely likely to occasion a fatal shock, and convert the expected corpse into an actual one.

The writer in the _Daily News_ says that he called on one of the senders of these disgusting handbills, and informed the sordid and unfeeling snob that in case the services proffered by him were ever, unhappily, required, he would undoubtedly not be employed to render them. It is to be hoped that the determination expressed by this gentleman will be strenuously acted on by everybody else; and that when any one gets hold of a communication of this sort under similar circumstances, he will, instead of flinging it in a rage behind the fire, carefully preserve it, for the purpose of showing it to all his acquaintance, in order that they may make a note of the advertiser's name, lest they should ever forget it, and be induced to give any custom to such an odious brute.

Mind, however, that if you will associate sepulture with upholstery, you must expect to have upholsterers looking to sepulture with mere upholsterers' feelings. You ought not to be surprised that undertakers speculate on the prospect of a job at your house. It should not astonish you if one of these gentry were to propose to measure your wife or child for a coffin. If your funerals must needs be "furnished," your funeral furniture will involve competition, and its incidental snobbisms. Put away the soul's old clothes in a plain box, with decent rites and no other ceremony. Deposit them where they may most conveniently decompose, and deposit as little as possible of any value to decompose with them. Why should it cost a considerable sum to put a small piece of organic framework into earth? Whilst that operation continues to be expensive, we shall be sure to be pestered by candidates for its performance, invading the very chamber of sickness with tenders of cheap coffins, reduced shrouds, moderate palls, ridiculously low hearses, economical mourning coaches, and highly reasonable feathers.

* * * * *


AFTER several years of grumbling on the part of the public, we have at last got a Government that has been "strong enough" to venture on what, in the highly intelligent circles of Downing Street, has hitherto been considered the "hazardous question" of Cab Reform. It is a positive fact that until MR. FITZROY took the matter in hand, every administration has been "afraid" of the introduction of a Cab Bill, lest it should have opened the door to opposition, or, in other words, the public were to be crammed into wretched cabs, lest the Cab-in-et should be turned out.

Everybody with half a grain of common sense was perfectly well aware that Cab Reform would be one of the most popular things a Government could undertake; but it has required several years to make this plain fact intelligible in high quarters; and even now, there has been a timidity in dealing with some portions of the subject of Cab Reform, which, though the new Act is very good, as far as it goes, will soon cause the public to complain. We, however, desire to give all praise where it is due; and especially to MR. FITZROY, who will go down to posterity with his aggravated Assaults' Act in one hand, and his Cab Law in the other, to say nothing of the County Courts' Measure sticking out of his pocket. The sympathy shown by the present Government towards riders in cabs affords a proof that we have in the Administration--(now, reader, prepare to be knocked over by an unexpected blow)--a few really Cabbin'-it Ministers. We will conclude with a lyric tribute to MR. FITZROY, adapted to the itinerant air of--


Cheer! boys, cheer! no more of imposition, Cabs at true fares shall bear us on our way; MAYNE'S smart police shall show the proper tariff, Telling us exactly what we have to pay. So farewell, fraud--much as we've endured thee, We'll let alone what may have gone before, Why should we growl at having paid back carriage, We shall not have to pay it any more. Cheer! boys, cheer! for _Punch_ and MR. FITZROY, Cheer! boys, cheer! for _Punch_ is our right hand; Cheer! boys, cheer! there's fruit of FITZROY'S labour, Cheer! boys, cheer! for the new Improved Cab Stand.

Cheer! boys, cheer! no wind is on us blowing, Through broken panes upon our neck and chest, This horse can go the distance we are going, By over work he is no more opprest; Once we had cabs--than hencoops scarcely better-- Through open spaces letting in the rain; Now, ours shall be the clean and well-built carriage, And at a price as moderate again. Cheer! boys, cheer! &c.

* * * * *


"Men in a passion should be treated like kettles--when they boil over, they should be taken off."

* * * * *


Of all men it must be confessed that the Tax-gatherer has the most calls for his money.

* * * * *

A GUARDSMAN'S CONFESSION (_overheard at Chobham_).--"On my word there's no greater Bore in the world than your military Drill!"

* * * * *



* * * * *


Oh Emerald Isle, brightest pearl of the ocean, First flower of the earth, on thy newly-born wings Soar up to the sky, with triumphant emotion, Whilst thou sittest, receiving the homage of kings.

Raise, Erin, thy brow, which no longer is clouded And seared by the cold brand of chilling neglect; Stand forth in the garb of festivity shrouded As thy sons and thy daughters, fair maiden, expect.

Exchanging thy widowhood's lonely condition For the splendour and state of a blushing young bride, Preside, unabashed, o'er thy Great Exhibition, Thy heart humbly swelling with glory and pride.

Yes, Ireland, thy lap filled with all the world's riches, Of thy shirt-sleeves the elbows, gone ragged of yore, Shall no longer hang out at the knees of thy breeches, And the toes of thy brogues out at heel go no more.

Too long has the Demon of fell agitation, By the dark torch of discord diffused o'er the land, Created a stir, which has caused a stagnation, Bringing business, and everything else, to a stand.

Away with Brigades--they're all mighty bad bargains; Away with those heads that are nothing but tails, The footsteps for you, boys, to follow, are DARGAN'S: And don't proceed backwards in DR. MACHALE'S!

* * * * *


An advertisement has appeared in nearly all the papers, announcing as a "novel and thrilling attraction" that

"Two ladies will make their ascent on Monday evening next, suspended from the car of the Royal Cremorne Balloon."

There is evidently some mistake in the announcement of this unwomanly and degrading exhibition. We cannot well allow that to be an "ascent" where the parties engaged so completely lower themselves.

* * * * *


MAJOR-GENERAL PUNCH having appointed this day for the inspection of the QUEEN'S Piebalds, that gallant and distinguished corps arrived at Chamomile Scrubs at 9 o'clock in full marching order, and formed line with rear to the railway, to await the arrival of the General. The inspections of the General are generally looked forward to with much interest by the cavalry, in consequence of their practical nature; and this being so close upon the Chobham affair, a considerable amount of cramming had been practised by the subalterns, who had given up their days and nights to the getting up of their "echelons," "wheels," &c., and the other interesting information afforded by the book published by authority of the Adjutant-General.

The General arrived shortly after the troops, and immediately proceeded to business. He first inspected the ranks; and having ascertained (as indeed had been ascertained before, in "troop," "squad," and "grand parade") that the men's hair was cut according to the regulations, that the whiskers were in line with their ears, and that their "boots were polished and jackets were trim," he made a minute inspection of the appointments, pointing out the mode of fastening the carabine as giving ample room for improvement. The pouch he was particularly displeased with, asking somewhat snappishly, "What the devil it did at the back when it was wanted in the front?" He also made some observations about the cartridges, blank as well as ball, which we couldn't catch. The regiment then marched past by squadron, files, troops, threes, &c. While ranking past by single file--a movement, by the bye, which is particularly slow in more senses than one--the General resumed the subject of the appointments, and paid particular attention to the valise, and mode of packing it; but as his observations were repeated in an after part of the day, we need not here insert them.

The sword exercise was next performed in a manner which did great credit to the adjutant. Indeed the pursuing practice, at a gallop, was particularly exciting; the troops scouring the Scrubs in pursuit of nothing, with a zeal and vigour which must have struck terror into the heart of NICHOLAS, or even his illustrious namesake himself, had either witnessed the scene.

The evolutions next commenced, GENERAL PUNCH himself giving the word of command--the practice he always adopts at his inspections, in order to prevent the possibility of commanding officers cramming their troops with a series of common-place movements. However, things went off very well, notwithstanding. While the skirmishers were out the General took the opportunity of again pointing out the great inconvenience, not to say the utter uselessness of the pouch, which article of war, by the bye, he seems to be properly "down upon." It was noticed indeed that nearly all the skirmishers dispensed entirely with its use, putting their ammunition in their breasts, or rather, in the breasts of their coats. The gallant General galloped about from flank to flank with great fury, "dressing" the line and the leaders with a nicety which must have greatly pleased the adjutant. The manner in which he shouted "Up, up, up, up the l-l-left!" "Back the r-r-right!" must also have been equally approved of by that officer.

On returning to barracks, the General went round the stables, attended by the Colonel and the officers of their respective troops. It is this part of the day's business that always causes the "funking" (if we may be allowed to apply that term in military matters) of the officers. The General being well "up" in all the minutiæ of stable economy, mostly puzzles the officers with his curious information respecting straps, buckles, wallets, shoe-cases, &c., a sort of information which, though it may be thought "boring" to acquire, and though it may seldom be necessary for officers to apply in quarters, would be found very essential in actual warfare, or at Chobham, where it was not unlikely an officer might be left without his "batman," and have to shift for himself.

We give a specimen of the sort of information required by the General of these affairs, premising however that he does not select an individual officer, and subject him to a lengthened catechism; but good-humouredly dodges from one to another, so that no one feels as if he had been subjected to an "examination." The following may be given as a summary of the answers elicited:--

LIEUT. SO AND SO.--Had been in the Piebalds 4 years, a Lieutenant 3 years; has had command of the troop sometimes in the absence of the Captain; had frequently sat on Courts-martial, which he considered a bore: didn't know who rode _that_ horse--didn't know the horse's number; the horse in the next stall was "rode" by a serjeant; didn't know the serjeant's name; knew he was a serjeant, because he wore three stripes. Thought a cloak strap had something to do with a cloak, didn't know how it was fastened; supposed to the saddle somehow. A troop horse had oats and hay, and some pails of water every day--about so much; the exact amount was down in the stable regulations which he had read--remembered reading them once at the head of the troop when he first joined; LIEUT. WHIFFIN pelted him with nuts while he was doing so. Couldn't answer the question, "Do you bruise your oats?" there was nothing in the stable regulations about that. Knew how to pack a valise, _viz._, "according to the Articles of War and the provisions of the Mutiny Act;" knew there was a standing order about it, didn't recollect the whole of it; knew the forage cap "was to be placed on the heels of the highlows;" was certain of that: thought on that plan the boots and spurs might be rolled up in a shirt; blacking, and pipeclay-sponge along with the socks; thought it likely that the cap wouldn't be in a fit state to wear after being on the highlows, but couldn't help that; it was the regulation. Knew what a private's daily pay was, didn't know what a lance corporal's was; didn't know what either paid for daily messing, didn't want to know; knew what _he_ paid very well. Hadn't the remotest idea how much meat or bread would be required for fifty men, should say a precious sight; didn't know whether the men were allowed beer, had reason to believe they drank it, or something else sometimes. Didn't know much about encampments, how should he? Had been reading up for Chobham, couldn't find out whether the _ch_ was hard or soft. Rather liked the idea of encamping, thought there would be some fun. Didn't know much about pitching a tent; supposed it would have some reference to keeping it dry; but his batman or some one else would attend to that sort of thing. GUNTER was going to forage for their mess. Thought any joking about campaign and Champagne stoopid: no one but a civilian would attempt it.

The General wound up the day's proceedings by visiting the Hospital, School Room, Library, and outhouses; and--having satisfied himself as to the state of the barracks, read all the books in the library, examined every man's accounts in each troop, ascertained the particulars of every case in hospital--adjourned to the mess, where the festivities were kept with the usual spirit of the Piebalds.

* * * * *


[Illustration: T]


"I am a Man upon Town; that is, I confess, I spend the greater part of my time in idling thereabout. But now and then I am seized with a desire to improve my mind, expand my faculties, elevate my ideas--and all that sort of thing--and in this proper disposition I go to the British Museum: which I find shut.

"I don't know how this is. My own fault? I ought to know that the Museum is only open on certain days? Yes, I ought--but I don't. I forget the days. I can't remember them; and other people who are not so indolent as I am, and take pains to recollect them, forget them too.

"Besides, if I am indolent, I am one of the British Public, for whose use and amusement the British Museum is meant, and think its arrangements ought, in a reasonable measure, to be accommodated to my indolence.

"But what you will, perhaps, regard as a consideration of greater weight, there are numerous persons who only get a leisure day occasionally; and that leisure, like my fit of diligence, is safe to occur on a day when the Museum is closed.

"Why not throw the British Museum open every day, except on the few days when it may be necessary, if it is necessary, that artists should have it all to themselves--like the National Gallery? What good do the statues, the stuffed animals, the antiquities, and the mummies do half their time, wasting their sweetness on the desert--or at least the vacant--air? It would be much better if they were putting some ideas into my vacant mind.

"I wish, like a good fellow, you would attend to this, as Chief Commissioner of Works, and have the British Museum thrown open, or get the Trustees, or whatever you call the authorities, to throw it open daily, or as nearly so as possible, to suit the convenience of industrious fellows, and the desultory habits of


"P.S. HER MAJESTY'S subjects have to thank you for admission to Kew Gardens on a Sunday. It would be a capital thing if you could get the Museum opened to them likewise; particularly as the Nineveh sculptures, I understand, are regular 'sermons in stones'--to borrow the expression of--I believe--SHAKSPEARE."

* * * * *


(_Being the English change for_ COUNT NESSELRODE'S _Circular Note_.)

As PRINCE MENSCHIKOFF'S mission has caused a great rumpus, And a notion prevails that the Czar's in the wrong, And as England and France may be able to stump us, These our reasons you'll state, Courts and Cabinets among.

You need scarcely point out that of truth there's no particle In the monstrous report, that our threatenings of war Are meant to enforce on the Sultan an article Which puts twelve million Turks 'neath the thumb of the Czar.

As no Cabinet gravely can hold such a notion, You will go on at once to impress, at your Court, The Czar's Christian care and unselfish devotion For the Russo-Greek Church in the realms of the Porte.

You will say that his feelings are strictly parental Towards that Church, of which he is the father and head. That the influence he wields is all moral and mental-- A fact proved by all he has done--at least, said.

Describe the Czar's wish to know wherefore this heat is At demands which existing conventions allow; Cite Kainardji's and Adrianople's two treaties, And point out that they give all we're asking for now.

Show how, from beginning to end of the business, All about Holy Places the question has been; That, if 'twixt us and France there was some slight uneasiness, The horizon on that side is now quite serene.

That the Russo-Greek rights have been clearly admitted, And secured by a firman, and Hatti-Scheriff; So that France and the Latin Communions outwitted, Yield the _pas_ to the Russo-Greek Church and its chief.

Recapitulate then, as these rights--in the first place-- Are what Russia has always enjoyed, beyond doubt; And as--secondly--France is now put in the worst place In the matter, whereon she and Russia fell out;

And as--in the third place--the Sultan has granted All we asked by a Firman, which clearly maintains The rights of our Church, which was all we e'er wanted; And as--in the fourth place--my note thus explains

The duplicity, weakness, and tergiversation Which the Porte through the whole of this business has shown, And proves, too, the Czar's great forbearance and patience, Guided, as he has been, by his duty alone;--

We cannot conceive what he's taken to task for, If on the offensive he ventures to act, Seeing that we have always had all we now ask for, And have since got a firman confirming the fact.

Submit the above, as a full demonstration, That no option we've had, 'tween disgrace and a war, And ask if the Porte had so used them, what nation But _must_ have done just what's been done by the Czar?

* * * * *


The chief difficulty of military science, as studied at the Camp at Chobham, has proved during the late wet weather to consist in the elements.

* * * * *


On what model has the India Bill been formed? On that of a pale ale bottle, one would think, for it seems to be a very insufficient measure.

* * * * *


* * * * *


The Camp at Chobham has already so far answered its purpose as to have given a powerful impetus to the military propensities of the rising generation, and there has been a considerable muster of troops in many a nursery, which may, on this occasion, be termed a nursery for young soldiers.

We lately had the privilege of being present at a Grand Nursery Review and Sham Fight, where the Wooden Cavalry, under the command of MASTER JONES, stood a fierce attack from a division of tin soldiery under the able direction of MASTER and MISS TODDLEKINS. The ground occupied was a sort of table land, having for its surface a _tapis vert_, or green cover. MASTER JONES was on the spot early, and the Wooden Cavalry were at once disturbed from their bivouac; and the sentries having been summoned from their boxes, took up a strong position behind some lines formed of an open dictionary, which admitted of the soldiers being disposed in double columns. The Wooden Cavalry looked remarkably well, though some of them were evidently veterans who had been in the wars, for there were many without arms, a few without heads, and here and there a horse had been curtailed of a tail, or some other usual adjunct. MASTER and MISS TODDLEKINS now brought up--from down-stairs--a considerable body of tin soldiery of every arm--though, occasionally, deficient of a leg--and these having been drawn up exactly opposite to the Wooden Cavalry, both sides were prepared to give or take battle.

The proceedings commenced by the sound of a trumpet feebly blown by MISS TODDLEKINS, and responded to on the drum by MASTER JONES, when a smart fire of peas, ably directed by MASTER TODDLEKINS, was opened on the wooden cavalry. The double columns of "_Johnson's Dictionary_" for a time sheltered the forces under MASTER JONES; but a sudden _sortie_ made by MISS TODDLEKINS shook the opposing force with such violence that several fell _en masse_, and the _mêleé_ becoming general, great numbers on both sides were savagely put to the pea-shooter. The forces under MASTER JONES being now entirely put to the rout, their young commander grew desperate and threw down upon the foe all his strength, combined in one enormous volume--of the dictionary already alluded to.

The loss on both sides was considerable, and among the casualties must be enumerated an accident of a rather harassing nature to MR. JONES SENIOR who, while surveying the field of battle, received in a small indentation on the right of his nose one of the largest peas of the enemy. It is satisfactory, however, to add that the battle was decisive, for no animosity remained on the minds of the young chiefs on either side, who, having removed the killed and wounded, immediately spread the _tapis vert_ with a repast of the choicest jams, which they all freely partook of. The only soreness that remained was on the part of MR. JONES SENIOR, but his anger was soon appeased, and the peas were speedily forgotten.

* * * * *


Here is a bit of fine writing:--

"We have been led to imagine that the dark cloud which impended over commerce in the time of the Star Chamber, had been scattered by the onward progress of civil freedom--we have from early childhood been thankful that we were not born in the days when serfdom crippled the body and bigotry the mind of man, and we cannot think your Lordship will pledge the legislation of the 19th century to an enactment so offensive as this irresponsible police power is to"--

To whom? Well--taking "commerce" as a misprint for "conscience" one might imagine that the remonstrants were "Maltese Cross JOHN TUAM," DANIEL, or DENNIS, or DERMOT, or whatever-his-name-is CAHILL, FREDERICK LUCAS, and other such gentry--and clergy--denouncing a sanguinary, atrocious, diabolical, fiendish, &c. &c. proposition for the deliverance of nuns from false imprisonment. But no. The individuals to whom the "irresponsible police power" is "offensive," are simply

"One branch of English tradesmen."

That is to say, they are the Metropolitan Omnibus Proprietors, complaining by the pen of MR. H. GRAY, their Chairman, to LORD ABERDEEN, against certain clauses of the Hackney Carriage Act. We dare say this "one branch of English tradesmen" will no more be rendered subject to an "irresponsible police power" than any other branch of the same tree; but if "like master like man" is a true proverb, the proprietors of omnibuses are gentlemen whom it is quite right the police should "look after," and, at least, have power to make them "move on." We are glad to see that they admire the onward progress of civil freedom, and hope they will contrive to make their drivers and conductors stick to that; for the liberty which those persons are in the habit of taking is too often destitute of civility.

* * * * *



MR. PUNCH'S Quarterly account has, like that of the nation, been duly made up, and presents equally satisfactory results with the national finance sheet.

There has been an increase of 537 Epigrams on the corresponding quarter in last year.

In the Jokes department there has been no very great increase, but this is accounted for by the contributor whose business it is to make them having fancied himself in love, and taken to ultra-sentimental poetry. But we are happy to state that he has been unmistakeably thrown over by the young lady, and will at once return to his duties.

On the Capital Hits the increase is very large, and although this may in some measure be due to the military array at Chobham, there is no reason to think there will be a drawback, especially as no announcement has appeared of any intention to close Parliament or the Princess's Theatre.

On the Imports and Stamps, that is to say, the original plays, and the actors' displays, there is a small diminution, owing to a pair of spectacles and the warm evenings, but _Mr. Punch_ anticipates that he shall have a different account to give at his next return, and after his next return check.

The Great Cuts show their usual average of 13 to the quarter, but evince the remarkable progressive phenomenon of each being more supernaturally brilliant than its predecessor, and adding a new lustre to this unparalleled gallery of Social and Political Satire, prompted by Philanthropy, elevated by High Art, recognised by the Million, and published at 85, Fleet Street.

On every item in the Miscellaneous List the return is comparatively, as well as positively and superlatively satisfactory. To the Bride in her Honeymoon, to the Cabman and the Cabinet Minister at their respective boxes, to the Bribed Elector in his Dungeon and to the Spirit Rapper in his Sell, to the Artist before, the Candidate after, and the Soldier under, his Canvass, to the woman-smiting ruffian, now (thanks to FITZROY) catching it from Beak and Clause, to the spoiled juvenile at the Jellies and the Undergraduate at the Isis, to the Actor at the Wing and the Author at the Tale, to the Fisherman at the Perch and to the Politician knocked off it, to the Turk by his Port, to the Guardsman by his Tent, to the Policeman by his Cape, the Exeter Arcade Beadle by his White Hermitage, and to the Masquerader by his patron saint JULLIEN, _Mr. Punch_ is delighted to say that they will all find their account in looking through his accounts for the last quarter.

* * * * *


(_To the Member for Lincoln._)

It is, COLONEL SIBTHORP, as you say, a mean, dirty, shabby, and disgraceful measure--that Expenses of Elections Bill, which prohibits flags and bands of music at Parliamentary elections. Flags, no doubt, materially assist a thinking man in the process of deliberation, by which he determines on a fit and proper person to represent him in Parliament. But, waving the flags, let us more particularly denounce the prohibition of music. The proposal, of course, arose from an absence of music in the soul, and a fitness for treasons on the part of the revolutionist who originated it.

But abuse, COLONEL, is not argument. Relinquishing the former, let us bring forward the latter.

Election music is an institution of our ancestors; and, _you_ may say, was intended for the promotion of harmony between opposite parties. When it was first introduced, philharmonic art was in the state wherein it had been left by Saint CECILIA, and had not arrived at the perfection which it has attained to under M. JULLIEN. The wisdom of our ancestors was greatly in advance of their music; their common sense was acute, but their perception of sweet sounds obtuse; they had "a reasonable good ear in music," according to _Bottom's_ idea thereof; let them have the tongs and bones--give them _Bumper Squire Jones_, _Old Sir Simon the King_, _The Roast Beef of Old England_, and the like, and they were content. Tunes that the old cow died of animated them: they were enchanted by melodies that now only charm the hearts of broomsticks. Elevated, however, they were by these old rugged but patriotic strains, and in a state of elevation they rushed to the poll, and did their duty as men and Britons.

But now, what with the performances at Exeter Hall and the Promenade Concerts, what with hearing _Israel in Egypt_, and _Rigoletto_, and BEETHOVEN'S _Symphony in C. Minor_, and MOZART'S _Requiem_, and _Pop goes the Weasel_, the public ear has got educated, and looks down--if an ear can look, as perhaps it can in a state of clairvoyance--on a perambulatory orchestra of free and independent Britons: independent chiefly in their playing.

What then? Abolish election music? Do away with a great institution because it has been inefficiently carried out? No; to be sure. Improve it, in accordance with the requirements of the age. Don't put down election bands; but give them better music to play; not, COLONEL, that I shall contradict you if you say that there can be none better than _The Roast Beef_, &c. Have pieces composed on purpose for elections; symphonies breathing loyalty and order together with a spirit of economy and retrenchment; pastoral symphonies expressive of the feelings of the agricultural interests; marches infusing into the minds of voters courage to resist attempts at intimidation: overtures of a lofty character, different from COPPOCK'S. At Lincoln, where you could have it all your own way, you might cause to be performed music descriptive of dislike of the Whigs, and of want of confidence in HER MAJESTY'S Government. There are, doubtless, musical effects representative of all human emotions; disgust, even, at the recollection of the Crystal Palace.

To prevent Ministerial jobbery, let the candidates have to find the music; composers as well as executants; base is the slave who cannot pay his expenses, and something more: like a gentleman, like yourself, and like


P.S. Solos to the tune of £. _s._ _d._ to be performed by any candidates who choose, as they have a right, to do what they like with their own. The _Rogue's March_ would be an appropriate air to celebrate the next return of the Noble Lord the Member for London. Eh?

* * * * *


(_As Sung by_ Sir JOHN PAKINGTON _at St. Stephen's Theatre in the new Musical Comedy of the Successions' Tax_.)

Sure Derbyites were born to sorrow, Kicked out to-day, and mocked to-morrow; By Dizzy I'm snubbed, and by COBDEN I'm rated, Ne'er was Chairman of Quarter Sessions so sittivated. There's GLADSTONE swears the squires shan't trick him, And vote as they may, it seems they can't lick him. Their Taxation Area he enlarges, And a Succession Tax on real property charges. Oh! lackaday, Pity JOHNNY, lackaday!

I denounced the bill in a voice of thunder, And a House of fifty Members as "FRAUD and PLUNDER:" But they only grinned at my desperation And my lack of all "_powers of ratiocination_." That GLADSTONE he has quite undone me; Like any bashaw looks down upon me, When I kneels to ax for the squires some mercy, It does no good--but vice varsey. Oh! lackaday, Pity JOHNNY, lackaday! [_Exit L._

* * * * *

HOPING AGAINST HOPE.--Taking a ticket in a Betting-Office.

* * * * *


[Illustration: W]

We agree with PROFESSOR FARADAY that there is something very startling in the condition of the public mind in regard to scientific reasoning. Here is a specimen--if correctly reported--of the ratiocination of a British Legislator, and a gentleman of more than average education, moreover, a polemic of considerable celebrity; relative to a simple question of evidence. At a recent meeting of the "English Homoeopathic Association," according to the _Morning Post_:--

"MR. MIALL, M.P., moved the adoption of the report, and stated that he had become a convert to the truth of the principles of Homoeopathy from seeing their effects as regarded a relative--though, thanks to the goodness of Providence, he had no personal experience of them."

To any one possessed of common understanding and decent information, who is accustomed to exercise the least caution in drawing inferences, who has the slightest glimmering of an idea of the nature of inductive proof, who does not, in short, jump to his conclusions like a kangaroo, it is truly marvellous that any sane human mind should be capable of such a generalization as the above. MR. MIALL says that he became "a convert to the principles of Homoeopathy"--whence? From carefully sifting an accumulation of evidence, patiently comparing and analysing hosts of facts? No; but "from seeing their effects as regarded a relative."

This is just the mental process by which an old woman arrives at a faith in HOLLOWAY'S or MORISON'S PILLS.

Observe, too, that the thing which MR. MIALL is persuaded of with such facility, is one which is, so far from being in itself likely, anteriorly improbable in the very highest degree, and, indeed, ridiculously absurd on the first face of it.

It is curious how nonsensically men, otherwise intelligent, will argue whenever they meddle with a question relative to medicine. A man is reckoned a fool for talking about any other subject which he does not understand; but it seems to be assumed that there is a specialty in medical matters, which admits of sound opinions being formed respecting them by people who are entirely ignorant of them.

MR. MIALL, however, uses a correct expression when he calls himself a "convert" to Homoeopathy. Science has no "converts." Scientific truths are either self-evident or demonstrable. Philosophical systems are not "denominations" or "persuasions." It is systems of another kind that exercise faith--such faith as Mr. MIALL appears to repose in Homoeopathy.

To medical nonconformity, however, let MR. MIALL be welcome, if he will only suffer nonconformity of another kind to constitute him no obstacle to that "secular" education which is so needful a preservative against all manner of humbug.

We say Amen to Mr. MIALL'S thanksgiving for never having experienced the effects of Homoeopathy in his own person; that is to say, never having experienced the effects of a serious illness unchecked by the quackery resorted to for its cure.

* * * * *


The Jews are excluded from Parliament by bigotry--but not merely by the bigotry of the House of Peers.

Facts are stubborn things; they are also bigoted things: at least Matter-of-fact exhibits a remarkable bigotry in regard to the Jews.

Last week, in the law reports, appeared the old story of the plucked pigeon; dissipation, horse-dealing, bill-discounting, cheating, and rascality. Bigoted Matter-of-fact, as usual, exhibited the scoundrel of the tale as a gentleman of the Hebrew persuasion.

How is it, that if there is any villany, if there is any wickedness of a particularly dirty sort; a case of bill-stealing, receipt of stolen goods, fraudulent gambling, marine store-shop, or other disreputable establishment, the party chiefly implicated is sure, in the great majority of instances, to be a gentleman rejoicing in the name, slightly corrupted, of one of the prophets or patriarchs? For so it is, according to bigoted Matter-of-fact.

While so much bigotry exists, a corresponding amount of prejudice must also exist, tending to obstruct the entrance of Israelites into the House of Commons. For if the bigot Matter-of-fact's assertion, that in nine cases out of ten a bill discounter, low-hell-keeper, fence, or other trader in wickedness, is a Jew, be believed, then the supposition that it is ten to one that a Jew is a rogue, is not very unreasonable.

Now the Jewish community is not numerous and poor, but just the reverse; and its chiefs are wallowing in riches. Would they not take the most effectual means of getting their disabilities removed, if, by diffusing education throughout their body, they could manage to abate that bigotry of Matter-of-fact which ascribes to it so large a portion of discreditable members?

* * * * *



Oh, MR. FARADAY, simple MR. FARADAY! Much as you've discovered touching chemic laws and powers, Strange, that you should, till now, never have discovered how Many foolish dunces there are in this world of ours! Nature's veracity, whilst with perspicacity, Vigilantly, carefully, you labour to educe, Little do you suspect how extremely incorrect Common observation is, and common sense how loose.

Oh, MR. FARADAY, simple MR. FARADAY! Did you of enlightenment consider this an age? Bless your simplicity, deep in electricity. But, in social matters, unsophisticated sage! Weak Superstition dead; knocked safely on the head, Long since buried deeper than the bed of the Red Sea, Did you not fondly fancy? Did you think that necromancy Practised now at the expense of any fool could be?

Oh, MR. FARADAY, simple MR. FARADAY! Persons not uneducated--very highly dressed Fine folks as peer and peeress, go and fee a Yankee seeress, To evoke their dead relations' Spirits from their rest. Also seek cunning men, feigning, by mesmeric ken, Missing property to trace and indicate the thief, Cure ailments, give predictions: all of these enormous fictions Are, among our higher classes, matters of belief.

Oh, MR. FARADAY, simple MR. FARADAY! Past, you probably supposed the days of DR. DEE, Up turned his Crystal, though, but a little while ago, Full of magic visions for genteel small boys to see. Talk of gentility! see what gullibility Fashionable dupes of homoeopathy betray, Who smallest globules cram with the very biggest flam, Swallowing both together in the most prodigious way.

Oh, MR. FARADAY, simple MR. FARADAY! Men of learning, who, at least, should better know, you'd think, Credit a pack of odd tales of images that nod, Openly profess belief that certain pictures wink, That saints have sailed on cloaks, and without the slightest hoax, In the dark, by miracle, not like stale fish, did shine, Nor phosphorus, that slowly, might, in personages holy-- As in others, possibly, with oxygen combine.

Oh, MR. FARADAY, simple MR. FARADAY! Guided by the steady light which mighty Bacon lit, You naturally stare, seeing that so many are Following whither fraudulent Jack-with-the-Lanterns flit. Of scientific lore, though you have an ample store, Gotten by experiments, in one respect you lack; Society's weak side, whereupon you none have tried, Being all Philosopher and nothing of a Quack.

* * * * *


We are continually hearing of some individual or other who is remarkable for what is called an "Enlarged Benevolence." We wish MR. DONOVAN would explain to us the meaning of this phrase, for though we sometimes hear of an enlargement of the heart, or of a newspaper having been "permanently enlarged," we are puzzled to understand how there can be an enlargement of an individual's benevolence.

* * * * *


One great cause of the heaviness of Parliamentary debates is the jokes with which they are interspersed, although these are not numerous. A speech may contain but a single joke; but that one joke, or attempt at joking, is such as to give a weight to the whole discourse which it would not derive from the arguments advanced in it. To quote a House of Commons' witticism is generally to quote JOE MILLER, whom Honourable Gentlemen seem to cram in order to amuse, as they cram ADAM SMITH with a view to instruct one another. Their jokes, like a very different kind of things, Chancery decisions, are warranted by precedent. Liberals though some of them may be in earnest, they are all Tories in fun. _Stare super antiques jocos_ is the motto of the extremest Radicals among them. The boldest innovators of the Manchester School show a veneration for antiquity as far as that goes. When the cellars of the House of Commons are searched for GUY FAWKES, it is wonderful that no explosive matter is found in them; no jokes in bottles, laid down many years ago, full of beeswing, so to speak; old and dry. The foregoing reflections were suggested by a report, in the Parliamentary intelligence, of the most brilliant joke that has for a long time, as a gentleman in the Brigade might say, shaken the walls of St. Stephen's. This highly successful sally was made in Committee on the Expenses of Elections' Bill by

"MR. ELLIOTT, the Member for Roxburghshire, who expressed anxiety to know, as the clauses prohibited persons playing, whether in future any of his constituents would be fined for playing the Scotch fiddle?"

If this pun is not very witty, at least it savours of the quality nearest allied to wit. MR. ELLIOTT'S humorous question, moreover, is no unmeaning joke. It expresses a feeling probably very general among his constituents, who, we trust, will not, by any ungenerous legislation, be deprived of that relief, under circumstances of suffering, which they have always enjoyed under the ancient Scottish constitution.

* * * * *



My son, a father's warning heed; I think my end is nigh: And then, you dog, you will succeed Unto my property.

But, seeing you are not, just yet, Arrived at man's estate, Before you full possession get, You'll have a while to wait.

A large allowance I allot You during that delay; And I don't recommend you not To throw it all away.

To such advice you'd ne'er attend; You won't let prudence rule Your courses; but, I know, will spend Your money like a fool.

I do not ask you to eschew The paths of vice and sin; You'll do as all young boobies, who Are left, as you say, tin.

You'll sot, you'll bet; and being green, At all that's right you'll joke; Your life will be a constant scene Of billiards and of smoke.

With bad companions you'll consort, With creatures vile and base, Who'll rob you; yours will be, in short, The puppy's common case.

But oh, my son! although you must Through this ordeal pass, You will not be, I hope--I trust-- A wholly senseless ass.

Of course, at prudence you will sneer, On that theme I won't harp; Be good, I won't say--that's severe; But be a little sharp.

All rascally associates shun To bid you were too much, But oh! beware, my spooney son Beware one kind of such.

It asks no penetrative mind To know these fellows: when You meet them, you, unless you're blind. At once discern the men.

The turgid lip, the piggish eye, The nose in form of hook, The rings, the pins, you tell them by, The vulgar flashy look.

Spend every sixpence, if you please, But do not, I implore, Oh! do not go, my son, to these Vultures to borrow more.

Live at a foolish wicked rate, My hopeful, if you choose, But don't your means anticipate Through bill-discounting Jews.


* * * * *


Of all the indignities to which the legal profession has been exposed, we know of nothing to equal the insult just passed upon it by the parish authorities of St. James's, Westminster, who have advertised for a first-rate lawyer to fill the place of Parochial Messenger. Our assertion might appear incredible, were it not sustained by the following extract from one of the _Times'_ Supplements:--

PAROCHIAL MESSENGER.--St. James's, Westminster--WANTED, by the Governors and Directors of the Poor, a respectable PERSON, of active habits, to fill the above situation. He must be thoroughly acquainted with the Law of Settlement, the practice at sessions relating to appeals, and with parish business generally concerning the poor. The duties and salary annexed to the appointment may be ascertained at my office, No. 50, Poland Street, Oxford Street, daily, between 9 and 6 o'clock; where also applications, accompanied by testimonials of character and ability, are to be left on or before Thursday, the 14th instant.

By order,


Now every lawyer is perfectly aware that the law of settlement is a subject so abstruse and difficult that a "thorough acquaintance" with it can only be derived from years of study and practice at the Bar; and it is, therefore, quite evident that the Guardians of the Poor of St. James's, Westminster, expect one of the ablest Sessions barristers that can be found to undertake the place of messenger. We will admit that business has sadly fallen off, but we are not yet prepared to believe that our BODKINS and our BALLANTINES, or even our HORRIDS and our FLORIDS, will yet be content to undertake the task of running on parochial errands, and delivering parochial messages. We shall, however, not be surprised at finding a forensic sergeant advertised for as a sergeant of police, because it is necessary the latter should know the law; but we hope it will be long before our WILKINSES cease to ornament our Bar by their splendid talents, and begin to exchange the coif for the cape, or the big wig for the baton.

* * * * *


SUNDAY AT BLACKWALL--_Mr. Punch_ would be glad to know where a letter would find you.

* * * * *


_Gentleman (under the influence of White Bait)._ "Well, old Fella--Reklect--Preshent Company dine here with me every Monday, Thursday, an' Sat'dy--Friday--No--Toosday, Thursday, an' Sat'dy--Mind an' don' forget--I say--What a good fella you are--Greatest 'steem and regard for you, old fella!!"]

* * * * *


Bermondsey is a great place for tanners. According to the REV. DR. ARMSTRONG, the incumbent of St. Paul's in that district, the converts to Protestantism from Popery therein residing get thrashed by their quondam co-religionists. Is it the _genius loci_ or the genius of Roman Catholicism that suggests this tanning of the hides of heretics? which, one would think, if it cured their skins, would scarcely heal their souls, and instead of re-converting them to Romanism would only convert them to leather.

* * * * *

PROSPECT IN FOREIGN POLITICS.--When Austria and Russia fall out, KOSSUTH and MAZZINI will come by their own.

* * * * *

QUERY FOR TABLE-TURNERS.--Have you ever turned a square table round?

* * * * *


* * * * *


The dashing Protestant candidate for Sligo in his address advised his intended constituents to beware of the "priestly LEGREES who seek to reduce them to political UNCLETOMITUDE." We should say that he--but, on second thoughts, we scorn to put two good things into the same paragraph.

* * * * *


One of the daily journals constantly warns the present age against its tendency to succumb to the Lawyers, and "the legal mind." But the mammas and nurses of England are beforehand with the journalist. Nearly the first lesson and warning a child receives is, "Bar, Bar--Black Sheep."

* * * * *

AN ACHING VOID.--A hollow tooth.

* * * * *


* * * * *


Not the less apart for ever, Europe's coast, and Asia's shore, Though two continents to sever, Scarce a mile of sea doth roar; Though, whene'er that ocean-music Sinks upon the summer air. You may near Sultanieh's bulbuls Answering those of Buyukdère.

To that belt of rolling water, In the early Grecian age, Came the Argive king's fair daughter Fleeing JUNO'S jealous rage. ZEUS had wrought the maid dishonour; And to hide her from his spouse, Working foul defeature on her, Changed her fair form to a cow's.

But the lynx-eyed wife discovering What the heifer's form concealed, As a gad-fly quickly hovering, Stung her rival from the field; Driving on that hapless maiden-- Mad with pain and flecked with gore-- Till she staggered, sorrow-laden, To the far Propontid shore.

Pausing there, perforce, to breathe her, Faint, and frenzied, and foredone, She beheld the sea beneath her Basking lucid in the sun. In she dashed--the grateful chillness Brought assuagement to her pain, Gave her throbbing pulses stillness, Calmed the fever of her brain.

JUNO then her chase arrested, And the gad-fly stung no more; On swam IO, unmolested, Till she reached the Asian shore, Hence that strait, the poets tell us, Took the name it bears till now, "Bosporus," in tongue of Hellas, Meaning "Passage of the Cow."

Age on age has since passed over Those wild waters in their flow-- They have seen the Carian rover, Seeking wealth with sling and bow-- Seen the sun in his meridian Glinted back from countless arms, When to Greece the turbaned Median Led his hosts, like locust-swarms.

For the lordship of that region Every race hath drawn the sword-- Grecian phalanx, Roman legion, Norse Vikinger, Vandal horde. Still, through all, that strait retaineth Its old name in Hellas' song; "Bosporus" it still remaineth, "Bosporus" it shall be long.

But from this our day the meaning Of the word we cast anew, Now that Russia's Czar o'erweening, His war-vultures doth unmew. Onward like a base marauder Threatening force, when foiled in sleight, He hath crossed the Turkish border In contempt of law and right.

While the Turk, in force unequal, But with heart that scorns to flee, Dauntlessly awaits the sequel Of the war, if war must be. Of the West he claims alliance; France and England meet the call, And their flags in proud defiance Soon may float by Stamboul's wall.

In the outraged cause of nations, Turk and Christian will be one; When the fleets are at their stations-- Every man beside his gun. But our place must be the vanward, Other leading brook not we-- Bearing England's banner onward, The BRITANNIA cleaves the sea.

When defiant but unvaunting-- Hull by hull, slow surging on-- Tricolor and red cross flaunting, Euxine-wards the fleet hath gone. Bosporus! thine ancient glory, This thy new renown shall dull; "Passage of the Cow," in story, Changing to "Passage of JOHN BULL."

* * * * *


MISS CAROLINE _to her brother, student at Haileybury College_.


"Mamma and Papa desire me to say that they were very much gratified at reading that you acquitted yourself so well at the examination, and Papa has given me a cheque to enclose which, I dare say, you horrid creature, will make your sister's letter less of a 'baw' than usual. I sincerely hope that you will profit by the address of that dear old white-headed SIR JAMES, and learn to be "considerate of the feelings and wishes of those around you;" that is, that you will not grumble in the holidays at having to take JULIA and me to the Opera, or insist on smoking in your bedroom when you know that the smoke comes under MARIA'S door. However, I won't scold you as you have been such a good boy at school--bless me, College, I mean; ten millions of pardons, I'm sure.

"On Monday we all went to the Camp at Chobham, choosing the day quite accidentally, but so fortunately. The next morning while I was cutting the _Times_ for Papa, I was greatly delighted to read this:--

"'The ladies especially showed a surprising knowledge and appreciation of the manoeuvres performed. Should our brave defenders ever be called upon to protect our homes and altars, regiments such as those now at Chobham will not, despite the Peace Society, want Daughters--though in these piping times they have none.'"

As to the last part, if one could hope to equal that dear divine JENNY LIND in _La Figlia_, one would almost not mind wearing the odious costume, though of all the ungraceful--but what do you boys know about such things? I want to assure you that the first part of the story is quite true, and shows that the clever gentleman who wrote it sets more value on the opinion of young ladies than _some_ young gentlemen do whom I _could_ name, but will _not_. Now, as an account of what we saw must be useful to you in your studies (though you are _only_ in the Civil Service), I will tell you a little about it, and Papa says you are to send him a comparison between the battle of Cannæ (is that spelt right?) and the battle of Curley.

"We got a capital place for seeing, and we had not been on the ground many minutes before some one blew a horn, and out ran numbers of those large green beetles of Riflemen, and began to pretend to skirmish; but, as there was nobody to face them, they looked great sillies. But presently there was a heavy tramping, and on came the Guards, looking perfectly _splendid_, and ran up a hill. But I should tell you that on the top of this hill were some Sappers and Miners (it seemed an odd place to put them), and some soldiers with short guns, and when the Guards had gone a little way up the hill, the others let off their guns at them. Then the Guards pretended they could not advance any higher, so the great cannons were set roaring off, and I thought I should never get the throbbing out of my ears. Well, I suppose this encouraged the Guards, for they made another rush; and, at the same time, the Household Troops and the Light Dragoons went galloping and tearing in the same direction, and looking as if they could ride over _everything in the world_. However, they didn't, for it seems that it was necessary to fire more cannons, only this time it was the Horse Artillery. After this there was great confusion, and I do not believe that _anybody_ knew what he was to do; however, they all got upon the hill, and their swords and helmets sparkled beautifully in the sunshine. Lastly, those Highlanders, with the legs, made a long line, and then gave way for the others to come through it, like the opening figure in the First Set, and the green beetles began popping again, and the cannons were let off once more. Then they all went off the ground, and we had a dreadful to-do with a gipsy baby, which JULIA had foolishly taken to hold; and the mother went away, leaving the brown little creature with us, and could not be found until long after we were ready to go. JAMES said that if we left it on the grass it would be all safe; but this we would not hear of. The poor child would have been the better for the tub you used to hate so a few years ago when _Mr._ HENRY was only _Master_.

"Now, you are to say whether this was like the battle of Cannæ--I don't mean as to the baby, of course. And, if you will take my opinion, the evolutions were all nonsense. I do not see the use of cannon at all, and I am quite certain that, if the Guards rushed at an enemy as they ran up that hill at first, the enemy would run away at once. Also I think the cavalry and the infantry ought to be mixed up together, because then the soldiers on horseback could protect the others, and change with them when the poor men on foot were tired. Besides those dear horses never kick, so it would be quite safe; a soldier told me that, as I was giving his lovely black horse a sponge cake which he eat out of my hand. I think that if you gave this idea to the masters at your school--College, I mean--you would be thought very clever. But decidedly I do not like the cannons, and I am _certain_ they are of no use.

"You are to write directly to say that the cheque is all safe, and everybody unites in love. FAN'S guinea-pig is dead. Baby has had the measles, like the PRINCE OF WALES. Can you polk better than you did? What is good for my canary while it is moulting? Do not forget about Cannæ, and if I have spelt it wrong take no notice to papa.

"Your ever affectionate sister,


"P.S.--Your flirt, MARION WATERS, is going to be married. Hee, hee, hee!!!"

* * * * *


TALLEYRAND, talking of a man, who dealt in nothing but quotations, said, "That fellow has a mind of inverted commas."

* * * * *



Though on the principle of "Hear both sides," we have no objection to allow even the hoarse voice of a cab-driver to address itself to the polite ears of the public on the great question of Cab Reform, we must protest against many, if not all, of the positions taken up and set down by the editor of the New Hackney Carriage Act, in the following edition of that useful measure. We have not taken the trouble to answer the arguments of the unlearned annotator, inasmuch as we feel it to be quite unnecessary; for every one will see at a glance what the cabman is driving at.



This here measure sets out at a sort of full gallop, which is nothing more nor less than furious driving against us poor cabmen, by saying that it is "Enacted by the QUEEN'S most Excellent Majesty,"--which I don't deny that she is--and "with the advice and consent of the Lords Spiritual"--(them's the bishops: which I should like to know who ever seed a bishop in a cab, or on a 'bus, and therefore what have they to do with it?). The Act has twenty-two clauses; and every clause is intended to stick it into us. I shall take them clauses one by one, and if I use a little more license than the Commissioners like, they must recollect they makes us pay precious dear for our license, so we may as well have our say for our money.

1. Everybody who wants a license must apply in writing; so, if a poor unfortnate feller can't comply with the letter of the law by writing a letter which he never learnt to do, he must take to thieving, or something else, for he mustn't keep no cab, nor nothing.

2. The Commissioners is to have power to inspect your wehicles and your cattle whenever they like, so that when your 'bus is full and your passengers in a hurry to go by the train, you may all be pulled up while SIR RICHARD turns over the cushions, and sees if you've got any broken windows in your 'bus, or any broken winder drawin' of it. Of course nothin' will be good enough, unless we have velvet hottermans to keep the insides warm, and downy cushions for the outsides, as if we wasn't downy enough already. As to the horses, I don't know where we are to get 'em good enough. Praps they'll expect us to buy all the Derby winners and them sort of cattle to do our opposition work with. But I suppose there'll be a grant of money next year from the public purse, for private speckelation won't make it pay anyhow.

3. Purwides that, if we don't keep hansom private carriages for the public, and first-rate cattle to draw four on 'em about at three-halfpence a mile a-piece, we are to be fined three pounds a day, and go to prison a month for every day; so that, if we've done it for a whole year, we may be fined upards of a thousand pound, and be locked up for about five-and-thirty years. Consekwently three years would give us a hundred and five years imprisonment.

4. This takes all the crummy part of the bread out of our mouths by reducing our fares to sixpence a mile, which it used to be eightpence, which meant a shilling. Never mind! We'll get it out of 'em somehow, for we may charge twopence a package for luggage that won't go inside the cab; and we'll take care nothin' shall go in, for we'll have the doors so narrow that we can't be made to open our doors to imposition.

5. By this they compel us to have the fares painted up, and to carry a book of fares. What right have we to turn our cabs into a library or bookcase? When we make a mistake about a fare they always tell us we "ought to know the law." Why ought we to know it better than them as hires us? Let them carry books themselves. We've got enough to do to carry them.

6. In case of disputes the Police is to have it all their own way, for what they says is law, and what we says is nothin'.

7, 8, and 9. Compel us to go with anybody anywhere; give him a ticket with our number on--as if he couldn't use his eyes--and carry as many as our license says--though, sometimes, one fat rider would make three; so that if we get four such customers we shall as good as carry a dozen.

10. This is the unkindest cut of all, for it says we shall carry a "reasonable quantity of luggage." Why, with the women, there's no end to what they call a "reasonable quantity of luggage." I wish the Parlyment would have just settled that for us; for, if four females is going off to a train to spend a month at the sea-side, who is to say what will be a "reasonable quantity" of bonnet-boxes, carpet-bags, pet dogs, and bird-cages, that each on 'em may want to carry?

11. This makes us pay for other people's carelessness; for if anybody goes and leaves anything in any of our cabs, we mustn't earn another sixpence by taking another fare, but we must drive off in search of a police-station; and how, in our innocence, are we to know where to look for such places? If we don't, we must pay ten pounds penalty or stay a month in prison.

12 and 13. Purwides for turning adrift all the poor old watermen, and for putting Peelers in their stead. Praps they'll get a new Act next year to make us keep all the poor old coves that are cut out of the bread they used to get by giving us our water on the Cab Stands.

14. Says we shall have a lamp burning inside. Who's to trim it, I should like to know?

15, 16. As if we wasn't pitched into enough by redoosin our fares! We ain't to stand a chance of getting an odd sixpence out of NICHOLS or MOSES, or the Nutty Sherry, or any of them dodges, that used to advertise in our vehicles. There's nothin' said again the Railway people a doin' it. But Guvament is evidently afeard of them Railway chaps, so they are to go on doin' as they like with the public; and the public's to do as they like with us by way of recompense.

17. This says over agen what's been said already about reasonable luggage; and then says further, that we shall drive at least six miles an hour. I should like to see one on 'em who made the law drivin' six mile an hour down Cheapside, at four o'clock in the afternoon. But we must do it, or pay forty shillins, or go to prison for a month, if we like that better.

18. According to this claws if any feller wants to cheat us, or gets up a dispute with us, though he's in the wrong, and we right, we must drive the gentleman in our own carriage to the nearest police court. This ought to be good on both sides anyhow. And if we are in the right the law ought to be that the gent who made us drive him should be obliged to order out his own carriage, if he's got one--and be made to hire one if he hasn't--to drive us home again.

19. As if there warn't penalties enough, this claws throws a penalty of forty shillin or a month's imprisonment in, for anything in general, or nothin particular, at the hoption of the magistrate.

20, 21, 22. These three last clawses says nothin, and so there's nothin to say about 'em, unless to notice the stoopidity of sayin' that this Act and two others shall be read as one, as if anybody could read three Acts of Parlyment at a time, and think he is only readin' one--but it's just like 'em.

[Illustration: Now my good man don't be rude--or I must pull you up.]

* * * * *


[Illustration: A]

A recent leading article in the _Times_ quotes a return, which has been obtained by MR. HUME, of certain statistics relative to flogging in the Navy; whence it appears that the amount of human torture inflicted on British sailors, represented in the aggregate by 40,545 lashes during the year 1848, had declined in 1852 to 17,571. In commenting on this decrease in the torment of seamen, the _Times_ remarks, that this "odious species of punishment is falling more and more into disuse;" and, moreover, that

"Anything like a frequent resort to it is taken to reflect discredit, not only upon the whole ship's company, but upon the officers in command."

If a return could be procured of the number of imprecations uttered on reading the above passage, by bluff old retired admirals and superannuated sea-captains, in clubs and coffee-rooms at our various sea-ports, where they are accustomed to growl over the degeneracy of the service, we should probably be presented with a startling array of figures. By the stigma which is cast upon the discipline which these veterans, for the most part, boast of having maintained, their feelings must be as cruelly lacerated as they themselves ever caused the backs of their men to be.

* * * * *


Something has been done, of late, towards the abatement of nuisances. Cinder-heaps have been swept away, sewers trapped, cesspools closed, and laystalls removed from under our noses. There still remains, however, a great deal of noxious and offensive stuff to be got rid of; particularly since, instead of merely contaminating our air and water, it infects the fountains of our current information. It taints the library, it defiles the drawing-room table. This graveolent evil is the pest of soiled newspapers--journals of ill savour--not imparted by any fetid sort of printers' ink, but by vile advertisements, whereat the physical nostrils, indeed, are not offended: but the moral nose is in great indignation.

An obscure and narrow street through which few respectable persons, and no ladies, ever pass, bears a scandalous name, and is considered a disgrace to the metropolis, by reason of the sort of literature displayed in its windows, which is precisely of the same quality as the advertisements alluded to; and these, in the columns of reputable and even "serious" journals, get introduced into families, and lie about the house, to attract the notice, and obtain the perusal, of the younger members of the establishment, male and female.

You may take up--or what is of more consequence--your little boy or girl may take up--a newspaper, and read, on one side of it, a leading article which might be preached out of a pulpit: on the other a series of turpitudes unfit for utterance under any circumstances.

These atrocities are heightened to the point of perfection by the circumstance that they are the puffs of a set of rascally quacks, not the least mischievous of whose suggestions are the recommendations of their own medicines--poison for the body which they vend to simpletons, whilst they disseminate mental poison gratis, both in the advertisements themselves, and in books which form the subject of them, in addition to the other poison.

As the newspaper-proprietors whose journals are sullied by these putrescences may be of opinion that the odour of gain, from whatever source derived, is agreeable, and, therefore, preserve them as rather fragrant than otherwise, the following exhortation has been addressed to their customers:--

"It rests with you--with you alone, newspaper readers, to stop the torrent. And you can do it, without expense, and with but little self-denial. Let each individual that receives this appeal write without delay to the editor of the paper he reads, whenever he sees it defiled by one of these easily-recognised advertisements, and say that, unless its insertion is discontinued, he cannot, in conscience, any longer patronise the publication. Whatever your station may be, you can do something; and the higher it is, the greater is your influence and responsibility. On country gentlemen rests mainly the persistence of the evil in provincial papers; they can, and we trust they will stop it. Let, too, each one of you that are advertisers, be you publishers, men of business, authors, masters seeking servants, or servants seeking masters, refuse to appear any more in such company, and let it be known at the newspaper office why you withhold your patronage."

The above paragraph is extracted from the prospectus of a society which has been formed for the special purpose of suppressing this villanous pufferty. The association is entitled "The Union for Discouragement of Vicious Advertisements;" and we hope it will succeed in closing a channel of communication which has all the qualities, except the utility, of a gutter.

* * * * *



Going the other day into an auction-room in a large commercial town, with the view of purchasing a small fancy business, I found that having already disposed of it, and of a cheesemonger's good-will and stock, the auctioneer was endeavouring to sell a _church_, on whose merits he was expatiating much in the following terms:--

"Come, Gentlemen, pray give attention To the Lot I'm now going to sell; For it don't want a poet's invention Its manifold merits to tell. If a gift, or of praying or preaching, In any one present has shone, He may further exemplify each in The church, _now put up_, of St. John.

It is not some old weather-worn building, Clad with ivy, and mouldering and grey, But as fresh as paint, varnish, and gilding Could make it, 'twas made 't other day; And if any, who hear me, are pinning Their faith some one order upon, I can tell them they'll find a beginning Of all orders and styles, at St. John.

"It is held of the Town Corporation For a term, at a peppercorn rent, And will surely reward speculation To the tune of some fifty per cent. The fixtures are mats, stools, and hassocks, And (as second-hand garments to don Is the fashion with curates) the cassocks Of the late worthy priest of St. John.

"If the sittings (not counting the free seats Which are placed in the draught near the door), Be computed, I think there must _be_ seats For nine hundred pew-renters or more; Then the district quite swarms with young ladies, And the tenant who's recently gone, From the slippers they worked him, quite paid his Clerk, sexton, and choir of St. John.

By the bishop its licence was granted; But the owners no bid will reject-- As the cash is immediately wanted-- From any persuasion or sect. There, the Jumper may practise gymnastics; There the Ranter's glib tongue may run on; Turks or Hindoos, or Buddhists, or Aztecs, May use, if they pay for, St. John.

Ha! a Thousand! a Rapper then offers; Fifteen hundred! the Mormons exclaim. Come, Gentlemen, open your coffers, For your biddings are terribly tame. Two thousand! Not half enough! Yet it Must go to the Rappers; Going! Gone! The key's with the sexton, Sir; get it, And yours is the church of St. John."

* * * * *


The public is much indebted to a gentleman named LOWE, who lives at Bermondsey, and writes every day to the _Times_, to inform the world which way the wind blew on the preceding day, how much rain fell late in the evening, what amount of cloud was floating about at a particular hour of the day, and other equally interesting particulars. On Tuesday this gentleman reports his detection of some "cirri," and he kindly writes to the _Times_ to give the world the benefit of the discovery.

Anxious to make ourselves generally useful, we have attempted a few meteorological observations on our own account, and the following is the report we have to offer:--

Barometer fell--to the ground and smashed.

Thermometer rose to blood heat--having been turned upside down by an infant.

Direction of wind--right in our own face.

Amount of rain--.001 in. in our umbrella stand.

Amount of cloud--9 from our own tobacco-pipe. Should our scientific observations as recorded above tend to throw any light upon anything, we are more than satisfied.

* * * * *



* * * * *


Besides the Plymouth Brethren, there are the Plymouth Sisters, called Sisters of Mercy. These ladies, however, appear to stand in the relationship of Sister to something else than Mercy; to Choler, we may say, and Choler unbridled, so to speak, and rather asinine.

The _Morning Post_ published the other day a correspondence between a MR. J. D. CHAMBERS and MR. PHINN, M.P., which will probably be considered to supply the foregoing remark with some foundation.

There is, it appears, among the Sisters of Mercy, a lady who is also the sister of MR. CHAMBERS. On her behalf MR. CHAMBERS writes a letter to MR. PHINN, to demand whether he, in his place in Parliament, made certain statements respecting the community to which she belongs, imputing to them systematic fraud and hypocrisy, and the endeavour to convert their institution into a Roman Catholic nunnery.

MR. PHINN replies that he might decline to answer MR. CHAMBERS, on the ground of privilege, as well as on that of the intemperance and want of courtesy displayed in MR. CHAMBERS'S letter--which rights, however, he waives; says that he cannot reconcile newspaper reports of his words, nor exactly remember those which he used; but denies that his language, as reported by any of the papers, conveys the imputations alluded to by MR. CHAMBERS, or that he made odious and unsupported accusations of fraud and dishonesty against the ladies in question.

MR. PHINN then proceeds to remind his peppery correspondent that the late QUEEN DOWAGER felt it her duty, after strict investigation, to withdraw her support from the Society, on the ground that its doctrines were at variance with those of the Established Church.

To this reply MR. CHAMBERS rejoins, reiterating his statements as to the imputation of fraud and duplicity, and concluding in the following polite terms:--

"My duty, therefore, as her (his sister's) protector, is simply to tell you, in plain words, that as such your accusations are false."

Everybody, of course, knows that the Sisters of Mercy form that celebrated community which rejoices under the superintendance of a single lady, writing herself "Y^e Mother Sup^r;" not being a mother, or even a mother-in-law, or a mother in any sense known to the law, or in any sense whatever except a Roman Catholic one.

MR. PHINN merely expresses an opinion about the Sisters of Mercy, which is entertained by most other people, saving Puseyites at a temperature of red heat. The charge against him of making false accusations is itself an accusation that is untrue.

The convent, or whatever it calls itself, of the Sisters of Mercy, is no doubt a highly respectable, though a pseudo-Roman Catholic concern. Before MR. CHAMBERS figures again as the "big brother," he should not only make sure that the honour of his relative has been impugned, but it will be well for him to consider whether he does her quasi-nunnery much good by constituting himself a bully to the establishment.

* * * * *


* * * * *



Who lurks in the slums? Who goes ragged and wild? A villanous father and vagabond child; That urchin roams prowling, of swag in pursuit, By begging and stealing to keep the old brute.

"Oh father! oh father! that rum cove d'ye twig? He looks so hard at me--he knows I'm a Prig! To hook it, and mizzle, my best way would be." "No, stoopid, that cove ain't no crusher--not he."

"Oh father! oh father! he keeps looking here; He's coming to nab me--that 'ere blessed Peer; It is the Earl-King with his Book and his School." "No, no, 'tis some pantiler only, you fool."

"Hi! wilt thou come with me, neglected young wretch? I'll shield thee, I'll save thee, from gaol and JACK KETCH, In work and in study thy time I'll employ, And feed thee, and clothe thee, and teach thee, my boy."

"Oh father! oh father! you'd best let me go; There's the Earl-King's new Hact; and they'll take me, I know: And you'll have to fork out too, yourself, by and by." "Oh gammon, oh gammon! that 'ere's all my eye."'

"Come, come, and be taught, you young varlet, I say, Or else, silly child, I shall walk thee away." "Oh father! oh father! I know'd I was right: The Earl-King has grabbed me!--got hold of me tight."

The nice father put down his pipe and his pot, And around him, bewildered, he stared like a sot: "Hallo! you young beggar, vere are yer?" he said. But the poor boy to school with the Earl-King had fled!

* * * * *


SATURDAY, MAY 25, 18--

I cannot but confess it--I felt hurt, twitted by the easiness, the unconcern of FRED. Of course I should have thought it very foolish, nay, worse in him, to be jealous. That would have been ridiculous, unworthy of him. Nevertheless, I could not help endeavouring to place myself in his situation--to enter into the feelings of a husband, and to think myself a man!

That a letter--and such a letter--should have been sent to me, was, of course, a mistake. But, for all that--putting myself in the place of a man and a husband--for that was, of course, the most reasonable and the most natural way for a woman to come to a right conclusion--I could not have been so calm, so tranquil, I may, indeed, say--so stone-cold. Indeed, judging, moreover, from my own feelings as a woman and a wife, it would have been impossible: not that I'm of a jealous habit of mind. No, certainly; I should say, quite the reverse. Still, it is quite plain, that if we really value and love a thing--we must be anxious accordingly. _That_ is but natural. Nevertheless, I cannot disguise it from myself that FRED--even after he had handed me the letter to read, and I--all in a twitter I must say--had read it to him, did nothing but laugh. I've no doubt he was very right; and yet, if I know myself and I'd been in his place--I don't think I should have _laughed._

"Read the letter, LOTTY,"--cried FRED--"by all means read it; it may amuse us."

"To be sure," said I; "not that it can be for _me_." And then, when I opened the stupid bit of paper, it seemed to scorch my face and something came into my throat, as I began to read the ridiculous words--'_My dear and beautiful girl._'

"Must be a mistake," cried FRED: though I thought I saw him just bite his lip, and just a little wrinkle his eye brows. "But go on."

"'_I have beheld you in silent admiration; but now I feel longer silence impossible!_' I shan't read any more," said I, "for how can it concern me--I mean _us_?"

"Go on," cried FRED, hooking his fore-finger round his nose and rubbing it in his manner, when he is thinking.

'_It is plain you were intended for a brighter destiny than what has befallen you._'

"Come," said FRED in his aggravating way, "that's no compliment to me."

"To you! Then, if it comes to that," said I, "and if for a minute you think this stuff was written to me, you may read the rest yourself." And with this--with all the spirit I could--I flung the letter _at him_. Yes; at him; and as he looked up, and a little astonished, but more hurt, as I thought, opened his eyes at me--I felt myself so wrong, so rebuked, that I flung my arms about his neck, and the next snatched up the note to tear it to pieces.

"Stop, LOTTY;" cried FRED; "as it is not our property, we've no right to destroy it." And then he put the letter in his breast pocket; and, as he did so, I had a twinge of the heart, a cold chill, for all the world as though he had put a viper there.

"FRED, dear FRED," said I, and what ailed me I couldn't tell; but all I recollect was that saying or stammering, "let us go home," I fell upon his neck; and after awhile coming to myself, I found JOSEPHINE--now pale and now flustered--at my side. But still the wish was in my thoughts. "_Do_, do let us go home."

"Well, LOTTY, love; we _will_ go home. In a little while; a very little while; a day or two"--

"Now, FRED; to-day."

"Why, to-day, LOTTY, is impossible. The fact is, I expect--but never mind;" and I felt sure there was something FRED was hiding from me, something I ought to know. But before I could reply, he took his hat and left the room. I don't know what could have possessed me; but, for the minute, I felt alone--all alone in the world; and the next, such a newer, deeper love--I had thought it impossible to be so--for FREDERICK; and then--but JOSEPHINE was present, looking so curiously at me, that I was directly called to myself.

"You'd never think of going home, Ma'am, without a peep at France?" said JOSEPHINE.

"What I think can in no way concern you," I replied very freezingly; for, somehow, I could not _quite_ understand JOSEPHINE'S looks.

"Certainly not, Ma'am; only to be so near France, and not to cross, what would people say? And lace I'm told so cheap there! Not that I wish to go myself. Certainly not. Oh dear no. Old England for me. I'm sure I can stay here till you come back with the greatest pleasure in--no, not exactly that: still, Ma'am, I _can_ stay."

And the more she talked, and the more I looked at her, the more she seemed in a sort of pucker and flurry that--I'm not suspicious: still, it did appear mysterious.

"I shall not go to France. We shall return straight home, and you may, or may not--just as you please, JOSEPHINE, so make it entirely agreeable to yourself--go back with us, or stay here alone." And with this, I left the room to join FRED; and he--I discovered to my great annoyance--had gone out. Gone out! It was very odd.

I couldn't rest indoors. So, without a word to JOSEPHINE, I put on my things--snatched them on I should rather say--and followed FRED. Up and down the beach--but no signs of him. Where _could_ he be?

As the time went on, and I continued to look for and expect him, I could scarcely contain myself. I sat down upon the beach; and the sun, setting, looked so magnificent. I tried to calm and comfort myself, making out a home in the clouds. Such a home! With such gardens and golden plains and palaces of ruby pillars--but no; it wouldn't do. And I felt all the angrier that I had so tried to cheat myself.

At the moment, who should glide past me--not seeing me, as I thought--but the very gypsey child who had brought that foolish bouquet, and that stupid note!

I resolved, taking a minute's counsel with myself, to discover the individual who had employed the gypsey; so followed the child, who suddenly seemed to guess my determination. "Want a nosegay, Ma'am?" said the girl. "Buy a nosegay to get me a bit of bread."

"Now, if I buy this nosegay"--and the little creature looked at me with her glittering eyes, as much as to say--in her artful manner--she was quite a match for me--"Will you tell me the truth?"

"Yes, lady; that I will, whether you buy or not, and sixpence will be cheap at the money."

"Well, then, who told you to bring me that nosegay yesterday?"

"Oh," cried the perplexing creature, with a burst of enjoyment, jumping up and down--"such a gen'l'man! Give me a shilling."

"And how did you know me--I mean, did he point me out to you?"--

"Yes;" answered the little elf--for she looked to me like a mischievous sprite, she laughed as I thought so wickedly--"yes: you was with another."


"Yes: but that was in the fore-part of the day; and you both went away so quick, that you give me no chance; and the gen'l'man called me back. When I seed you in the arternoon, then I give it you."

"And what sort of a--a gentleman?"

"He's now a walking--or was a walking just by the--but would you like to see him?"

"No; certainly not."

"'Cause you can. Give me sixpence, and I'll shew him you, and say nothin'--not a word, my lady. Only round here--'tisn't a minute. I'll walk first."

Without a thought, I was about to follow the child, when FREDERICK coming behind me, laid his hand upon my arm. "LOTTY, my dear," and without looking at him, I thought I should have dropped at his voice.


"Not going to have your fortune told?" and he glanced at the gypsey.

"My dear FRED, this, you will remember, is the child that"--

"I know," said FRED, as the gypsey with a caper took to her heels. "I know; but LOTTY, my love, you have surely forgotten an old friend? My bridesman, TOM TRUEPENNY."

It was MR. TRUEPENNY. He had come to Brighton upon business; FRED saw him as he alighted from the coach. "He didn't want to break upon us," said FRED: "for you know what a shy, modest fellow TOM is; but I said you'd be delighted to see him."

"Delighted, indeed, FRED," said I.

"Delighted, indeed," stammered MR. TRUEPENNY, colouring like a girl.

"He has a little business to do, but has promised to join us in the evening," said FRED.

"Oh, certainly, with pleasure--in the evening," said TRUEPENNY.

"You'll not fail, TOM?" cried Fred, holding up his finger.

"Depend on my punctuality," replied MR. TRUEPENNY. And then--strangely confused as I thought--he bowed to me, and hurried off.

"He's an excellent fellow," said FRED.

"It was very lucky that you met him, FRED," said I.

"_Very_," answered FRED.

* * * * *


It is to be hoped that all those cab-drivers who are dissatisfied with the Hackney Carriage Act will enlist in the British army. A regiment of these fellows would carry everything before them; no troops whatever could stand their charge.

* * * * *

NEWSPAPER PROMOTION.--The "ENORMOUS STRAWBERRY" to the columns of the provincial newspapers, _vice_ the "ENORMOUS GOOSEBERRY", broken for incapacity.

* * * * *


(_By one who has mentally been there_).

I saw the Light Cavalry so heavily accoutred that it seemed a perfect farce ever to have ordered them on "active" service.

I saw the Infantry dressed in such torturingly tight coats, that it appeared a bitter mockery to bid them "stand at ease:" and I thought that what made them smart on parade must make them anything but smart in actual service.

I saw the troops generally learning to stand water as well as to stand fire: and I thought a drenching shower rather seemed to damp their military ardour.

I thought that most of the regiments, in attacking a sham enemy, would be attacked by a real one in the shape of rheumatism: while many a brave fellow who never owned to a defeat would return to his quarters completely weather-beaten.

I heard young ENSIGN DRAWLINGTON complain that it was a "horwid baw fa fla who's--aw--fond of Opwa and Clabs--and--aw--that sorthing, to be fawced to leave town for this fernal camp affaiaw:" and I thought the gallant officer would feel considerably more at home in the Theatre of St. James's than in the Theatre of War.

I saw a force of nearly two dozen policemen sent to keep in order nearly ten thousand men: and I thought that the "force" should be rather called a "weakness" on the part of the Government.

In short, I saw on all sides sufficient ground for thinking that there are few finer fields for observation just at present than the field at Chobham; although, as an area for military manoeuvering, it is not to be compared with many an area in Knightsbridge.

* * * * *



The question of "What is a Mile?" is likely to take its place by the side of the important question "What is a Pound?" in the annals of political--or some other kind of--economy. Since the new Act has come into force--or rather into operation, for its potency is not yet much felt--there has been a fearful conflict of opinion between the cab-drivers and the public as to what is a mile. It is evident that there must be an appendix added to all the books on arithmetic, for the purpose of including Cab Measure, which is quite distinct from any other measure we have yet met with, and is about as diametrically opposed to Long Measure, as chalk is to any caseal or curdy compound. In the eyes of a cabman, "a miss is as good as a mile;" in fact, anything is as good as a mile for his--that is to say for his passenger's--money.

Any one who takes a cab from the West End to go over the water, whether by Westminster or Waterloo, may think himself fortunate if he is not involved in a sort of "Six-Mile-Bridge affair," by the demand of the cabman for three shillings, as the fare for passing one of the bridges. We can scarcely wonder at the easy familiarity of a cab-driver; for there is no one who seems so utterly incapable of keeping his distance. We trust, however, that the new Act will enable us to have justice brought to our own door, by handing a cabman at once over to the police, when a driver gives us a good setting down in a double sense, by insulting us after taking us to our destination. We may, in fact, now hope that a cabman's abuse--as well as his distance--will have to be measured.

* * * * *


It is said that a celebrated, otherwise a notorious peer, disappointed of satisfaction at the hands of a certain illustrious Earl, has, in his despair, resolved to call out the Man in the Moon. He will quite as soon take the shine out of him as out of the distinguished Earl in question. But then it must not be forgotten that the challenger is a "LONG" shot.

* * * * *


A Cabman, who does not approve of sixpenny fares, wishes to know if the Law will bury him now that it has screwed him down?

* * * * *

QUERY.--Whether Mr. GEORGE BUTT, M.P., who opposed MR. PHILLIMORE'S motion for amending the laws against simony, may be looked upon as one of the buttresses of the Established Church?

* * * * *


[Illustration: O]

On many occasions we have heard of the father of the bar, the father of the City, and of the father of lies; but a discovery has just been made of something which may be perhaps likened to the last, in other matters besides antiquity. We allude to the father of equity, or what we believe to be the oldest suit in Chancery. This precious relic was dug up a few days ago, and its tattered remains were exposed for a few minutes to the air in the Court of VICE-CHANCELLOR KINDERSLEY. It arose out of a bill filed nearly a hundred years ago; and we need not say that it must be by this time a precious old file that keeps the tattered old thing together. It was a bill to distribute all the property of an old Scotchman among all his poor relations, and as the Scotch can always scrape or scratch a relationship with each other, and as the relations of a Scotchman are certain to be poor enough to want something, the whole of Scotland may be said to have been more or less interested in the suit in question. Four hundred and sixty-three persons had already made out a claim, and the descendants of all these are now contending with the descendants of another batch of poor Scotchmen with "itching palms," who have filed bills of reviver for the purpose of galvanising this spectral old suit, which still haunts, like a ghost, the Courts of Chancery.

The Vice-Chancellor made an order for a reviver, "no one appearing to oppose;" and, indeed, who could have appeared but a few ghosts of dead legatees to demur to the galvanising of this sepulchral business? We are satisfied that his Honour, when making the inquiry if "any one appeared to oppose," must have felt, with a shudder, that he was performing a species of incantation, and that to call upon any one to "appear" under such circumstances was almost equivalent to an invocation of _Zamiel_. The "suit," however, is to be permitted again to walk the earth for a time by the agency of a bill of "reviver," and we suppose it will disappear at the cock crow of the long vacation, to come forth again in the dark days of term-time during the ensuing November.

* * * * *


MR. PUNCH has had much pleasure in receiving a newspaper from some of his friends in West Canada. It is called the _Hamilton Spectator_, and _Mr. Punch_ cannot give a higher idea of the excellence of the journal than by mentioning that the first article in the number sent him is from his own pen. So long as the colonists keep such models before them they may safely be trusted with any amount of "self-government."

He must, however, confess himself rather less pleased with a report contained in the next page of the _Hamilton Spectator_. It is an account of the latest proceedings in the House of Assembly. The House was in "Committee of Supply," and salaries, printing expenses, and such matters were in discussion. The report shall speak for itself.

"The next item was £15,094 for expenses at Spencer Wood. MR. MACKENZIE objected to it; saying, that he supposed COLONEL PRINCE would like to treat him as he had once treated the poor prisoners at Sandwich, who were shot accordingly. But if the Honourable Member could do so, it would not prevent him from doing his duty to his country.

"COLONEL PRINCE looked on MR. MACKENZIE as a reptile, and trod on him as such. For the Member for Haldimand to talk of these times, when he practised rebellion, murder, and mail robbery! It was lucky for him he (COLONEL PRINCE) did not catch him, for by the Holy Moses, if he had, the Honourable Member would never have been seen again on the floor of that House. He wished the Honourable Member had come over then, and by the Holy Moses he would have speedily sent him to Heaven. He would have given him a soldier's death, and have thus saved the country many thousand pounds. The Member for Haldimand was an itinerant mendicant, who earned a fortune by sitting in that House and getting a pound a day, because he could not get a fortune anywhere else. He concluded by assuring the Honourable Member that, friendly as he was to independence, if he ever caught him again in the position which he had once been in, he would hang him.

"The resolution was then carried."

Now, this is really rather strong for a Committee of Supply. The Irish Members at home are somewhat turgid and blatant; but, except that MR. GRATTAN (the present one, not the clever one, of course) once intimated that he should like to have the head of one of the Ministers--and really no one wanted a head more than MR. GRATTAN--we do not think that this very emphatic style has been introduced into the English legislature. Imagine MR. GLADSTONE, on the estimates, intimating that he should like to hang SIR JOHN PAKINGTON, for objecting to one of the items, and enforcing his intimation by an appeal to the "Holy Moses."

On the whole, _Mr. Punch_ is disposed to suggest to his colonial friends (over whose fortunes he watches with the utmost interest) that there is one species of "self government" to which they seem hardly to have given sufficient attention. It is personal. Therefore, _Mr. Punch_, who is never personal, will say no more about it.

* * * * *


There seems to be at last a prospect of a check being put to the rush to the Diggings by the discovery of gold in England, and, indeed, it stands to reason that if there is gold at the Antipodes, we have only to dig deep enough down in order to get to it from this side of the world, instead of from the other. Supposing that there is abundance of gold in "the bed of the Turon," we have nothing to do but to get under the bed here instead of going all the way to Sydney for the purpose of getting into the bed in question.

A paragraph in the _Kent Mail_ announces the discovery of gold at Canterbury in such a decided form, that we hope it may check the insane emigration of those who are rushing off to Australia to live under canvas, without any of the comforts or decencies of civilisation, with the idea that gold, and nothing but gold, constitutes "prosperity." The following is the paragraph to which we have alluded:--

"CANTERBURY GOLDFISHINGS.--During Friday and Saturday last a barber in the Friar saw something looking much like sovereigns at the bottom of the river Stow, but thought they were only buttons, and not worth his trouble to get. He repeatedly counted them, to the number of 17. Having, however, communicated to others what he had seen, two young fellows got a boat, and forthwith picked up a number, which proved to be true and veritable sovereigns. The report getting afloat, other persons inspected different parts of the river, and in various places found many more. Altogether above 50_l._ has been recovered in this way; and at the bottom of Fortune's Passage, St. Mildred's, a hair watchguard, with two gold keys and a seal attached, was taken from the river; and at another spot a portion of a mourning ring was picked up."

We may expect, after the publicity we are now giving to this affair, that the outskirts of Canterbury will soon be turned into a "Canvas Town," and that there will be an unprecedented demand for fishing-tackle to supply those who will make a rush to the goldfishings. It will be observed that the Canterbury gold discoveries are superior in many respects to the Australian, for while in the latter the precious metal is in its rough state, the gold found at Canterbury is met with in the very convenient form of gold keys, seals, and sovereigns.

Some people have been puzzling themselves rather seriously with the inquiry, how it is that gold has been found in the river Stow?--but we have no hesitation in accounting for the fact by stating, that this wealth must be the result of the washings of the adjacent see, which is well known to be one of the richest, if not the very richest, in the whole world. We mean, of course, the See of Canterbury.

* * * * *


According to the _Liverpool Standard_, the Irish have been quarrelling amongst themselves at Liverpool; but from our contemporary's version of the affair, we are inclined to doubt this intrinsically very improbable circumstance. That narrative states that the row apparently originated as follows:--

"An Orangeman complained that a Papist boy had thrown some dirt at him."

Orangemen never complain groundlessly of Papist boys, and Papist boys never throw dirt--either literally or figuratively. Dirt!--how are they to come by it? Who ever saw or smelt any such thing as dirt in any the most remote connexion with a "Papist boy?"

* * * * *


It is found that the late wet weather at Chobham has had a most singularly contrasting effect upon the potatory propensities of the officers who have been stationed there. For while the bibulous have been reduced to most unpalatable tent-and-water, the temperate have been rarely known to get to bed without a thorough "soaking."

* * * * *


* * * * *


[Illustration: F]

For some time past we have seen in the country papers that a great many parties have been given for the purpose of trying the hat-moving experiment. We are not at all disposed to quarrel with the fact, for we are decidedly of a social turn ourselves, and we rejoice to find that party-spirit is so favourably progressing. But the experiment is so certain to be introduced at parties, that we cannot say we see the use of giving them expressly for the purpose of its trial. The motion may in fact be legally regarded as a "motion of course:" as inseparable from a party as white kid gloves and flirting. We would simply put it to the reader, whether, in the whole course of his social experience, he ever recollects being present at a party where, by the time he went away, his hat was not "moved" from the peg on which he hung it. For ourselves, indeed, we may confidently assert that at 99 at least out of a 100 "squeezes" we have attended this season, our hat has been so severely "operated upon" in our absence from the cloak-room, that we have scarcely had an inch of brim left us to walk home in. In fact, on more than one occasion, the operators have so far succeeded in their "moving" as to have moved it altogether off the premises by the time we wanted it: but this has only happened, we believe, when by some unlucky accident we have so far forgot ourselves as to have brought a new one.

* * * * *

ADVICE TO GABBLING M.P.'S.--When you resolve upon making a speech, copy the cook who, preparing a sheep's head, never dishes up the tongue without the brains.

* * * * *


The _Court Circular_ tells us that a deputation from "the House of Keys" had an interview with one of the official somebodies or nobodies at Downing Street the other day, and MR. WILSON, M.P., told the House of Commons the other evening that he had a series of resolutions by "the House of Keys" in his possession. After some research we find that "the House of Keys" is something or other in the Isle of Man, answering probably to the vestry of a parish, the beadledom of an arcade, or some other small local authority.

We should like to be present at a debate among "the Keys," for we are curious to know whether they allude to each other as the "Honourable Member for Street Door," "the Honourable and Learned Member for Padlock," or "the Gallant and Distinguished representative of Tea-caddy." We do not quite understand the principle of election that can prevail in the Isle of Man, if its council consists of nothing but a bunch of keys; and we are rather puzzled to guess whether the franchise attaches to persons or things, and whether it would be the door or the owner of the door, the watch or the owner of the watch, that would send "a Key" to Parliament. There is one peculiarity of result in having a House of Keys instead of a House of Commons; for, of course, in an assembly where the members are all keys they would be unable to deal with any open question. Perhaps, however, we may have mistaken the sort of "Keys" of which the "House" in the Isle of Man is composed, and the members may be mere musical "keys"--a set of sharps and flats, playing any tune, just like any other house of representatives. We cannot conclude without remarking that a very long debate in "the House of Keys" would remind one of "a lock jaw," though the association is not agreeable.

* * * * *


Alarmists needlessly we are not, and would never prematurely frighten any nervous reader. But we really think it is our duty to apprise the nation, that on paying a visit to the Camp the other evening, we discovered that the men were all turned in-to straw!

[Illustration: A GOOD JOKE.


* * * * *


_See Times, July 14._

FLATULEIUS, the advocate, His client's cause hath sped, And ADAMUS, the stern Prætor, Hath reared his learned head; He hath summed up to the jury With digressions, by the way, On juvenile offenders And the topics of the day.

Till BIBULUS, the foreman, That was beer-bemused before, By the Prætor's various learning Is mystified still more; And with the eleven, his comrades, More obfuscate e'en than he, Hath been led forth by the lictor, On their verdict to agree.

They have sworn another jury, They have called another case, An hour hath passed, but BIBULUS Hath not yet shown his face, And the learned Prætor wonders What the fools can be about, For he told them what their verdict Ought to be when they went out.

When, sudden, a plebeian Excited, rushes in, And, in a voice that drowneth E'en FLATULEIUS' din, Exclaimeth to the Prætor, "My Lord, a party here Says, as how them blessèd jury Is a drinkin' pots o' beer."

"Ho! call the recreant lictor!" The angry Prætor cried. "'Twas his to guard the doorway That nought might be supplied-- Nor meat, nor drink, nor firing, Excepting candle-light; For so the Law enacteth, And the Law is always right!"

The lictor comes--"Thou traitor! The law dost thou deride? How came liquor to the jury? How was the beer supplied?" "My lord, I heard 'em drinking, And found out that their lay Was to summon forth the potman Of the public o'er the way, Who through the open window The pewter did convey."

One moment paused the Prætor, And with an angry blush, For the Common Law thus outraged, His awful face did flush. One moment you had fancied He was about to swear; But he checked the rising impulse, And spoke with awful air:

"Bring forth to me the landlord Of the public o'er the way; Say 'tis the Law that calls him, And the Law brooks no delay. And summon, too, the potman-- Him who supplied the beer-- And now bring foreman BIBULUS And his bold comrades here!"

With stealthy hand, still wiping The froth from off his chin, They have brought forth beery BIBULUS, And his fellows in the sin. You had not guessed the burden Upon their thirsty souls, Though the Prætor's eye clean through them Its gathered lightning rolls!

Then, in Olympic thunders, The hoarded tempest broke: "Ye seem to take it easy; I'll show ye 'tis no joke! Think ye, in this its temple The Law to flout and jeer, Getting in through the window Pots of illegal beer?

"The Common Law of England Blushes for you, through me; Little thought I that these Sessions Would e'er such scandal see! Go, shameless men! I'll teach ye Your appetites to balk, In a room whereto no pewter Can through the windows walk; And when you bring your verdict, About the fine we'll talk."

BIBULUS knows the Prætor, Nor idly pardon begs; But goeth forth crest-fallen-- His tail between his legs-- When sudden in the lobby Is heard a mighty din, And before the awful Prætor That potman is dragged in!

A loud irreverent laughter Through all the Court-house ran, As pot in hand he stood there, A blank bewildered man! And so sternly looks the Prætor, That the potman knoweth not If he be not going straightway Himself, at last, to pot.

"Thou caitiff!" roared the Prætor, (And mirth was changed for awe) "How answerest thou this outrage On the majesty of Law?" Right humbly spoke the potman-- "Your worship--that's my Lord-- The beer some gem'men ordered, And in course the beer was drored.

"But as for 'Law,' and 'majesty,' That's neither here nor there: The beer was served as called for, And paid for straight and fair. And what I say, your Lordship-- And I means to put it strong-- Is what was I brought 'ere for, When I ha'n't done nuffin wrong?"

"No wrong!" quick spoke the Prætor. "Ho! gaoler--let him see, That in justice's high precinct, Right and wrong depend on me! Go, bear him to the dungeon-- Be the lowest cell his lot! Meanwhile to thee, chief lictor We give in charge the pot."

They have haled him from the Court-house, And have locked him up below; And the lictor guards the pewter, With its head of froth like snow. And never while our Prætor Dealeth stern justice here, Will the most thirsty jury Venture to call for beer, Or the most reckless potman Bring it from public near!

* * * * *


The _Times_ newspaper (a publication of merit, and which may possibly be known to some of our readers) has just put forth an excellent article deprecating the terribly long sittings of the House of Commons, and the love of chattering, on the part of the Members--especially the new ones--which chiefly conduces to those protracted and unwholesome _séances_. But the _Times_ ought to be perfectly well aware that the remedy is in its own hands. These objectionable spouters spout, not to one another (for they ridicule one another's oratory), but to the readers out of doors. If they could not reach these readers they would cease to spout. _Ergo_, if the _Times_ would instruct its reporters to report only what is worth reporting, and, in fact, to deal with all debates as they now deal with those in Committee, when only the pith of the speeches is given, and moreover the pith of the pithy men only, the sittings of Parliament would speedily evince a marvellous change for the better. There! _Mr. Punch_, in his keen, practical way, has solved the difficulty at once.

* * * * *


According to a correspondent of the _Daily News_, MR. SERJEANT ADAMS, Assistant Judge of the Middlesex Sessions, is applying to Parliament for an increase of salary from £1,200 to £1,500. The learned Serjeant is often facetious; but certainly this is his richest joke.

* * * * *


It is quite proper, but very distressing, that Ireland should know all the outrages perpetrated and planned upon her dearest interests. Not a day can elapse that is not notched, like ROBINSON CRUSOE'S, with a new insult from the Saxon. It ought to have been sufficient that the Camp at Chobham was commanded in order to destroy the Dublin Exhibition; the tents being pitched as strongly as possible in outrageous contrast with DARGAN'S Crystal Palace. But no: a certain illustrious personage--with whom it is notorious the sea does not agree--in order to frustrate an intended visit to Dublin, went and caught the measles! Fortunately, however, he is now convalescent; left without a spot, and consequently without an excuse.

* * * * *


The EMPEROR OF RUSSIA pretends to say that he will provide his troops, now occupying the Danubian principalities, with rations. How is it possible that any such promise can be kept by an old despot, who is so very irration-al?

* * * * *


The Saxon has again cast his pestiferous blight upon one of Ireland's chosen potatoes; having withered the patriot MURPHY into an Insolvent Commissioner!

* * * * *



There is a fine field opened to the editor and contributors of _Notes and Queries_ by the prominence just now being given to the names of Wallachia and Moldavia. We shall leave Wallachia to our contemporary--merely observing by the way that it may have been founded by the WALLACK family--but we have taken a fancy to Moldavia, and shall speculate a little on its origin. We are inclined to regard the first syllable, MOL, as a clear corruption of MARY; and there can be no doubt, in the world that davia is no other than DAVIS, who was probably some relation to the identical DAVIS, whose most unpleasant Straits have conferred upon him such extensive notoriety. Moldavia may, therefore, be regarded as the discovery of one MARY DAVIS; but which one is a little bit of mystery--a sort of bone that we generously throw to our old friend _Notes and Queries_ to "lazily mumble" over during the hot season.

* * * * *


Russia, having crossed the Pruth, Teaches us a bit of truth; Here we have our precious CZAR Lighting up the flames of war.

He that kept all Europe quiet Is involving her in riot, On hostilities we border With this vaunted man of order.

Who were right and who were wrong, We, who hissed him all along, Or the folks that cheered and shouted After him who women knouted?

Now, perhaps, you are disgusted With the tyrant whom you trusted, Oh, unworthy sons of Britain! --Don't you feel a little bitten?

* * * * *


When the appointment of City Chamberlain was conferred on SIR JOHN KEY, the worthy Ex-Alderman naturally asked for the keys of office. A brother alderman, who happened to be a wag, remarked that "to bestow a key upon KEY would be to carry coals to Newcastle, and that, therefore, SIR JOHN must be satisfied with his habitual self-possession."

* * * * *

EXTREMELY PARTICULAR.--We know a stupid old teetotaller who is so true to his principles he won't even mix in society!

* * * * *



You may talk as you please of magnetic attraction, Electro-biology, media, and stuff: Rapping for Spirits don't give satisfaction, The relatives never relate half enough. Tables on castors, and castors on tables, All I have turn'd to alike in their turn; Mesmeric stories are nothing but fables, _Stories_ indeed, which intelligence spurns.

In all these sensations I own I'm a scorner, Never in them have my feelings a part; But, where GORDON CUMMING was, near Hyde Park Corner, Oh! there, there _is_ something that touches the heart! His exhibition of skins show'd the ravages Hunters can make with the savage wild beast; But now they have got there a troupe of wild Savages, Who have not (as yet!) of their guests made a feast.

Kafirs from Borioboola, or somewhere-- There are delighting the civilised world: Belles from Belgravia in afternoons come there; Thither the fairest of May-fair are whirl'd. Dowagers craving for something exciting, Gentlemen blasé with Fashion's dull round, Those who find novelty always delighting, With those dear Kafirs may daily be found.

And delightful it is there, to see them transacting Their business of marriage, and murder, and war; Delightful to sit there, and know that 'tis acting, And not the real thing--which, _of course_, we abhor. We see in each movement such truth of expression, Their stampings and kickings are done with such grace, That ladies of title e'en make the confession That they in the Savage--nobility trace!

But chief the delight, when the acting is ended, To go to the room from which CUMMING is gone, And there inspect closely their figures so splendid, And, timidly, even shake hands with each one, And their dear little baby we smother with kisses, And stroke and admire its darling bronze skin, And think that there ne'er was a baby like this is, As a lion of London its life to begin.

It is all very proper to say that a baby Might be found nearer home, if we sought for a pet, And that in the back courts of St. Giles's, it may be, Hordes of young savages there we could get: But, they've no fancy dresses to set off their figures, And nothing is thought of an every-day sight; And "UNCLE TOM"'s roused such a _penchant_ for niggers, That dark skins must now take precedence of white.

That little dark baby could never have vices Like those which degrade us in civilised life; And though he may p'raps chop his father in slices, His country has customs that legalise strife. But, really--what humbugs call--Civilisation, Seems spreading everywhere under the skies, That soon, I suppose, we shall not have a nation To furnish a savage to gladden our eyes.

* * * * *


In moving, on Wednesday, the second reading of the Simony Law Amendment Bill--deferred, to the delight no doubt of certain prelates, to that day three months--VISCOUNT GODERICH is reported to have asked:--

"What was it which the right of presentation conferred? It was a right to select a man who, as a Minister of the Church of England, was to be intrusted with the spiritual affairs of a certain place."

Yes, indeed, of a certain place--and, one would think, when the right of presentation is simoniacally purchased, of a certain place (not to be mentioned to ears polite) where the cure of souls would be a farce.

* * * * *


Notwithstanding the small size of the Aztec children, they are exceedingly strong. An incurable punster says they doubtlessly derived this strength from Gymn-aztecs, from whom it probably descended in a straight line.

* * * * *


The military ability evinced by the Irish Brigade is of a peculiar kind. It is chiefly conspicuous in besieging; for almost the only talent in the whole party has been displayed in taking places.

* * * * *


[Illustration: T]

The excitement caused by GENERAL PUNCH'S reviews has by no means abated. That gallant and distinguished officer seems determined that the troops in his district shall not be much, if at all, behind those who, at Chobham or elsewhere, have more favourable opportunities of attaining perfection in discipline. The Chamomile Scrubs--the scene of the reviews--are daily thronged with numerous spectators, who, though they generally arrive when there is nothing to see, and go back again in the wet, never appear to be disappointed, but, on the contrary, return in perfect good humour.

A more than usual number of persons assembled yesterday, in the expectation of seeing something grand, a rumour having got abroad that it was the intention of the GENERAL to call out the Brook Green Militia (which distinguished corps, in consequence of the recent augmentation, now numbers nearly two file and a half), and to brigade them with the Queen's Piebalds. It was said, too, that the forces thus brought together would be separated as two divisions, and occupy respectively the Scrubs and Starch Green, and that a sham fight would take place. But the idea (if ever entertained) was abandoned--for what reason we cannot say, as we do not happen to know--these things being kept in profound mystery: but we are informed that a sergeant is under arrest, and will probably be "smashed" for having said that the ground on Starch Green was too stiff for the Piebalds. Such an atrocious attempt at a joke will meet with little sympathy from our readers, and we doubt not the offender will meet with his deserts, though, after all, perhaps, the idea _was_ given up on that ground. The Piebalds, having sole possession of the Scrubs, went through their evolutions with their accustomed precision. The "brilliancy" of the movements was somewhat abated in consequence of GENERAL PUNCH having ordered "field exercise" instead of "marching order." But those who have any regard for our gallant defenders will, we are sure, willingly give up "glittering helmets," &c., for anything that may conduce to their comfort. We subjoin a letter which has come into our hands, which will show that the privates are subjected to privations and moving accidents in peace as well as war--in barracks as well as in the field:--

_To_ LIEUTENANT WHIFFIN, _Royal South-South-East-Middlesex Dun Browns_.

"DEAR WHIFFIN,--I must tell you how we have been going on. Old PUNCH has been working us up in fine style--four field days a week, and riding drill on the off days; besides practising pitching tent in the afternoon in the barrack yard. However, he is such a jolly old fellow, that we don't mind a little extra work for him. One thing he has done which we are particularly thankful for. He lets us go to his reviews in field exercise instead of marching order.

"Young GREEN of ours says he considers it a personal favour. You know he swapped helmets with CAPTAIN WIDEAWAKE when he (WIDEAWAKE) went up to the DUKE'S funeral, and has never been able to get his own back since. WIDEAWAKE is always 'so busy he can't give it him now.' The consequence is, that W.'s helmet rolls about on GREEN'S head like 'anything,' especially at a trot, and the scales are so long that he's obliged to keep his mouth open all the field day to keep it on his head. So that it's fortunate for him that he's only been a serrefile as yet. If he were to lead a troop he would have some difficulty in giving the word of command. Some recruits only recently dismissed have a similar difficulty to brave.

"I got my troop last Tuesday, which I suppose you saw in the _Gazette_; and as the GENERAL wants the captains to get up the names of all the men in the troop, and the number of all the horses, I've got the troop-roll from Sergeant-Major, and am getting it off by heart. I had a 'law-suit' the other day. PRIVATE GRUMBLE reported the bread, but as he was not supported by the other men, I put him down easily. The fact is, he's not much liked by the rest of the men in the troop. He used to be looked up to as a 'schollard,' but has lost ground lately, owing to a singular circumstance. A letter appeared in the _Ballymucky Reporter_, signed 'MILES,' and Sergeant-Major tells me that GRUMBLE wrote a letter in reply, and signed himself 'Two _miles_,' and was informed in the answers to correspondents, in the next number, that he was an ass. All the men saw it, and GRUMBLE got laughed at for his 'law.' I am very glad the men have lost faith in him, as CAPTAIN CHUM told me he was always boring about fractions and the price of shaving brushes. As the GENERAL wants us to know all about straps and buckles, and packing valise, &c., I told Sergeant-Major I would look at one yesterday. So PRIVATE MUSCLES was ordered to show; but as his highlows were at the shoemaker's, and forage cap at the tailor's, and the rest of the valise was filled with two sheets and a bolster, I didn't get much information from him. The Sergeant-Major said I had better order him a week's marching order, and make him show kit in the afternoon. Which I did, as I thought it better to do what the Sergeant-Major said. I looked at the kit in the afternoon. _Such_ a kit, WHIFFIN, you never saw. The Sergeant-Major 'shook up' everything, and found that the fellow had actually got a wisp of hay rolled up in a helmet-bag to represent a shirt, and his 'drors,' as he called them, would, I verily believe, reach from my quarters to the riding-school. Sergeant-Major says he's always late for morning stables in winter because his drawers are so full of holes he can't get into them till a candle is lighted. I hope all this 'private' information won't bore you, but I have really had no time lately to go to town and see any of our old haunts. Besides, the GENERAL says we must take an interest in this sort of thing, in order to study the 'comforts of the men.'

"Good-bye for the present, old fellow. I shall let you know how we're getting on from time to time.

"Yours truly,

"JOHN SNAFFLES, _Queen's Piebalds_.

"P.S.--I've released MUSCLES and given him a new kit, on the condition that he won't get drunk for a month. You know our match with all Hammersmith comes off in three weeks, and it wouldn't do to have him away then--he's a capital long-stop. By the bye, you must contrive to have a pain in the side, or some urgent business with your legal adviser about that time, as we can't get any one to bowl in your place.--J.S."

* * * * *


(_Which was an Attempt to stir up a Noble Lord with a Long Pole._)

Hail, MORNINGTON--what! venerable Peer, Dost thou again before the Public show? Gone to the deuce we thought thee, many a year, As BYRON has it, "diddled," long ago.

Thus reascending on our modern stage, As through a "trap," thou mak'st us boys again; The ardent spirit of thy reverend age, Of GEORGE THE FOURTH revives the splendid reign.

For well do we remember how thy fame Accustomed was our fathers to amuse: And what a by-word was thy complex name, Then daily ventilated in the news.

Then ventilated:--was not that enough That name's purification to complete? Think'st thou that it required the sulph'rous puff Of gunpowder, to make it wholly sweet?

Would'st thou eat fire--the fire of other days? And SHAFTESBURY to that repast invite? Knowing thou might'st as well propose to blaze At any bishop, or at MR. BRIGHT.

Pah! there's a tune which, in the festive hop, Will cause me evermore to think of thee; "Pop goes the Weasel"--thou would'st, too, go pop; Pop goes the WELLESLEY, let it henceforth be.

* * * * *


The best "grubber" obtained a prize at the late agricultural gathering at Gloucester: but we are not informed whether the successful competitor was a citizen, who emptied a tureen of turtle, or a ploughman, who devoured "a leg of mutton and trimmings." In such a contest Town would be likely to beat Country; at least if the grubbing-match were open to the Corporation of London.

* * * * *


In the event of Austria and Russia joining in an European war, it is not too much to suppose that Hungary, Lombardy, and Poland, will all become members of the "EARLY RISING Association."

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE CAMP. _Juvenile (apropos of Highlander in sentry box)._ "OH, MY WIG, CHARLEY. WHAT A JOLLY JACK-IN-THE-GREEN HE'D MAKE!"]

* * * * *


_A Fragmentary Lament found in the Common Pleas after the recent Trial of_ "S--MM--NS _v._ P--RK--NS--N."


"And I could veep," the _Oneida Chief's_ Caucasian vendor thus begun-- "To hear them Councils, with their briefs, Traducing of my father's son, Vith jokes uncommon low. And that there Judge, vich busts in wrath, Vich takes no heed of vot he saith, But stamps a name as sticks till death-- 'A Knave.' He called me so, And all because that Christian boy Paid somevot dearly for a toy.

"That Hemerald brooch, the vich vas given By Hingland's Queen to PEEL so deep, I charged but fifty-two eleven, As I maintains vos really cheap; They swore the stone was glass, The bracelet for his gentle EVE, They called a Oundsditch make-believe, And said I'd plotted to deceive The fashionable ass-- Six bills at sight I swore my right. The jury took vun extra sight.

"My art goes thump. Before me now That Judge's countenanth appears; I see him knit a norrid brow. His vice is thunderin in mine ears; He puts me in a hawful ole, He riles me till I'm fit to bust, He calls my case, from last to first, About the wilest and the wust Of vich he's ad control: And says the union's 'past belief Of such a Fool,' and 'such a Thief.'"

* * * * *



"The Police cases under the New Hackney Carriage Act show that a determination to struggle against the working of that measure prevails among the members of my profession, which, though I am a legally qualified medical practitioner, is at present that of a cabman. For, Sir, I turned cabman rather than turn quack or sycophant, one of which things a man must, in general, turn, who has to get his living out of people most of whom are weakly in mind, body, and sex: particularly in these days when ladies of rank and Members of Parliament patronise clairvoyance and homoeopathy. I may add that I have less driving to do now than I had when I was in medical practice, and that I get better paid for it.

"My object in addressing you, is to beg that you will use all your influence to make the public insist on having the provisions of this Act, in regard to fares, severely carried out.

"It may be the opinion of insolent WILLIAM, and intoxicated JAMES, my brethren of the whip, that in expressing this desire I am merely uttering the sentiments of a truculent magistrate, or other odious and tyrannical member of the aristocracy, desirous of interfering between a poor fellow and the swell out of whom it is his business to get as much as he can. They may be disposed to invoke dreadful vengeance upon me for what they consider a sympathy with wealth and respectability, rather than a fellow feeling with labour and themselves. But, Sir, my beery and abusive friends are both wrong. I want the Act of Parliament enforced for the benefit of the people; which is identical with our own.

"The mistake of vituperative WILLIAM, the error of hiccuping and unsteady JAMES, is the supposition that cabs were made for none but extortionate rascals to drive, and none but opulent spendthrifts to ride in. Nature--for nature presides even over hired vehicles--intended cabs not only for the conveyance of intemperate dandies with cigars in their mouths, for travellers in hot haste regardless of expense, and reckless pleasure-hunters dashing away to Cremorne or the Opera. She meant them also for the accommodation of sober matrons of narrow circumstances and broad umbrellas, poor clerks, small tradesmen, indigent authors, and other humble persons pressed for time, troubled with corns, caught in the rain, or otherwise precluded from pedestrianism. Now, an excessive legal fare was enough to keep these kinds of people out of cabs; to say nothing of the certainty of an additional demand, accompanied by insult, and urged in derisive and revolting language.

"Let it be once understood, on all hands, that the new cab tariff is to be a serious reality, a thing as settled as the price of a pot of beer, and I am sure the increase of practice will more than compensate us for the diminution of our individual fees. I speak of those who, like myself, seek an honest livelihood by taking as many cases--that is, fares--as they can, upon reasonable terms, instead of plundering such patients or victims as they can get hold of to the most villanous possible extent.

"Pray, therefore, impress upon all friends of the working man, that working men are to be considered in the light of cab takers as well as in that of cab drivers. There are some impetuous young blades who are prone to scatter their cash about on all kinds of cads, amongst whom we have the honour to rank in their estimation.

"Accordingly they in general overpay us monstrously. Advise them to discontinue that injudicious liberality; it spoils us: it causes us to be discontented with full wages, and to laugh in the face of a customer who proposes to pay us our legal due. It has possessed us with the notion that everybody who takes a cab is infinitely rich: so that when a man does not offer us much more than we are entitled to, we are accustomed to ask him ironically whether he calls himself a gentleman. Hence it is that we dance, with menacing gestures, around those who resist our endeavours to cheat them; collect mobs about them; and pursue them with execrations as far as we dare. A stop will be put to this state of things by the strict and uniform enforcement of the much-needed Act which has been passed for the abatement of our knavery and the prevention of our insolence; I will add, on the whole, for our good: at least for the good of one member of our body, who is also a Member of the Royal College of Surgeons, and Licentiate of the Apothecaries Company, albeit now necessitated to cry


"_The Stand, July, 1853._"

* * * * *

NOTICE.--Unless all the Jokes, which have been sent in about JULLIEN "cutting his _bâton_," are immediately removed from the _Punch_ Office, they will be sold as waste paper, and the proceeds devoted to the benefit of the "ASYLUM FOR IDIOTS."

* * * * *


Cabman. "_I beg your pardon, Sir, but is my Fare really a Sixpence?_"]

* * * * *


SUNDAY, MAY 26, 18--.

"My dear," said FRED, this morning--"I--I don't think I can go to church. But, of course, _you_ can go, I don't feel like myself this morning."

"I don't wonder at that, love. Indeed, you don't look yourself. But I expected as much."--

"_You_, LOTTY!" and FRED opened his eyes.

"Why, I knew what would come of it. Here were you out till twelve o'clock"--

"It wanted a quarter," said FRED, as if a quarter could make any difference.

"Twelve o'clock," said I firmly, "allowing for watches, before you came home."

"I told you--I was out talking with TOM," and FRED tapped the table.

"Well, if I must say what I think, FRED; I don't like MR. TRUEPENNY. _I--do--not--like--him._"

"I don't wish you to like him, my dear. You're to like and love me; and to love one man industriously and conscientiously is as much as any woman can be expected to do. More no reasonable husband can ask of her."

But this I wouldn't seem to listen to. "Twelve o'clock," I repeated. "Well, what you could find to talk about all that time--and I sitting here at the window alone"--

"You might have gone to bed," said FREDERICK.

"Gone to bed! And _you_ out! Why, what can you think me made of?" But he only looked at me from under his eyes and laughed. "I'm not a stock or a stone."

"Certainly not, my darling. I may perhaps be permitted to observe--in your own picturesque language--quite the reverse. _Quite_ the reverse," and he again tapped the table.

"No, love"--said I; for I thought I'd at once nip _that_ notion in the bud--"of course I don't wish, in fact, I should never think of such a thing, as to desire to control you in the choice of your friends. If I don't like MR. TRUEPENNY, why I can't help it; and there's an end. But what I wish to say, my love, is this--oh, it's no laughing matter, for I'm quite in earnest, I assure you--if MR. TRUEPENNY thinks he's to keep you out till twelve at night, and I'm to go to bed; if he thinks _that_"--

"But I don't believe"--said FRED coolly--"he thinks anything of the matter. Indeed, what is it to him whether you never go to bed at all?"

"Of course; nothing. Only I'm not going to sit up and say nothing. A woman's not to be kept out of her bed as if her soul wasn't her own."--

"Why, your soul doesn't wear a nightcap, does it?" asked FRED, meaning to be aggravating.

"I don't know _that_," said I; for, as I've said, I was determined to nip the notion in the bud. "Nevertheless"--for I wasn't to be put off--"what _could_ you talk of till twelve o'clock?"

FRED said nothing, but looked up at the ceiling.

"No good, I'm sure," said I in a bit of a passion, and before I knew it.

"CHARLOTTE!" cried FREDERICK, and his eyes flashed, as I'd never seen 'em. And then in a moment he looked kind, and I thought sad; and holding out his hand, he said, looking at me and his eyes softening,--"LOTTY, love, don't let us quarrel."

My heart was in my throat, and my arm about his neck. "We shall never quarrel, FRED," said I. "But what I meant to say was--what an odd person MR. TRUEPENNY is."

"Odd? A most excellent fellow!" said FREDERICK with energy.

"Of course. You wouldn't have any other for a friend: I know that, love. But what I mean is, he's so confused--so bashful."

"Yes. A bachelor's fault. I was so myself once. But it's wonderful what confidence marriage gives a man. Kiss me, my darling."

"There, now, FRED; it's Sunday," said I, not knowing what to say. "But why should MR. TRUEPENNY be in such a twitter when he sees me? He blushes and stammers, and"--

"It's your beauty, no doubt," said FRED.


"A solemn truth. Ah! my dear, it's a great comfort for timid men that beauty, like the elephant, doesn't know its strength. Otherwise, how it would trample on us! It's a fact, LOTTY, if you had only known half your power, you'd never have married me. Certainly not. But then women never do. Looking-glasses are thrown away upon 'em, poor things. When you consented to take me, LOTTY, I don't know that I didn't feel quite crushed by your condescension. Quite crushed. Yes: the last knowledge a woman ever acquires is a proper sense of the power of her own beauty. Otherwise, LOTTY, they'd never throw it away upon us; but live and die like the roses. Don't you think they would? Like the roses?"

I said nothing, but was just gently pulling his ear, when the church bells struck out.

"If it isn't church-time," said I; "but I'm drest. Nothing, but my bonnet."

"Well, LOTTY, you can go without me; yes, you"--and then he paused, and looked at me, I thought so strangely, and said--"no, my love: you shall not go alone. We'll go together." With this, he left the room; and a sudden shadow seemed to fall about me.

The next moment, the servant introduced "MR. TRUEPENNY." With his face the truth flashed upon me that--that--I didn't know what. But, instantly, I felt resolved to find it out; and so, in a minute, was in my very best spirits.

"FREDERICK," said I, "will be here directly. He's preparing for church."

"Church," said MR. TRUEPENNY, as if the word half stuck between his lips.

"Don't you ever go to church, MR. TRUEPENNY? I mean"--

"Always," said he. "But the fact is, when one comes to the sea-side"--

"PETER'S boat," I observed very seriously, "was at the sea-side."

"To be sure, certainly," said he; then he looked at the toe of his boot, and then at the pattern of the carpet; in fact, anywhere but at me. Then he coughed, and said--for all the world as if he was talking of prawns--"I'm told there's very good preaching about here."

"I should hope, MR. TRUEPENNY, that there is good preaching everywhere; that is, if persons are only disposed to listen to it." MR. TRUEPENNY--his eye still on his boot--bowed. "I hope," said I, "you will accompany us to church?"

"What! I?" cried the man, really alarmed.

"To be sure: why not?" said FRED, coming into the room. "And then, TOM, we'll take a walk--LOTTY isn't equal to the fatigue"--how did he know that?--"and then we'll all dine, and comfortably close the day together."

"Well, I--I--I've no objection," said MR. TRUEPENNY; as though desperately making up his mind to endure the worst.

"A most admirable preacher, I'm told. Has preached before his Gracious Majesty, when Prince Regent," said FRED.

"Indeed?" said MR. TRUEPENNY, as if he wished to be astonished.

"A great favourite at Brighton; he's so extremely mild and well-bred. Touches upon the pomps and vanities of this wicked world--and scourges the miserable sinners who keep carriages--gently, tenderly. For all the world as if with a bunch of peacock's feathers you'd dust so many images of Dresden China."

"That's lucky," said MR. TRUEPENNY.

"_Why_ lucky?" I asked--for there _was_ something in the man's manner.

"I meant to say," he stammered, "that there are times when one doesn't like--like one's sins to be--bullied--that is, not at the sea-side."

"Quite right, TOM," said FRED, who I could see was helping him out. "Very well in one's own parish church, but"--

"We shall be too late," said I, and I ran from the room; and in a minute--never in all my life did I put my bonnet on so quick--in a minute I was ready.

The church was extremely full--as we afterwards found--for the season. FREDERICK was particularly serious; and for MR. TRUEPENNY, if he'd been listening to his own condemned sermon, he couldn't have been more solemn. It was odd, too, I thought, the glances he now and then cast towards me. And particularly when the clergyman said--and he seemed, I really _did_ think for the minute, as though he was looking right into our pew, when he said--"_Thou shalt do no murder_"--at the very words, MR. TRUEPENNY let his prayer-book slip, and made such a start to catch it, that he drew all eyes upon us. I saw FREDERICK colour scarlet, and bite his lips as he glanced at his friend. At last the service was over, and we got away.

"A very nice sermon," said MR. TRUEPENNY, trying to say something.

"Very soothing," I added; for I knew he was half-asleep all the time.

"Yes; that's it," said he: "but that's what I like, when I come to a watering-place. Something quiet, something to think over."

Well we returned to the inn; and somehow we got through the day. I don't know how late MR. TRUEPENNY would have sat; but, for all FRED'S nods and winks, I was determined to sit him out. At last,--it was nearly twelve--at last he went away.

"We shall meet in the morning," said FRED to him.

"Of--of course," said MR. TRUEPENNY; and then with the awkwardest bow in the world, he left me and FRED together.

"We'd better go to bed," said FRED. "Isn't it late?"

"Very," said I; "and for my part I thought MR. TRUEPENNY was never going."

I went into my room, and--there upon my table--was a slip of paper written in JOSEPHINE'S hand, with these words:

"_If you really love master, you'll not let him get up to-morrow morning!_"

And now all the horror was plain as light! "Get up!" I thought--and all a woman's resolution came upon me--"only let me once get him well to bed, and he _doesn't get up_." I listened for his footsteps. He came. I met him with a smile; and _didn't I lock the door_?

* * * * *



CITY.--The deportation of such large numbers of shirt hands, to which we have before alluded, has caused an unparallelled rise in wages, amounting, we are assured, in some cases, to as much as a farthing per dozen on "gents' dress." It is rumoured that the "United Distressed Needle-women" contemplate striking for a reduction of the hours of labour. Twenty-one hours a day, with three intervals of two minutes each for meals, except during the busy season which comprises only about eleven months in the year, is spoken of as likely to be their stipulation.

MANCHESTER.--Policemen are in rather better demand, at a slight advance on former prices. Good stout articles are quoted at from 13_s._ to 17_s._ per week; sergeants 19_s._ to 21_s._; best blues, strong, full length, 23_s._

* * * * *


A culinary wag (not SOYER) has inserted in his Cookery Book the proclamation of EMPEROR NICHOLAS, in which he talks largely about the "orthodox faith" and "the sword," and has labelled it: "DIRECTIONS FOR CUTTING UP A TURKEY."

* * * * *


The liberal man, when he is in doubt about the proper weight of a letter, puts on two stamps: the mean man only puts on one.

* * * * *


_Friend of Self-Government._

Seedy Cab-driver, whither art thou going! Sad is thy fate--reduced to law and order, Local self-government yielding to the gripe of Centralisation.

Victim of FITZROY! little think the M.P.'s, Lording it o'er cab, 'bus, lodging-house and graveyard, Of the good times when every Anglo-Saxon's House was his castle.

Say, hapless sufferer, was it MR. CHADWICK-- Underground foe to the British Constitution-- Or my LORD SHAFTESBURY, put up MR. FITZROY Thus to assail you?

Was it the growth of Continental notions, Or was it the Metropolitan police force Prompted this blow at _Laissez-faire_, that free and Easiest of doctrines?

Have you not read MR. TOULMIN SMITH'S great work on Centralisation? If you haven't, buy it; Meanwhile I should be glad at once to hear your View on the subject.


View on the subjeck? jiggered if I've got one; Only I wants no centrylisn', I don't-- Which I suppose it's a crusher standin' sentry Hover a cabstand.

Whereby if we gives e'er a word o' cheek to Parties as rides, they pulls us up like winkin'-- And them there blessed beaks is down upon us Dead as an 'ammer!

As for MR. TOULMIN SMITH, can't say I knows him-- But as you talks so werry like a gem'man, Perhaps you're a goin' in 'ansome style to stand a Shillin' a mile, Sir?

_Friend of Self-Government._

I give a shilling? I will see thee hanged first-- Sixpence a mile--or drive me straight to Bow Street-- Idle, ill-mannered, dissipated, dirty, Insolent rascal!

* * * * *


Members of the House of Commons, being in the Library, or elsewhere about the House, have to run for it in order to be present at divisions, and are sometimes too late. Lightness of heels (as well as of principle) appears to be a quality necessary to a representative of the British people. An election contest might be an actual footrace. Why not? The candidate that is able to outrun his opponent is at least as fit and proper a man to represent a constituency, as he is who can outbribe him. However this may be, we expect soon to see some such arrangements as the following among the Parliamentary notices:--

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY will run JOSEPH HUME, or any other Member, on the India question; or what not.

FREDERICK LUCAS, the Scarlet Runner, will match himself with PHINN, the Bath Brick, to run any length upon the Nunneries' Bill; or as much farther as the POPE chooses.

COLONEL SIBTHORPE will run any Member of HER MAJESTY'S Government (in which he has no confidence) at any time, on any question.

We shall also have SIR J. T. TYRRELL, the Farmer's Boy, challenging LORD JOHN RUSSELL, the Bedford Pet, to a trial of speed; the ATTORNEY-GENERAL will be invited to a similar match by SIR F. THESIGER; MR. BRIGHT will be proposing to hop LORD PALMERSTON; and perhaps MR. BENJAMIN DISRAELI will want to jump MR. GLADSTONE in a budget.

* * * * *


To judge from the smoke in which the investigation of the Dockyard abuses has ended, it would seem that the late Government played their cards in the knowledge that knaves were trumps.

* * * * *

THE EAST INDIA HOUSE.--It has been said of the East India House, that "it is an establishment which, in patronage, and other delicate little matters, generally goes 'the whole HOGG.'"

* * * * *


* * * * *


The Irish constituencies being now completely in the hands of their spiritual advisers, it is contemplated that henceforth the Speaker's writ for a new election in Ireland shall be directed to the priests of the vacant locality. The Reverend gentlemen are to meet (whiskey toddy and tobacco to be charged to the county), and their endorsement of their tool's name on the back of the writ, without any other form of election, is to save all the riot and bloodshed which they now feel it their duty to their Church and their consciences to cause, if a layman, Catholic or Protestant, ventures to present himself to the electors without priestly sanction. Anything for peace and quietness.

* * * * *


The genius of MR. MECHI has sharpened many razors:--may it have a corresponding effect upon agricultural blades.

* * * * *


We have been favoured with a glimpse of the note-book of a great dramatic critic, who evidently contemplates giving, or selling to the world, a great national treat in the form of a new edition of the dramatists. The annotator seems to combine all the acuteness of the needle with the straightforward bluntness of the railway buffer. We subjoin a few specimens:--


There is a passage in this play which has escaped the attention of all critics who have preceded me; a passage which shows _Glenalvon_ to have been of a social disposition. In one of the scenes with _Norval_, _Glenalvon_ says (_aside_),

"His port I love."

And, from this remarkable passage, we get three facts: first, that _Glenalvon_ liked port; secondly, that he had tasted _Norval's_ port; and, thirdly, that the port in question was of a high character.


The character of _Casca_ has never yet had full justice done to it by the critics; but there is one passage which may be compared to a perfect thoroughfare for finding our way to _Casca's_ real condition. He evidently belonged to the landlord or agrarian party in the State, and there can be no doubt that the terms on which his tenants held of him were exorbitant. The whole fact bursts in upon us like a thunderbolt through the roof of an out-house, or a broker through the door of an apartment with the rent in arrear, when we read the following line, spoken by _Antony_ in the course of his funeral oration over _Cæsar_:

"See what a rent the envious _Casca_ made!"

Now, this allusion to the rent made by _Casca_ proves either one of two things: First, that he let lodgings at a high price; or, secondly, that he derived a considerable income from a landed tenantry. I am inclined to the latter supposition, for it is possible that had he let merely lodgings, some of the lodgers would have been introduced into the play, with that nice appreciation of the ludicrous for which SHAKSPEARE is conspicuous. This not having been done, we are driven on the other hypothesis, to which, on the whole, we give the preference.

The above specimens will suffice to show the public the addition that may be shortly expected to a department and style of literature in which the English language is already rich--excessively rich--in the opinion of some of us.

* * * * *


Why are diplomatic papers called Circular Notes?--Because they go round about a subject without coming to any definite end! They are, moreover, called Circular because they are seldom on the square.

* * * * *

EXPENSIVE SPIRITS.--The estimates of the charge of the disembodied Militia are heavier than one would expect on the supposition that the Militia, disembodied, consists of the ghosts of Militiamen.

* * * * *

THE AFFAIRS OF TURKEY.--The SULTAN may "lead a life of jollity:" but his Minister for Foreign Affairs is REDSCHID.

* * * * *


The natural history of Bricks is interesting.

We are enabled to trace it without difficulty from very ancient periods, both with reference to its different structures, and with reference to building purposes.

It is pleasing to observe how the bitumen was first used, how it was moulded into form, and baked into hardness, by the heat of the Persian sun. We can trace it through many of its forms until we come to the great Roman Brick of nine inches long, three inches broad, and three inches thick. We now discover, with the satisfaction and pleasure of the antiquarian, how long these Bricks have endured; but, for many years, we were not aware of any application of the Brick, other than that of strength, stability, and support of edifices--edifices which, sometimes, might really raise the question: "To what extent the architect for _Time_ meant to contend with _Eternity?_"

We think we are indebted to our Cambridge friends--it may be to our Harrow friends, we cannot tell--for the first moral or ethical application of the word Brick.

How common it has been of late years to say to a man, whose virtuous tendencies are of the first order, "My dear fellow, you are a Brick." It becomes, however, more emphatic in the usage of the third person. "Do you know MR. SO-AND-SO? Is he really a man I can trust? Is he a good fellow?" The answer in one word is, "He's a Brick." The answer is satisfactory, in all senses, to the propounder of the question--indeed, a more satisfactory reply cannot be uttered.

We have heard this kind of expression called _slang_--it really is not so. Gentlemen, take up your _Plutarch_, turn to the Life of AGESILAUS, and what do you read? You'll find, if you understand Greek--and if you don't, set about learning it immediately, for the purposes of history, as well as poetry and elevation of thought--that when the Ambassador from Epirus went to AGESILAUS, to have a diplomatic chit-chat with him, he said to him: "Where on earth are the walls of Sparta? In other States of Greece the principal towns have walls--but where are yours, dear AGESILAUS?" The SIR STRATFORD CANNING, or LORD COWLEY, from Epirus, was answered by that amiable monarch: "I'll to-morrow at morning dawn shew you the walls of Sparta. Breakfast with me, old chap; some of the best black soup that Sparta can afford shall be put on the table: and I'll shew you the walls."

They met: and AGESILAUS had drawn out his Spartan army before him, and, with exulting cheer and dignified mien, said to his friend from Epirus, "Look! _these are the Walls of Sparta, Sir; and every particular man you see is a Brick._" How classical becomes the phrase! how distinct from slang!

We do not say we have translated the great _Plutarch_ literally, but we have translated him in spirit, and if that great man had been now living, and could have seen this, he would no doubt have been delighted, and grateful to us for our application of history to the correction of vulgarisms, and to the promotion of sound and sincere classical literature.

* * * * *


Why is there such a fuss made about the purchase of benefices, the possession of pluralities, and the management of bishops to get more income than they ought to have? These are all merely clerical errors.

* * * * *

THE "VEXATA QUÆSTIO."--"What is a mile?"

* * * * *


_Pretty Gent._ "OH! LAWK! DON'T MENTION IT!"]

* * * * *


MR. CHARLES KEAN continuing to be exposed to the nuisance of criticism, has determined, though with much regret, on a still more decided step in vindication of his personal dignity than any he has yet taken. Having already struck off the Free List of the Princess's Theatre all the critics who have insolently ventured to express unfavourable opinions of his acting, MR. KEAN had hoped that the public would have taken this warning that he is not amenable to hostile criticism. In this hope he regrets to find himself disappointed. Many persons still consider him a bad actor, and have not shrunk from audaciously expressing this detestable opinion in and out of the Princess's Theatre. Further forbearance on MR. KEAN'S part would clearly be an act of injustice to himself.

He has, therefore (though at cost of much pain to himself), resolved on a measure which he trusts will prevent any repetition of this annoyance. MR. KEAN deeply regrets that HER MAJESTY, having lately visited the Haymarket Theatre, was observed (no doubt, in an unguarded moment,) to laugh at MR. BRAID'S offensive (and most unsuccessful) imitation of MR. KEAN'S performance in the _Corsican Brothers_, which MR. BUCKSTONE has had the bad taste to sanction in a ridiculous and entirely unsuccessful burlesque or extravaganza, called the _Ascent of Mount Parnassus_. This having been brought to MR. KEAN'S ears (as most acts of the same kind are sure to be), he has, in consequence, struck HER MAJESTY'S name off the Free List of the Princess's Theatre, exclaiming, in the manner of _Richard_, and in a tone of dignity which so over-powered the prompter and stage-manager that he has not yet recovered the shock--

"Off with her name! so much for Royalty!"

* * * * *


The most remarkable exhibition of Dissolving Views is that of the National Gallery, where, through various chemical processes and mechanical means, the pictures of the ancient Masters are undergoing dissolution.

* * * * *



My insolent; my turbulent! that stands crest-fallen by, With the recent Cab Act in thy hand, and tear-drops in thine eye, Try not to overcharge us now, or make our pockets bleed; You cannot do it now again--thou'rt sold, my man, indeed. Fret not with that impatient cough: if surlily inclined, The nearest station is the place at which redress to find; The magistrates have now the power to mulct thee of thy gold, Or send thee off to jail, my friend. Thou'rt sold, my man, thou'rt sold.

'Tis well! those old and crazy wheels not many a mile can roam; After next October you must keep that vehicle at home. Some other cab less old and torn you shortly must prepare, With roof not full of crevices, admitting rain and air. Yes, it must go! the crazy cab, the old abandoned fly, Must on thy master's premises be finally put by; And in it there some juveniles, who cannot get a ride, May cram themselves, by climbing up the wheels on every side.

Do they ill-use thee, Cabman? No! I'm sure it cannot be; You that have bullied half the world, and humbugged even me. And yet, if haply thou'rt done up, and for thee we should yearn, Can the same law that cut thee off compel thee to return? Return! alas! my Cabman bold, what shall the public do, When rain is falling everywhere, wetting the public through? I'll stand me up beneath an arch, and pause and sadly think-- 'Twas at the beer-shop opposite, the Cabmen used to drink.

THE CABMEN USED TO DRINK! Away--my fevered dream is o'er; I could not live a day and know cabs were to be no more. They've cut thee down, exacting one; but legal power is strong: You tempted us, my insolent! you kept it up too long. Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wert sold? 'Tis false! 'tis false! Thou'rt better off, my Cabman, thou art told. Thus, thus, I leap into thy cab, to ride five miles from town, And when at Acton I alight, I'll pay thee half-a-crown.

* * * * *


* * * * *


Seeing how extremely difficult it is to get a complaint listened to at almost any post-office, we think the old simile "As deaf as a Post" might very suitably be altered into "As deaf as a Post-Master."

* * * * *

[Illustration: BEFORE

"Vell, Summons me! I ain't a going to take Sixpence! You call yourself a Gentleman, I s'pose?"


"O! Don't Summons me, Sir! Consider my poor wife and children, there's a kind Gentleman."]

* * * * *


[Illustration: W]

We learn with pleasure that the gallant fellows assembled under canvas at Chobham have proved that they can not only stand fire, but they can stand water with astonishing bravery. No soldiers have ever gone so far "into the bowels of the land" as these highlowed heroes, who have stamped the imprint of their military heels on the mud of Chobham. Never were laurels so thoroughly watered as the laurels worn at Chobham, by what Cockneyism would call indiscriminately the veterans and the wetter-uns of our encamped soldiery. If any man lately under canvas has had a stain to get rid of, we may be sure that it has been thoroughly washed out by the showers with which he has been saturated. The only wonder is that the gallant fellows have not been all washed away by a mode of "hero wash-up" that would have been indeed deplorable.

* * * * *


A pauper is generally imagined by foreigners to be a lantern-jawed, herring-paunched, emaciated and pallid wretch, cropped and shaven, clothed in pepper-and-salt ditto, and employed in crushing bones for manure and soup. Thanks to Free Trade and the Diggings--among second causes--this order of fellow Christians is now almost extinct. Our continental neighbours will find, on inquiry, that a wholly different appearance is for the most part presented by the remaining objects of British charity. Coats, waistcoats, and trousers--in some cases gaiters and breeches--of superfine black cloth, warm and comfortable to the feeling, sleek and glossy to the sight, envelope with liberal amplitude proportions which are plump, and perhaps corpulent. The nether extremities are encased in capacious and shiny highlows, sometimes silver-buckled. A goodly beaver hat with extensive brim shades the entire man from the rays which tend to liquefy the oleaginous part of him. This is the only badge of poverty that he bears about him; its form is suggestive of an emblem of manual labour--the Shovel.

His dietary is open to no objection in regard either to quantity or quality; except that, in both respects, it tends rather to produce plethora and engender gout. It is, in fact, discretional; for even when he enjoys an indoor maintenance, he receives a stipend in lieu of rations, and this sum is usually handsome enough to enable him to indulge in every delicacy of every season.

When he thus lives in the House--the Almshouse provided for him--he has the whole of it to himself, and is required to share it with nobody except his own family if he is blessed with one: so far, therefore, from being separated from his wife in a comfortless ward, he occupies a mansion which is the abode of domestic happiness.

His work is mostly as optional, conversely, as his victuals: so that he can eat and drink as much, and exert himself as little as he likes. The only employment obligatory upon him is light clerical duty, and the greater part of that he is permitted to delegate to somebody else. He is supposed, indeed, to be continually producing new editions of Greek Testament, biblical or patristic commentaries, confutations of Popery, apologies for Church-rates, and other works tending to the spiritual welfare of the nation; to the due performance of which tasks a necessary condition is learned leisure, accompanied by nutritious food and generous liquor.

This walking monument of beneficence--walking when he does not ride in a well-appointed carriage--is almost the only eleemosynary kind of person, except the actual mendicant, existing among HER MAJESTY'S subjects. The funds which serve for the maintenance of the order of industrious poverty to which this useful member of society belongs, are derived from freehold and personal property together with rent-charges on land, amounting on the whole to £50,000,000. That all this property was granted by our ancestors for charitable purposes--to wit hospitals and schools--attests their munificence; whilst how prosperous we are is evident from the fact, that in order to use up all their bounty, we roll several hundred paupers into one.

* * * * *


The Clerk of the Weather ought certainly to be called to account for his treatment of our gallant soldiers at Chobham, who have been literally in "soak" during nearly the whole of the present campaign. The incessant wet is, in fact, a reflection upon the courage of the military, for we may well ask if they are subjected to weather that is always foul on the principle, that "none but the brave deserve the fair."

* * * * *


Wot's this?--wot hever is this 'ere? Eh?--arf a suvrin!--feels like vun-- Boohoo! they won't let me have no beer Suppose I chucks it up into the sun!-- No--that ain't right-- The yaller's turned wite! Ha, ha, ho!--he's sold and done-- Come, I say!--I won't stand that-- 'Tis all my eye and BETTY MARTIN Over the left and all round my hat, As the pewter pot said to the kevarten.

Who am I? HEMPRER of the FRENCH LEWIS NAPOLEON BONYPART, Old Spooney, to be sure-- Between you and me and the old blind oss. And the doctor says there ain't no cure. D'ye think I care for the blessed Bench?-- From Temple Bar to Charing Cross? Two mile and better--arf a crown-- Talk of screwing a feller down! As for poor BILL, it's broke his art. Cab to the Moon, Sir? Here you are!-- That's--how much?-- A farthin' touch! Now as we can't demand back fare.

But, guv'ner, wot can this 'ere be?-- The fare of a himperial carridge? You don't mean all this 'ere for me! In course you ain't heerd about my marridge-- I feels so precious keveer! How was it I got that kick o' the ed? I've ad a slight hindisposition, But a Beak ain't no Physician. Wot's this 'ere, Sir? wot's this 'ere? You call yerself a gentleman? yer Snob! He wasn't bled: And I was let in for forty bob, Or a month, instead: And I caught the lumbago in the brain-- I've been confined-- But never you mind-- Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! I ain't hinsane.

Vot his this 'ere? Can't no one tell? It sets my ed a spinnin-- The QUEEN'S eye winks--it aint no sell-- The QUEEN'S ed keeps a grinnin: Ha, ha! 'twas guv By the cove I druv-- I vunders for wot e meant it! For e sez to me, E sez, sez e, As I ort to be contented! Wot did yer say, Sir, wot did yer say? My fare!--wot, that! Yer knocks me flat. Hit in the vind!--I'm chokin--give us air-- My fare? Ha, ha! My fare? Ho, ho! My fare? Call that my fare for drivin yer a mile? I ain't hinsane--not yet--not yet avile!-- Wot makes yer smile? My blood is bilin' in a wiolent manner! Wot's this I've got? Show us a light-- This ere is--wot?-- There's sunthin the matter with my sight-- It is--yes!--No!-- 'Tis, raly, though-- Oh, blow! blow! blow!-- Ho, ho, ho, ho! it is, it is a Tanner!

* * * * *

Parliamentary Parallels.

"MR. SPOONER presented a petition from parishes in Wiltshire against the opening of the Crystal Palace on Sundays."

Suppose MR. LUCAS were to present a petition from parishes in Meath, praying for the closure of butchers' shops on Fridays?

* * * * *


_Lady Mother (loquitur)._ "I shall feel obliged to you, MR. SQUILLS, if you would remove these stains from my daughter's face. I cannot persuade her to be sufficiently careful with her Photographic Chemicals, and she has had a misfortune with her Nitrate of Silver. Unless you can do something for her, she will not be fit to be seen at LADY MAYFAIR'S to-night."

[MR. SQUILLS _administers relief to the fair sufferer, in the shape of Cyanide of Potassium_.]]

* * * * *



I'm a jolly London sailor; Gaily still I keep afloat, With the picture of a Whaler, And the model of a boat. True, I ne'er was on the Ocean, But I've travelled wide and far, Kept by the police in motion. Pity a Whitechapel Tar!

Shivered are my timbers, stranger; Lame, you see, is poor JACK JUNK: Yes, I got this, braving danger, (Falling from a scaffold drunk). On my forehead see depicted Valour's honourable scar ('T was with a pint pot inflicted). Pity a Whitechapel Tar!

Glazed my hat and blue my jacket, White my trowsers, loose my tie; Seaman's costume, when I lack it, Down at Houndsditch I can buy. Naval talk I've learnt in places Where the British seamen are; "Furl the main-top," "splice the braces." Pity a Whitechapel Tar!

Nursemaids, from your upper casements Throw the halfpence freely down; Cooks from areas and from basements, On the sailor do not frown. Bring the joints out, if we ask it, Distant is the seaman's star; (Here's the plate! I'll prig the basket). Pity a Whitechapel Tar!

* * * * *

TOAST AND WATER.--A Toast proposed at a Temperance Meeting.

* * * * *


On Saturday evening last, a large and influential meeting of members of the Hebrew nation assembled in the Synagogue, Great Saint Helen's, for the purpose of taking into consideration the recent article in _Punch_, in which that illustrious individual, remarking upon the fact that Jews were somehow or other mixed up in most cases of fraud, chicanery and imposture, strongly counselled the respectable and wealthy portion of the community to take such measures, as might tend to destroy an argument especially useful to those whose bigotry resisted the admission of the Jew Englishman to the civil rights of a Christian Englishman.

Among those who were present we noticed BARON INGOTS, SIR AARON MONTECHRISTO, MR. ALDERMAN FITZDAVID, the REV. RABBI HAPHTORAH, PROFESSORS BERESHITH and BARA, and others, as representatives of the higher classes; and MESSRS. ABRAHAMS, ISAACS, JACOBS, IKEY, BARNEY, CLO, O. CLO, BEHEMOTH, GONOFF, SHOBBUS, FENCE, SHEENEY, TANGO, &c. &c. on the other interest. The former class had not deemed it desirable to bring the ladies of their families, but in the body of the meeting we remarked MRS. and MISS IKEY, MRS. BEHEMOTH, MRS. and the MISSES SHOBBUS (11), MRS. and MISS SHARON, MRS. TUSKS, and other distinguished Mosaic ornaments of private life.

MR. ALDERMAN FITZDAVID was voted into the chair, and a disposition to disturbance among the less select part of the meeting was speedily suppressed by the worthy Alderman reminding them, in a firm but good-humoured tone, that "he happened to be a magistrate." A young gentleman in the crowd appeared to take this remark as personal, and left the meeting somewhat abruptly, immediately after which it was noticed that MRS. SHARON was compelled to borrow her daughter's pocket-handkerchief.

MR. ALDERMAN FITZDAVID then read the article from _Punch_, and said that the Hebrews were deeply indebted to that periodical. It had never shrunk from fighting their battles, or from pointing out their errors, and he was convinced that no right-minded Jew could mistake _Mr. Punch's_ meaning or mistrust his goodwill. There was no doubt that the great mass of the Jews in England worshipped gold with a devotion which made them blind to better things.

_A Voice._ Vot's better, my dear, ceptin' dimonds; eh, vot.

MR. ALDERMAN FITZDAVID would tell them. Honesty was better, and straightforward dealing, and liberality. Why had the word Jew become synonymous--

_A Voice._ Eh? vot. There's a proud vord. Dictionary, s'elp me! Aint he ambitious? Synonnymouth! Lor!

MR. ALDERMAN FITZDAVID. Synonymous with--he would not say cheat, but with a sharp practitioner, in the mouths of their Christian fellow-subjects?

_A Voice._ All prejudith, my dear; all blinded prejudith, whereof it behoves them to be ashamed. (The speaker was here removed by Policeman C 146, in order to an arbitration in regard to a gold snuff-box just annexed by the former.)

BARON INGOTS said that he was urgent to remove this reproach from Israel. He looked to education as the remedy, but then the Jews had already ample provision of well-conducted schools. There was something wanting besides mere book-learning.

The REV. RABBI HAPHTORAH would not preach to them, but he, in common with all who endeavoured to do good by instruction, felt painfully that the spirit of modern Jewism counteracted the effect of the noble Hebrew rules of life. What was the use of his proclaiming "Covet not," when the lesson of every day was "Covet everything, and get as much of it as you can."

_A Voice._ The Christians as talks is so much better, isn't them?

SIR A. MONTECHRISTO. That was no answer. Besides he was bound to admit that there was a large portion, though only a portion, of the Christians, who did look to better things than mere gain. It was a disgrace to the English Jews, considering their limited number and great advantages, that they did not present a practical refutation of the charges of their enemies.

_A Voice._ Hear him! Vy, he could buy up streets full of Christians as easy as I'd buy a net of oranges. (_Blandly._) D'ye happen to vant any fine oranges, SIR HAIRON? Proud to vait upon yer at yer ouse--knows it vell. Not a Lord in the land--not the DUKEY VELLINTONS himself has got a finer. Now.

PROFESSOR BERESHITH dwelt with much earnestness upon the contemptible character of the greedy and avaricious man, and upon his inevitably low station in the scale of society; but his speech was interrupted by MRS. BEHEMOTH, who insisted on forcing her way to the chairman, in order to get him to buy a ring which had come into her hands rather promiscuous, and was just fit for his finger. The horrible clamour which the energetic matron made, on being put forth from the meeting, tended to bring matters to a conclusion. Other speeches were delivered, in which the Hebrew gentlemen expressed their sincere desire to improve the condition of their humbler brethren, but the latter did not seem very grateful or much inclined to co-operate. A resolution of thanks to _Punch_, and of hope that he would continue his exertions for and among the Jews was carried, and the meeting was broken up.

* * * * *


[Illustration: P]

Punch has seen that much generous sympathy has been excited for an unfortunate Cab-driver, "said" to have been sent to prison for a month for the offence of not having five shillings in his pocket. One story is good till another is told; but unfortunately the police reporters tell so many stories, that it is almost impossible to keep pace with them. After several columns of indignation--more or less virtuous; after the expenditure of a rivulet of ink, having more than the usual quantity of gall in it; and after a little energetic questioning in the House of Commons, the plain truth comes out that the Cab-driver never said a word about "not having five shillings," and consequently was not sent to prison at all for his poverty, but because he was convicted of an overcharge, and because he declined the test of actual measurement which was offered to him.

We make every allowance for a reporter whose province it may be to exaggerate gooseberries, and give undue enormity to cauliflowers for paragraphical purposes, but it is rather too hard of him to indulge his imagination and allow it to run riot in getting up a monstrous case of magisterial oppression. The affair has, perhaps, answered its purpose, for it has given gigantic dimensions to a police report and made that productive of half-a-crown which would, if kept within the commonplace limits of fact, have yielded scarcely a shilling; it has given an opportunity to "able editors" to write admirable leading articles--admirable in every respect but the foundation, which has unfortunately given way; and it has permitted vigilant Members of Parliament to show their vigilance, by asking the Home Secretary what he is about, and why he doesn't reverse a few magisterial decisions every now and then, by way of keeping up the "independence" of the Bench and showing that he is not asleep in his office. So far as any good may result from these things, the fictitious report of the Cab case has answered its purpose; but the only real advantage we can see in it has been gained by the Cabman, for whom subscriptions have poured in which have enabled him to pay his fine, and perhaps leave him a handsome balance for future penalties. Whilst we firmly oppose the Cabman in all his delinquencies--and they are not a few--let him only come forward with a real wrong, and he shall have all the benefit of _Punch's_ avenging _bâton_.

* * * * *


In consequence of the reduction of the Soap Duties, an eccentric gentleman, who likes a smooth shaven lawn, has the lawn in front of his house lathered in order to be shaved.

* * * * *


Promise of marriage is like precious China--a man has so much to pay for its breakage.

* * * * *


There is no kind of man more delightful to meet with than a good clergyman who is also a good fellow, and, moreover,--within canonical and decent limits--a wag. Now, here is one such singularly pleasant parson, writing, as a correspondent of the _Times_, thus:--

"Sir,--My attention has just been directed to an Advertisement in the _Times_ of the 11th instant, inserted by the Great Western Railway Company, announcing an excursion train for Sunday, the 17th instant, to Oxford, Banbury, Leamington, Warwick, and concluding by saying, that 'the Warwick station is only a short distance from the romantic ruins of Kenilworth Castle.'

"This last sentence is probably only added as a bait to catch excursionists. It is well, therefore, that such and the public in general should know that--thanks to the excellent proprietor, the EARL OF CLARENDON--'the romantic ruins of Kenilworth Castle' are not open to visitors on the Sabbath--an arrangement, I may add, which has added much to the morality and proper observance of the Lord's Day in our parish.

"I remain, your obedient Servant,


Vicar of Kenilworth.

"_Vicarage, Kenilworth, July 18._"

This is no judaising Puritan, this MR. WILMOT. This is no semi-Christian pharisee, substituting for the broad phylactery the extensive white choker highly starched; no fanatical sort of hybrid or mule, taking most after donkey. No; our Reverend gentleman is a genial, kindly priest, with a turn for playful irony--in the spirit whereof he writes to the _Times_. He knows well enough--bless him!--that the liberal EARL OF CLARENDON would never have shut up "Kenilworth Castle" against the busy people, on the only day when there would be any use in opening it to them. He, to be sure, is aware that the ungracious deed has been perpetrated by some underling; some sanctimonious BAREBONES of a steward, or some methodistical old housekeeper, to whom the "bitter observance of the Sabbath" is sweeter than fees. Indeed, his use of the Jewish word Sabbath, in this connexion, for the day which he calls below by its Christian name, allows his real feeling as regards the matter to transpire. In feigning to thank the excellent EARL OF CLARENDON for a miserable act of bigotry, he takes a funny way of letting the noble EARL know what a sectarian ass some one of his servants has been making himself in the name, and at the expense, of the reputation of his Lordship.

The conclusion of our Reverend humourist's epistle is capital. No doubt such an arrangement as that of shutting up "a romantic ruin," a scene of picturesque and venerable beauty, replete with historical associations of famous memory, suggestive of lofty and solemn thought: no doubt the arrangement of closing such an objectionable place as this on the Sunday, must have "added much to the morality and proper observance" of that day in the parish, by tending considerably to increase the congregation at--the public-house.

* * * * *


And did you ne'er hear of a jolly old Waterman Who at the cabstand used for to ply? He feathered his nest with the passenger's halfpennies, Smoking his pipe, with a drop in each eye. He looked so drunk--yet stood so steadily. The drivers all flocked to his stand so readily; And he eyed the old rogues with so knowing an air, For this Waterman knew they would cheat every fare.

What sights of gents drunk and incapable, very, He'd clean out so nice, and politely withal, As he called the first cab, when the finely-dressed victims Came staggering out from Cremorne or Vauxhall, And oftentimes would they be quizzing and queering, And 'twas all one to TOM, all this chaffing and jeering: For laughing or chaffing he little did care, For this Waterman wished but to rifle the fare.

And yet but to see how strangely things happen, As he jogged along, thinking of nothing at all, He was caught by a Cab Act so awfully stringent, That it caused all the tricks of the cab stand to fall. But would this old Waterman feel proper sorrow, For all his old tricks, and turn honest to-morrow; And should this old Waterman act with more care, He'll be licensed, and never impose on a fare.

* * * * *


A young lady calls MR. HOBBS, CUPID, because CUPID is LOVE, and LOVE, as the proverb says, laughs at locksmiths, and so does MR. HOBBS.

* * * * *

A CABMAN'S IDEA OF A FARE.--A cheque on a Banker.

* * * * *


* * * * *


Really the Conscience Money Mania is becoming quite a nuisance. Every day, almost, the _Times_ contains some such announcement as this:--

"The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER acknowledges the receipt of half-notes value £15, for unpaid Income Tax."

A good healthy conscience is the noblest point in the character of that noblest work of creation--an honest man. But a diseased conscience is as bad as a rotten potato; it is worse than no conscience at all: some degrees below mere dishonesty. This kind of conscience makes people pay omitted Income Tax. They shouldn't do so. It is really quite immoral. The Income Tax is acknowledged to be an imposition by GLADSTONE himself, insomuch that he has even made arrangements for its cessation. That it never will cease, however; that it will be as perennial as evil in the abstract, or the Deuce himself, is feared by everybody except the jolly beggars, and those who are too ignorant and helpless, or too lazy, to earn liability to its infliction. Any symptoms of acquiescence in it, of anything but dogged opposition to it, on the part of the public, will infallibly encourage Chancellors of the Exchequer to try and perpetuate it. To pay it voluntarily, to pay it at all except under protest, to pay it under any circumstances whatever but those of legal necessity, is to give Chancellors of the Exchequer that encouragement: much more to pay it in a conspicuous and ostentatious manner, at beat of drum, so to speak, as the gentleman settles his just accounts in _A New Way to Pay Old Debts_. And this is encouraging the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER to go on cheating the nation, or rather cheating part of the nation, in order to bribe the rest. It is being an accessory to the confiscation of one's own property; to defrauding one's self: whereas, surely, if suicide is the worst kind of murder, self-cozenage is the vilest sort of roguery. Therefore, we argue that the conscientiousness that pays conscience money on account of Income Tax is, as aforesaid, morbid; a diseased bump, in phrenological language, which ought to be shaved, and have ice put to it, or leeches, or cupping glasses after scarification, to be followed by a blister: recourse to these antiphlogistic measures being combined with alterative and cooling medicines.

* * * * *


Should the Corporation of London be "hauled over the coals" it will certainly be the heaviest burden that has yet been laid on the unfortunate coals--in spite of what they already suffer.

* * * * *

IMPORTANT TO MANUFACTURERS.--The machinery of a cotton-mill in general goes like clock-work, but this is not the case when the hands strike.

* * * * *


Of all the games that e'er in the world of play were hit upon, Since the ingenious "heads I win, and tails you lose," was lit upon, The most winning game by far is that now played by the CZAR With France and England--famous flats to try his wicked wit upon.

A Turkey is the stakes in the match; and who can wonder That to the wily CZAR France and England should knock under, That the honour in their hand 'gainst his tricks can never stand, When his game is all finesse, and theirs all revoke and blunder?

What marvel France and England each deal are looking graver? What marvel Russia's play grows more brilliant and braver? When, thanks to his strong club, 'ere the close of the first rub, He's the nine points of possession scored already in his favour?

When they lead off with a bow, he trumps it with a bluster; They come out with a minister, he answers with a muster; When diplomatic right meets autocratic might, The latter oft proves stronger, though the former may be juster.

Meanwhile no rook e'er plucked his pigeons with more suavity, Or pocketed his winnings with more self-denying gravity, Or ever did express more acuteness of distress At the slightest hint of cheating, or any such depravity.

And throughout, it must be owned, he has shown the utmost patience In entertaining any or all negotiations; But we argue and he acts, till our words against his facts End in landing him across the Pruth, for further operations.

* * * * *


Nuns are, for the most part, ladies of extreme sanctity and purity who educate large numbers of children, and do a great deal of good to the poor.

Therefore, to institute any inquiry as to their liability, under existing circumstances, to compulsory detention in their convents, to cruel punishments under the name of penance, to coercion in regard to the assignment of their property, or any other species of constraint, ill-usage, or duresse, at the hands of malicious, fanatical, or unscrupulous superiors, and ecclesiastical governors, is unnecessary and inexpedient.

* * * * *


"DEAR PUNCH,--FARADAY was regularly non-plussed by experiments at the Royal Agricultural Meeting at Gloucester. The President, Vice-President, and Honorary Secretary caused to be placed before them a large tub filled with three gallons of cream; the fingers of the three gentlemen were placed upon the rim of the tub, and in about fifteen minutes the cream began to move round until it became _solid Butter_!


* * * * *


If there were any truth in Spirit Rapping, we should be glad if the ghost of any good old British farmer would be so kind as to rap out its ideas on the subject of an agricultural implement, for which a prize has been awarded by the Royal Agricultural Society, and which rejoices in the name of a Dynamometer. Respecting this new-fangled invention, however, it would not, perhaps, be correct to print all the expressions which the worthy but possibly rather prejudiced spirit might "rap out."

* * * * *


TOM DUNCOMBE thanks his stars that the Jews never can come into Parliament, as it will be a matter of impossibility for them to swallow the immense quantity of _gammon_ there is in the House.

* * * * *


A wretched creature who hangs about the _Punch_ Office thrust the following indescribable piece of nonsense under the door:

"When is the weather favourable to Haymaking? When it 'rains pitchforks.'"

There! and yet we pay a police rate of two shillings and twopence in the pound.

* * * * *


Whatever geographers may say, in order that the combined fleets may enter the Dardanelles, they must get out of the Pacific.

* * * * *


* * * * *


Pretty Christianth! No war! Dey von't fight after all! Pretty Christianth, nice Christianth, dese nations I call Dey promith'd so fair to cut each others' throatsh, And dey're goin' to thettle de shquabble by notesh!

Not a goin' to fight!--and deir quarrel arose About deir religionth--not comin' to blows! Dere never was Christianth behaved so afore, But who's to depend on 'em now, any more?

Here'th we bin' a goin' and thtockin' our thopth, And what shall we do now wid all dem old thlopth Wid which all our thelvth and our vinders is filled-- No war, nor no actionth, nor no theamen killed?

Vat customers is dere dem vatcheth vill buy, As ve've got for the thailorth--dem vatcheth to fry? Dem jewels, rings, thatins, and thilks, all in store Agin JACK with prizemoney comin' athore?

And vere's all de monish ve thought good as made In other thmall vays of rethpectable trade, Such as lodgin' and board for de tars to provide, And p'raps a few thlight 'commodations bethide?

Dere's JACOBTH a cryin', 'cause now he von't get JACK JUNK to run head over ears in his debt, Vid his Vill and his Power, lest he shouldn't come back. By vay of insurin' de life of poor JACK.

Vot a shame o' them Christianth our hopes to ecthite, And then for to cruth 'em, and not have no fight!-- Just ven as ve'd made up our mouths for the meat-- Pretty Christianth! I thpose you don't call this no sheat!

* * * * *


A more important Bill than any which has been introduced into Parliament this Session remains to be brought forward. That is, the Bill of National Expenses, including the baker's bill, which will have been incurred on account of the paper war with Russia.

* * * * *


MONDAY, MAY 27, 18--

"TOM'S a good fellow,"--said FREDERICK, when he got to bed.

"I don't want to hear anything of TOM now," said I; for suddenly I felt as if I could have--well, I don't know what; but I _did_ for the minute almost hate the man.

"He goes very early to-morrow. By the first coach, love. I've promised to see him off."

"How very kind of you, FRED;" and I could almost have cried, he seemed as if it was so easy for him to try to deceive me. "Going to see him off? Then--for it's very late; for my part, I thought the man would never go--then you'd better go to sleep, FRED; that you may be up. Otherwise you'll be very tired, dear; very tired."

"Think so?" said FRED, trying to be cool: for I knew it was only trying. "Think so?"

"I'm sure so," said I, worried and restless and vexed: not that I stirred.

"Well, then, love, good night," said FRED.

"Good night," said I, very short; though I felt as if my heart would break.

I lay and listened, with the door-key under my pillow; and my pillow well under my shoulders. That key I was determined should never leave me: I'd make sure of _that_, and I grasped it to be certain it was there. Then I listened again. He was not asleep; I was sure of that; though he lay as still as any baby, and tried to seem asleep. Very well, thought I; very well; you shall not outwake me: no--I'll watch like any owl. At least like any guardian spirit.

And to think that FRED--my own FREDERICK, with one heart between us, as he's so often said--could lie there; yes, by my very side, and have a secret and keep it from me--well, I did begin to think that dear Mamma was right; and I've heard her say she'd never trust dear Papa further than she could see him--not always that.

At last he slept.--No; he didn't. Well, I never thought he could have such art. But perhaps he suspected my thoughts; imagined I was watching him! When this entered my head, I determined to affect sleep myself; and so see which of us could do it the best.

So I settled myself and--again being sure of the key; yes, there it was--safe enough--and began to appear to go to sleep. In a little while, I had so beautifully deceived him that he was fast--fast as a church.

--It couldn't have been above five minutes, but I had dozed off; and woke with such a start!--Almost instinctively I placed my hand under the pillow; the key was safe.

"What's the matter, LOTTY? Dreaming?"--said FRED; for I had either awakened him, or he was awake all the time. "What's it about?" he asked.

"Nothing in particular," said I, "good night, love; or you'll be too late for MR. TRUEPENNY."

At the word, I thought I heard FRED sigh--just gently sigh--and the sound went like a dagger through me!

And then what a dream I'd had: and it couldn't have lasted above three--certainly not five--minutes! What a dream! Such a confusion of things! I thought I still grasped the key, and it turned in my hand to a pistol! And then I thought I dropt it on the ground, and it went hopping along like a grasshopper, popping and going off as it went. Then I thought I was resolved FRED should not get up and go out--and then I suddenly found myself tying the sleeves of his shirt in double-knots, and then emptying the water-jug into both his boots! Then I thought I went through a churchyard, and saw that odious TRUEPENNY--drest like a pantomime clown--digging a grave; and as he dug it, singing a song about spades being trumps. Then I thought FRED was suddenly by my side, and that dreadful TRUEPENNY took up a shovelful of earth, and was about to throw it, with a laugh, in the face of FRED, when I--I tried to scream, or _did_ scream, and awoke!

Oh! how I did wish we were well at home! And how I did lie--lie upon thorns and listen for him to go well to sleep, that I might creep out and learn everything of JOSEPHINE. And how I blamed myself that, before I came to bed, I didn't go and hear all she had to say!--But then I was in such a hurry to have FRED all safe, and the key in my own possession--safe under my pillow--and I thought he would so soon go to sleep, and he hadn't! Which made it plain to me that he had something on his mind: and that something--oh, how I did abominate that MR. TRUEPENNY. No; I thought to myself--as I lay awake, waiting for FRED to go off, that is, if he was going to sleep at all--no: MR. TRUEPENNY: you never enter my house. You never cross the threshold of the Flitch. A pretty friend indeed to take a man out--and that man newly married--to be shot like a sheep; and to leave a lonely, unprotected, broken-hearted--

The bitter thought was too much for me, I wept in good earnest; but cried so quietly--I was almost choked--for fear FRED, for he was _not_ asleep, should hear me! Oh, and again and again I thought, if ever we _do_ get home! What a home I'll make it! And still--and I was sure of it--still he was awake.

And then I thought, suppose he should not go to sleep at all. Suppose he should get up and--well, no matter; I was resolved: I'd get up with him. I'd go with him. I'd cling to him. I'd never leave him. I'd call assistance, constables--

And now it was broad daylight, and--yes, surely, he _was_ asleep? I listened; and I couldn't be mistaken: no, I was sure he slept. And then I rose gently--very, very gently to look, and--yes,--he was in a deep sleep. His face--that beautiful face--was white, white and hushed and still as marble! Oh, how much I seemed to learn--how much more to live in that minute--looking, looking--and he--all the time as if there was some dreadful story under that deep stillness!

I rose quietly as possible; hardly breathing. But still he slept--I was sure of that. I took the key from under my pillow. Oh, that dreadful lock! It was old and rusty, and began to creak and squeak; and I holding my breath, and almost standing upon my tiptoes trying to turn the key. At last, with a grating noise the lock turned. I passed--he was still asleep. I opened the door; and was about to pass to JOSEPHINE'S, when something whispered me, lock the door again. I did so; for I couldn't be too sure. So I locked the door--that casket-door, as I thought--for FRED lay sleeping.

Fortunately, JOSEPHINE'S door was unlocked; though--I had not time to speak of it at the moment, not but that the thought struck me at the very instant--though how a young woman could go to bed without double-locking her door I couldn't understand, although on second thoughts perhaps she had left it open for me--and JOSEPHINE fast asleep. Fast! in fact, as I said, anybody--that is, any robber--might have come in and stripped everything, and she been none the wiser. At last, by nudging and shaking I woke her.

"Murder!" she half-cried; but I put my hand before her mouth.

"Silence! you foolish creature! You needn't cry out so! It's only"--

"La!" said the girl; "I was dreaming; and you did a little startle me. I thought it was true."

"Now, JOSEPHINE! what is it? I mean about your master"--

"It wasn't him I was dreaming on, Ma'am," cried the creature.

"I should think not, indeed," said I. "Dream of your master! Like your impudence! But what I want to know is--all, all you know."

"La! Ma'am!" cried the stupid girl, rubbing her eyes, and yawning frightfully.

"I mean that note you left on my dressing-table!"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as though at last she was thoroughly awake. "Oh, ma'am, be sure you don't let master get up. Put your arms round his neck, if you almost choke him--but don't let him get up."

"Why not?" I cried.

"He's going to fight; with pistols. One of--that is, I've been told all about it; but not time enough to tell you. Master would have fought yesterday, only it was Sunday, so he went to church instead. MR. TRUEPENNY has come, like a friend, all the way from London, to see fair play; but don't you let him get up, Ma'am, pray don't"--

"Fight! And with whom?"

"Don't know exactly, Ma'am; but that doesn't matter. One may be as bad as another. But you're sure master's safe, for he was to go out early, as I heard?"

"I've locked the door; and he shall not stir. If he attempts it, I'll raise the house!" said I.

"Do, Ma'am," cried JOSEPHINE, "and I'll help you."

I returned to my apartment with new resolution. I unlocked the door; crept into the room, and without looking again locked it; taking out the key, and hugging it close. I stept softly towards the bed. FREDERICK was not there! I looked round--the sash was raised. He had escaped through the window.

All I know is, I gave a shriek and fell fainting upon the bed!

* * * * *


[Illustration: T]

The March of Intellect will eventually stride onwards in "seven-leagued boots," for there is every now and then some new league claiming to give a forward impetus to humanity. The last new league is calculated to carry us many miles in advance of everything we have yet approached, for it is no other than a "Woman's Elevation League." Every league of this description contains several acres--commonly called wise-acres--and though no names are given in the "prospectus," we dare say we should meet with several "old familiar faces," if we could fall in with the committee, and that we should recognise among the members not a few of those professed friends of "progress," who are always making a hash of something or other, and eventually falling out among themselves in the name of "universal harmony." The "Woman's Elevation League" professes of course to give Woman a tremendous hoist in one shape or another. We confess that our own ideas of the Elevation of Woman are not particularly definite, but are divided between MADAME POITEVIN in a balloon, and MADEMOISELLE GELLINI making her "terrific ascent" at Cremorne to the top of a pasteboard tower amidst a "brilliant display of fireworks." Possibly this is not the sort of "elevation" contemplated by the "league" in question for the female sex, though it is evidently designed to place Woman occasionally at the top of a poll; for it is contemplated that she shall take her seat in Parliament. We have been in the habit of thinking that women are very well as they are, but the "League" is desirous of making her a doctor, a trader, an artist, a politician, and a minister. The League thinks she does not "embrace" half enough; but we are modestly of opinion that a woman's embraces should be confined to her own family circle as closely as possible.

It would be impossible for any "League," however purely benevolent its objects may be, to proceed without subscriptions, and accordingly all ladies who wish to get "elevated" are requested to send "one shilling" as a preliminary step towards the happy state alluded to. Any lady may, however, become qualified for "elevation" for life by a contribution of five guineas--a sum so large, that we think few women who take a sober view of matters in general will like to part with it. We have reasons of our own for thinking that the "elevation" of Woman would be a dangerous step, for a woman when once "put up" is not easily put down again.

* * * * *


It would be a great convenience to the public if somebody would undertake the task of issuing a daily guide to apprise us of the fluctuations in the fares of a Kensington Omnibus. The price of shares, and the value of the funds are steadiness itself to the ups and downs of the fares demanded by the Kensington conductors; who frequently vary one hundred per cent. from the morning to the afternoon in their claims on the pockets of passengers. We can compare the fluctuations of the Kensington fares to nothing but the daily changes in the price of fish or other perishable commodities. On the day of the Cab strike the Kensington and other Bus-men brought out their fares at much higher quotations; but the public kept aloof, and very few passengers were "done" at the increased prices. It is some satisfaction to feel that after October these "tricks upon travellers" by the savage Bus-men of the West will be impossible, as the Police Commissioners will fix the fares, and one may then leave home in the morning with some confidence that after having paid a fair price to go into town, it will not be necessary to pay double the sum to get back again by the same conveyance.

* * * * *


GENERAL FOX complains to the _Times_ that the Great Northern refused to forward a setter, which he wished to send to Newcastle-on-Tyne, unless the dog was packed in a hamper. This precautionary stipulation, though rather vexatious, was not unreasonable, perhaps, in the dog-days: but when the Company required that the dog should be packed in a hamper, they might as well have also insisted on having him packed in ice.

* * * * *

PEDESTRIANISM EXTRAORDINARY.--The Cab Strike was no joke, although it was all WALKER.

* * * * *


[Illustration: M]


(_Being the kind of Act that Cabmen would wish to have._)

This Bill will shortly be printed. The following are some of its most important provisions:--

The Cabman shall have the option of accepting a fare or not, just as he pleases, and he may charge, either by time or distance, precisely as he likes. If he has travelled a long distance, then he is to have the power of charging according to the number of miles, but if he has only been a short journey, and he has taken a long time in going over it, in that case the Cabman is to be allowed the privilege of charging by the hour.

Any Cabman, fancying he has gone quite far enough--and Cabmen know best for themselves how far they can go--may suddenly stop, and insist upon his fare alighting, no matter at what distance the latter may be from his destination.

The rate of speed to be regulated by the Cabman himself, as it depends entirely upon what kind of horse he has got, and whether he has engaged his fare by time or distance.

In the event of the fare making any complaint, or neglecting to pay at once the full sum demanded of him, the Cabman is empowered to drive him to the nearest station-house, and to have the matter investigated. If in the wrong, the Cabman may have him fined for incivility, the penalty whereof shall be a sum not exceeding five pounds, and not less than five shillings; or, at the discretion of the magistrate, imprisonment, with or without hard labour, in the House of Correction, for a term not less than two calendar months.

Any person refusing to give his card, or to be quietly carried to the station-house, or convicted of having used insulting or disrespectful language against a Cabman, to be liable to a heavy fine, not exceeding £50, one-half of which is to go to the QUEEN, and the other half to the Cabman, or an imprisonment as above; and the person so condemned is further to find two sureties to keep the peace for six months.

Any person convicted of two such offences is to be deprived for ever of the privilege of riding in a public cab.

The rate of payment to be two shillings for the first mile, and as much as the Cabman likes to charge for every mile after that.

The above rate to be materially increased, if a person is going in a hurry to a railway, or is returning home late at night, and also on all special occasions, such as QUEEN'S Birthdays, Easter and Whitsun Mondays, Horticultural and Botanical _Fête_ days, and all illumination nights, and likewise at all times when it should happen to be hailing, snowing, or raining.

In the event of a dispute as to distance, the ground to be measured at the expense of the person disputing the Cabman's word, and a sum of two pounds to be paid into Court as a guarantee of the result thereof.

Clause the Thirteenth enacts that, in all matters of dispute, whether the Cabman shall be proved to be right or wrong, he is to be paid his expenses, and a certain sum, not less than five shillings, for his loss of time.

Every person, beyond two, to be charged at the rate of a separate fare.

Luggage to be charged according to weight, at the same rates demanded by the Parcels' Delivery Company.

Back Fare to be paid on all occasions, and to be doubled after twelve o'clock.

By the next Clause it is enacted, that ladies are to be charged one-half as much again as gentlemen (this clause has been objected to as being rather stringent, and oppressively severe, but when it is considered the trouble that ladies give, and how they always object to pay what a Cabman asks of them, and how they always keep the Cabman waiting, with their useless arguments and frivolous complaints, it is but right that the Cabman should be protected against all such contigencies, and be allowed something extra for his unfeeling waste of time).

Babies, if taken, to be charged each as a separate fare, or else weighed as luggage, according to the option of the Cabman.

In no case is the fare to have the power of appeal against the Magistrate's decision.

There are several minor clauses, but we think we have shown enough of the New Cab Act to prove that if only one-half of it is carried out, we shall have not only the Cabmen better protected, but also a better and more respectable class of riders in cabs.

* * * * *

THE CABALISTIC NUMBER.--This number is 6, with a small "_d_" placed on the right hand side, over the top of it; meaning that the price for riding in a Cab is now Sixpence a mile.

* * * * *

LATEST FROM THE CAPE.--A proposal has been under consideration in the magnetic circles here, to form an expedition for the purpose of moving Table Bay.

* * * * *


LORD PALMERSTON at a recent City dinner good-humouredly twitted the Corporation on their dirt, and playfully threw the Thames in the face of the citizens. The Home Secretary, with a pleasant mixture of urbanity and satire, entreated the aid of the Londoners in consuming their own smoke, and absorbing their own mud, with a view to the filtration of their own river. We suppose his Lordship fancied the City Corporation might correct the City dirt; as one poison is said to dispel another, on the principle of _similia similibus_. We fear the Home Secretary fails to see with his usual clearness when he looks at the Thames as a sort of mirror which is only labouring under a temporary obfuscation, but which is capable of being restored to that translucent state which, according to the poets, formerly belonged to it. The Thames is one of those enormities which none of us can ever hope to see the bottom of.

* * * * *


(_Being the Experience of a very Old Man._)

Beware of listening to a man who says he "will not detain you five minutes."

Beware of purchasing wine at an auction, which is described as "late the property of a nobleman who has gone to live upon the Continent."

Beware, if you are in a hurry, of getting into an empty omnibus.

Beware of a shop that deals in "AWFUL FAILURES!"

Beware of mentioning the name of Ireland in the presence of an Irishman.

Beware of interfering in any quarrel--more particularly a matrimonial one.

Beware of marrying a woman who has "great expectations."

Beware of short cuts, when you are travelling; of playing with a man who knows a trick or two at cards; of buying a horse of a friend; of living near a firework-gallery; above all, beware of putting your name on a stamped piece of paper, as much as you would beware of steel-traps and spring guns, or of putting your fingers in the fire.

* * * * *


We are pleased to learn that MRS. CHISHOLM--(she is to have a formal interview of HER MAJESTY, we understand, before departure)--is about to take in her own ship, the _Caroline Chisholm_, no less than twenty young maiden Jewesses, resolved to emigrate to Australia for the noblest and most humanising of purposes. These damsels--should matrimony be their fate--have every hope that they shall be enabled to win their gold-digging husbands from an unceasing pursuit of the root of evil, teaching them that, after all, gold is only the dross of life, and that there is nothing like virtuous love and contented poverty. These young enthusiasts have made quite a sensation in the Minories; and one speculative Hebrew has already offered them very handsome terms to exhibit themselves. Several entire Jewish families have already emigrated to the diggings. None of them, it was observed, had pickaxes; but all had scales.

* * * * *


In connexion with the Eastern question, it may be remarked that the Kurds appear to be a very savage murderous race; and that Kurds like these can hardly be supposed to be made of the milk of human kindness.

* * * * *

THE HEIGHT OF IMPOSSIBILITY (AT PRESENT).--"To make hay while the sun shines."

* * * * *


* * * * *


The Reporter of the celebrated Bow Street Cab Case has written to the _Times_ and to us (our letter is sealed with the official seal of the Court) to contradict the contradiction which was given in the House of Commons to his report of the case of PHILLIPS the cabman, who would not or could not put down five shillings for measuring the distance of a fare with respect to which he was charged with an overcharge.

The Reporter appeals to our sense of justice--a tribunal to which nobody ever appealed in vain; but we cannot see that any injustice has been done, and therefore the appeal can only meet with a dismissal. The Reporter and the Magistrate are at issue in their statements of what took place, but the former's contradiction of the latter had not been published when our article was at press; and, had it been, we certainly see no reason why we should believe one party to the discredit of the other. That reporters are fallible we know by the frequency with which their inaccuracies are corrected; and we fear the Reporter in question is capable of making a mistake, for he informs us that "years ago" his "Bow Street reports led to the dismissal of a very incompetent magistrate" (which may be possible), "and to the appointment of MR. HENRY as his successor," which is utterly incredible. We need not waste words in pointing out the absurdity of the assumption that the report of what was being done by a magistrate at one court, could in the smallest degree conduce to the appointment of any other magistrate, though the publicity given to any improper acts of the former might lead to his dismissal.

In conclusion, we have only to say that the Magistrate gives one version of the affair, and the Reporter gives another. Neither magistrates nor reporters are infallible, and we must therefore leave the public to decide for themselves which of the two has, on this occasion, been accurate. The Reporter lays some stress--and with some show of reason--on the alleged fact, that his statement of the case is supported by a note in the minute-book kept by the clerk, and pried into, as it seems, rather unceremoniously by the Reporter; but if a magistrate is liable to err, it is possible that his clerk may be capable of error. Having performed an act of justice, by recording the protest of the Reporter against the impeachment of his accuracy, which we noticed last week, we have done with the subject.

A learned Assistant Judge, while trying a boy for stealing a pudding, summed up thus:--"Here's the pudding; up pops the boy, off goes the pudding, and after him goes the policeman. You've got the boy, the pudding, and the policeman before you, and now, Gentlemen of the Jury, consider your verdict." In like manner, we say to the public, "You have got the report, the Reporter, and the Magistrate before you; therefore, Gentlemen of England, consider your verdict."

* * * * *


From the report of a recent case in the Rolls Court, it appears that some rogues have been putting damaged Prestonpans Ale into bottles labelled with the names of MESSRS. BASS and MESSRS. ALLSOPP, and selling the stuff under these false titles "at fairs and races." We suspect that this trick is too common. You meet, occasionally, with beer thus labelled, by which, no doubt, those firms are libelled; for it is a libel on respectable brewers to impute bad beer to them: and the sort of bitter beer we allude to is bitter bad. We call it beer, indeed; but we no more believe that it is made of malt and hops than that it is brewed by ALLSOPP or by BASS, whose names appear on the bottles it is sold in, but, to give a correct idea of their contents, ought to be altered to BASE and ALLSLOP.

* * * * *


The present policy of NICHOLAS is an illustration of the truth of this. For all he wants for Russians is time; a commodity that our Cabinet seems disposed to allow any quantity of.

* * * * *

SHEAR IMPUDENCE.--Following from street to street a poor foreigner with a long beard, and persecuting him to buy a pair of razors.




* * * * *


SCENE.--_The Great Western Railway Station on the morning of Wednesday, July 27th. A Train has just arrived, bringing_, inter alios et alias, THE UNPROTECTED FEMALE, _with her usual moderate but miscellaneous accumulation of luggage, consisting of a hair-trunk profusely brass-lettered, and without the slightest lifting appliance in the way of handles; a cubical black box, with a convex top, very apt to give way (like its mistress) on slight provocation, and trusting much for support to a net-work of curiously knotted cordage; an oblong contrivance of wicker-work and oilskin, like a chicken-basket in a tarpaulin overcoat; a flower-pot, with a balsam in full blow; a basket, much too small for its work; four distinct parcels, of respectable dimensions and irregular form, two in brown paper, one in a newspaper, and the fourth securely sewed up in huckaback; a large stone bottle of real mushroom ketchup; a pair of strong shoes, which having obstinately refused to enter the hair-trunk, have been brought up by hand; an aged, but still expansive, carpet-bag, bursting with its contents; a bonnet-box and an umbrella, with a parasol and a camp-stool. As the Scene opens_, THE UNPROTECTED _is discovered in the act of reclaiming and gathering about her, with her usual distractedness, these her goods and chattels, as they are landed from the Luggage-Van, in the midst of a crowd of all ages, sexes, and conditions, occupied in the same way. The Porters have an embarrassed air, and not a Cab is to be seen on the Stand. Sharp-witted Passengers, who have rushed off to secure "first Cab," stand bewildered on the edge of the Platform. Ladies are huddled helplessly together, ruefully surveying their baggage. Indignant individuals are asking questions; and the possession of every inch of room in two fortunate Omnibuses is being fiercely contested, with very little regard to the route about to be taken by these vehicles._

_Indignant Gentleman (who has a habit of constituting himself the stern representative of Public Opinion)._ No Cabs! Halloa!--Stationmaster--Guard--Hi--you Sir--Here; what's the meaning of this?

_Station Officer (respectfully, but sadly)._ Cabs struck, Sir, I'm sorry to say.

_Hopeless Lady (who has a happy faculty of seeing the worst at a glance)._ Oh! I was sure something dreadful would happen.

_Indignant Gentleman._ Cabs struck? What the devil! eh--d'ye mean to tell me--struck!

_Officer._ Not a Cab to be had all over London!

_Indignant Gentleman (whom the unhappy passengers have already begun to look up to, so imposing is his manner)._ Here's a pretty state of things--the blackguards! But they're punishable. They're bound to ply for hire--it's illegal.

_Officer._ Can't say, Sir. But they've done it, any way.

[INDIGNANT GENTLEMAN _delivers a withering Philippic against the Executive in general, and_ MR. FITZROY _in particular, which is respectfully received by the Passengers, but does not excite much attention from the Railway Officials, whom he threatens violently with damages to a large amount_. THE UNPROTECTED FEMALE, _who has heard the preceding dialogue, seems stupefied. She has not uttered even a cry or an exclamation, but sits helpless and hopeless, amidst a barricade of her luggage_.

_Practical Man (who has hitherto said nothing, but heard everything,--to a Porter.)_ Can I get a man to carry my luggage?

_1st Porter._ We'll carry on it all outside the Station, Sir; there's men there--

_2nd Porter (shouldering a mountain of Portmanteaus)._ And wehicles--

_3rd Porter (upheaving a similar load, and half to himself)._ Sich as they is.

[_The Porters have by this time arrived at the luggage of_ THE UNPROTECTED, _who still sits as if crushed by the blow_.

_Cheery Porter._ Now, Marm; jest sit up off the trunk, will ye--

_The Unprotected (suddenly awaking to a sense of her desolation)._ Oh!--where?

_Cheery Porter._ Anyvheres, ma'am; only let me ketch a hold. Now, JEM.

[_Her luggage is appropriated by the united efforts of two Porters, who are bearing it off._

_Unprotected Female (vaguely following and clutching at the load.)_ Oh!--but where to? You never can--it's to 38, Great Coram Street--and there's bottles in the bag,--by the name of JONES. Oh--please--couldn't you--

_Cheery Porter._ All right, 'M. You'll p'raps get a trap outside. This way, Ma'am--it's all right.

SCENE _changes to exterior of Station. Here the full extent of the Metropolitan calamity is apparent. Amidst the stranded packages of the day's arrivals, are seen heaped together the exhausted Passengers sitting, lying, or standing about, among, and upon them, like shipwrecked sailors amidst the débris of a lee-shore. Crowds of Cabmen, in various stages of intoxication, are gathered together, triumphing in the desolation they have made. A miscellaneous collection of vehicles of all descriptions is vainly endeavouring to supply the place of Cabs, and an impression is being slowly made on the piles of luggage. The Conveyances include most things on wheels--from a costermonger's truck with the smallest of donkeys, to a battered old Sheriff's carriage drawn by two large cart-horses. Chaff abounds, as might be expected_.

_Cabman in Box Coat_ (_To_ INDIGNANT GENTLEMAN, _who with much dignity has just deposited his luggage in a costermonger's cart, after reiterated threats of legal vengeance on the Company_.) Ollo! Guv'nor--ow's greens?

[INDIGNANT GENT _retorts by a withering look, but wisely abstains from a reply_.

_Cabman (in fustian jacket and ditto)._ Here's your hout-an-hout accommodation--Sixpence a mile--ho!

_Cabman in velveteen (pointing to a wheelbarrow, to which is consigned the luggage of a despairing mother, including three babies)._ Hall alive, oh! alive, oh! Pen--ny--win--kles--hall alive, oh!

_Cabman (in dress coat, with straw-band to his hat)._ Wot'll you take for the babbies, Marm?

_Waterman (in clogs and maudlin)._ Ax MUSTER FITZROY to step up, some on yer, and look at this 'ere.

_Chorus of Cabmen (with prolonged howl of execration)._ Y--a--a--h!

_Satirical Cabman_ (_to_ ARISTOCRATIC OLD GENTLEMAN, _who has just ascended a small, but highly unctuous butcher's cart, in a state of concentrated bitterness_). Heasy over the stones with that 'ere cat's-meat, Butcher.

_Aristocratic Old Gentleman (starting up in the cart)._ What's that you say, you blackguard?

_Chorus of Cabmen._ Cat's-meat--cat's-meat!

[THE ARISTOCRATIC OLD GENTLEMAN _retires from the unequal contest, and allows his pride to fall with his fortunes_.

_Driver of Butcher's Cart._ Where to, Sir?

_Aristocratic Old Gentleman._ 115, Eaton Square. No--stop at 110.

_Satiric Cabman._ Mind you ring the hairy bell, old feller--Cat's-meat!

_Bitter Cabman._ And mind yer, if he stops to call at the Pallis, it's sixpence for hevery kervarter you waits--Butcher.

_Chorus of Cabmen (saluting the departure of the butcher's cart)._ Ya--a--ah! Cow Cross--Sharpe's Alley! Ya--ah!

[_At this moment appears the Luggage of_ THE UNPROTECTED, _followed by her disconsolate self. She is hailed by the Cabmen._

_1st Cabman._ Ollo--Marm--you've forgotten your pattings.

_2nd Cabman._ And there ain't no Cabs--'acos we're a takin' it hairystercratic, we are!

_Cheery Porter (tumbling down the luggage)._ Now--Ma'am--if you look sharp--you'll soon get a carriage--I dessay.

_Unprotected Female._ Oh, but couldn't you help me--if you please!

_1st Cabman (delighted with her distress)._ Here's furnitur! First floor to let with the sticks! What d'ye ask a week, Marm--for the use of the flower-pot?

_Unprotected Female._ Oh--how can you--man? Oh--will somebody call something. It's 38, Great Coram Street, by the name of JONES--and I'll pay anything!

_Bitter Cabman._ Oh, no--you mustn't go out o' the Hact! Sixpence a mile and no back fare--that's the ticket!

_3rd Cabman._ Wans kept--and goods carefully removed!

_Treacherous Cabman (in a tone of pretended sympathy)._ There you are, Marm!

_Unprotected Female._ Oh--thank you--where?

_Treacherous Cabman (calling a water-cart which is laying the dust)._ Here, Force-pump--lady to take hup!

_Satiric Cabman._ And a reasonable quantity of luggage--_wide_ the hact!

_Unprotected Female (simply)._ Oh--but I can't ride in a water-cart!

_Satiric Cabman._ Thort you might like it this 'ot weather, Marm.

_Polite Cabman._ So werry refreshin'--and you looks 'eated, Marm.

_Unprotected Female._ Oh--if you wouldn't--

_Polite Cabman._ Could I hoffer hany refreshment, Marm.

_Treacherous Cabman._ A little 'ot heel-soup, Marm--or a penn'orth o' winkles!

_Unprotected Female._ Oh--if it was only a wheelbarrow!

[_The_ UNPROTECTED _sinks in despair upon the pile. The Cabmen surround her in fierce exultation. Crowds of wrecked passengers and piles of luggage slowly accumulate around her, and gradually conceal her from the eye. A feeble plaint is occasionally heard to ascend from the recesses of the heap._ SCENE _closes_.

* * * * *

A COUP DE SOLEIL. The most remarkable illustration of "high Art," is presented by the Sun in his character of a Photographist; and indeed he may be regarded as _par excellence_ the rising artist of the day.

* * * * *

WANTED (during the Cab-strike), A ROOMY WHEELBARROW, capable of accommodating a Member of Parliament on the rising of the House Address, COLONEL SIBTHORP. No Free-Trader need apply.

* * * * *


_Showing how the Round Table moved of its own accord, and of the terrible Adventure of the Rapping Spirits, and how_ SIR LANCELOT _took upon him the quest of a Medium._


Lordings, who a milder folly than your fathers knew have found, And, where they had pushed the bottle, only push the table round; Gentle (ay, and simple) Ladies, who, when Rapping Spirits come To relieve the weary, dreary tedium of the rout or drum, Rapt in admiration listen, half in wonder, half in fear, Lest there should be "something wicked" mingled with a sport so dear; Sages, who, with show of reason, 'gainst all reason can discourse Of ideo-motor systems, motive wills, and vital force; Dupes of every age and clime, whate'er your station, sex, or years, Lend me all your strength of credence, all your wondrous length of ears, Whilst of things that in the old time in KING ARTHUR'S court befel, Till his very table moved, a veritable tale I tell.

Good KING ARTHUR had a custom, whence he swerved not in the least, That the morn should bring the tourney, and the noon should bring the feast, For he knew his knights, aye ready for the battle or the board, Were as prompt with knife and cleaver as with battle-axe and sword, With the same good will would carve a haunch and cut a foeman down, And with equal satisfaction crack a marrow-bone or crown; Or with smiles and winks would bid them listen to the nasal tune Of the King, who dozed--"_his_ custom always of an afternoon." Thus in Camelot around the great loo table in the hall Just thrice fifty knights were daily ranged by KAYE the Seneschal, Whilst KING ARTHUR in the centre of the table took his seat, That he might the better notice if his knights were off their meat. 'Twas a sultry day in summer: e'en the castle's massive walls Could not keep the heat from out the lofty corridors and halls: Open were the doors and windows (partly for the sake of air, Partly that the baser people might behold them dining there, For in high baronial state but little pleasure would there be If a crowd of reverential paupers were not there to see),

And the sunlight, pouring through them, on the shining armour gleamed Gleamed on all the banners bright that over every chieftain streamed, Gleamed upon the golden flagons, and the monarch's flashing sword Laid before him, and his silver beard down flowing on the board. Floating in there came a murmur, of the trees that whispered near, Of the river babbling to the reeds in accents low but clear, Of the birds, and of sweet silver voices from the green alcove, Where GINEVRA and her maidens prattled of their champions' love. Silent were the knights, and in that happy meditative mood, Which an ample meal induces, each his brother warriors viewed, Thus they sat, and each upon the table laid his brawny hand, Idly musing, till SIR TOR, the youngest of the mighty band, Crying, "Why, the table's moving!" pressed against SIR DINADAN Sitting next him, and impelled him gently towards the good KING BAN. BAN on BORS, and BORS on PELLES, PELLES on SIR GARETH leant; GARETH, bending over GAWAIN, GAWAIN over TRISTREM bent; Thus as each, from each escaping, other upon other drove, All, in what logicians call a vicious circle, 'gan to rove, And the table, twirling with them, seemed to each excited mind, Though they pushed it on beside them, to be leaving them behind. Fast and faster flew the table; faster every champion flew, Till the swords, the helms, the banners, flagons, dishes, faces too, Merged in one vast whirling body, many-hued and globiform, (Like an old Cartesian whirlwind, or a rotatory storm), With KING ARTHUR in the centre, twirling in his royal chair, And his great beard like a pennon streaming on the troubled air. So till now they had been whirling, puffing, stamping, night and day: But SIR ECTOR tripping, stumbled suddenly on proud SIR KAYE: As the first impulsive push went, so the fall went circling round, Till the knights, each prone on each like cards, lay panting on the ground. "Certes!" said the good KING ARTHUR, soon as he had breath to speak, And had wiped the dust from off his draggled beard and pallid cheek, "Certes! These be great adventures, such as I remember not, Ever since the death of MERLIN, to have come to Camelot; One 'Seat Perilous' he fashioned, when he framed this board for me; But, if thus it takes to moving, perilous each seat will be. Doth its wild unwonted motion then portend some dire mishap? Doth some hidden danger threaten to our crown?"--A sudden rap Low but clear within the wall the monarch's wise discourse broke down Saying, plain as rap _could_ say, "A rap is threatened to thy crown." "Perdy!" said the startled monarch. "What strange visitant thus shocks All our ears at such a moment? It must be the ghost of--" Knocks Two or three upon the wall came, ere "of MERLIN," he could say. Then SIR LANCELOT stepped before him, as the echoes died away. "If a knight should fly from knocks, 'twould surely be a parlous shame," Said he. "Wherefore to accomplish this adventure I shall claim. I will take my horse and spear and journey down to Caer Lud, Where 'LINETTE, the damsel sauvage,'[1] dwells beside the Fleet's clear flood; All the meaning of this marvel she shall tell, and let me see All the glories of the future, and the wonders that shall be. Ho! Sir Butler, bring me quickly four men's shares of wine and meat, That, as much as may suffice me for my journey, I may eat." Seemed to him, as forth he journeyed, that the land was passing strange; Was it sooth, or was it glamour that had worked so great a change? For the moorland and the woodland, where with horse, and hound, and horn, He had chased the boar and aurochs, glowed with summer's ripening corn; At the well known fording-places stately bridges stemmed the tide, Turnpikes, 'stead of knights or giants, barred his way on either side; Feeble women, damp and dingy, for a trifle came to show All the ruins of the castles he had kept with many a blow; And where cross-roads met, and where the best adventures once had been, Whitewashed sign-posts bade him turn to Frogmore Pound, or Pogis Green. Now and then athwart his course came, with a rumble and a scream, Green and golden creatures, glaring fierce, and breathing fire and steam, Seemed that each was dragging on a thousand victims at the least: "By my knighthood," quoth SIR LANCELOT, "this must be 'the questing beast;' Something rusty have I grown by dwelling there at peace so long, For ever eating of the fat, and ever drinking of the strong, Yet with stout and knightly valour I shall dress me to the fight;" But, before his lance was couched, "the questing beast" was out of sight. So he journeyed till, one evening, from the hill-top looking down-- As the setting sun in gold and crimson bathed the mighty town-- All the spires, and masts, and towers (that seemed as they had lent the skies Gauds from London's wealth to deck them) flashed upon his wond'ring eyes. "This adventure," said SIR LANCELOT, "I may scarcely understand," So he wisely brought his good sword closer to his strong right hand. To "LINETTE the damsel Sauvage" who abode on Ludgate Hill, He arrived at length by dint of wondrous toil and care and skill; In a four-pair back she dwelt, and it was noted on her door, That she held "_mesmeriques séances_" every afternoon at four. Seemed that she was greatly altered from the blooming girl who brought Fair Dame LYONS and SIR GARETH home to Royal ARTHUR'S Court-- She whose witchcraft (witch they called her) in her beauty seemed to lie; Red, but not with bloom, her cheek was; bright, but not with health, her eye, And her mouth, whose slightest smile had won the hearts of ARTHUR'S train, By its pale thin lips' quick tremor half confessed the inward pain. Much she laughed, when LANCELOT told her what had brought him to her door, And how ARTHUR'S famous knights had sprawled upon the sandy floor. "Though," said she, "my quick clairvoyant spirit saw the merry scene, And I heard you ask each other what the mystic raps might mean; So I cast a glamour round you, that your dazzled eyes might see All the glories of the future, and the wonders that shall be. Ask not why the table moved or what the mystic raps may be; Marvels, such as these, we Media can't explain without a fee; But be sure, these things that fright thee in the future shall not fail To avenge thee on the men who'll deem _thy_ fame an idle tale. Though the men of future ages you and yours shall despise, They shall not be wholly prescient, and not altogether wise; Some defect, to prove them human, shall their brightest plans deface; Follies worthy of the weakest, shall the wisest age disgrace; And as if _some_ superstition still the human brain _must_ bother, They shall but shake off one folly to be taken with another, So that those, who all the tales of ARTHUR as mere lies reprove, Shall believe his great round table by his knights' mere will could move."

As she spoke the glamour faded, and SIR LANCELOT saw the moor And the woodland stretching out for many a league his road before; Many a sign of knoll and headland marked an old familiar spot, So, upon the vision musing, back he rode to Camelot.

[Footnote 1:] This historical personage was apparently the first landlady of the Belle Sauvage.

* * * * *



SIR ROBERT INGLIS, LORD DUDLEY STUART, and MR BONHAM CARTER are to be congratulated on the highly respectable lifehold residence which, it appears, they have acquired. They are to dwell, conjointly, in the hearts of the cab-owners, where, let us hope, they will not quarrel: especially as MR. BRIGHT is to be their fellow-tenant. On Wednesday evening last, at a meeting of that worthy proprietary, convened for the purpose of asserting the principle of extortion against the Legislature, a man named BEADLE, who proposed a shilling a mile fares, is reported to have said:--

"The gentlemen who sat at the Cranbourn Hotel had endeavoured to show the Government that they could not live under the law, but they had met few friends in the House, except SIR R. INGLIS, LORD D. STUART, and MR. BONHAM CARTER, whose names, he hoped, would never be effaced from their memories. (_Cheers, and cries of_ 'MR. BRIGHT.') Yes, MR. BRIGHT had spoken for them, but he had only met sneers and jeers from those very men who now said that changes must be made in the bill before they came to work it."

Some people value any kind of popularity. MR. BRIGHT may exult in the shouts of the least respectable Manchester people. LORD DUDLEY STUART may like to be cheered by the baser sort of Marylebonians. MR. BONHAM CARTER may rejoice in the huzzas of the lowest classes of the population at Winchester. SIR ROBERT INGLIS may be elated with the applause of the inferior portion of the inhabitants of Ratcliff Highway. If they do, they will be proud of the position they occupy in the good graces of the proprietors of dirty cabs, miserable horses, and abusive, rapacious fellows.

It must be rather flattering to Church Dignitaries to observe what company they are in, as eulogists and admirers of the Honourable Member for Oxford. The fact itself is not wonderful; for cab fares as they were, and episcopal incomes as they are, are things not very dissimilar, except in having been eightpence a mile on the one hand, and being from five to twenty thousand pounds per annum and upwards on the other.

* * * * *


(_To the Editor of "Punch"._)


"Permit me to relate the particulars of my wonderful recovery of the use of my limbs, and consequent restoration to health. I was afraid the strike of the Cabmen yesterday would have been a great blow to me. I found that I had to walk three miles to my office. Sir, I expected that exertion to be my death. I have been for years a sufferer from indigestion, occasioning an unpleasant emptiness before meals, and an oppressive fulness afterwards, and attended by headache, giddiness, dimness of sight, shortness of breath, and other premonitory symptoms of apoplexy. I have been bled and cupped, and have taken all sorts of medicine; made my stomach a regular doctor's shop, and not only that but a College of Vegetable Pills and a HOLLOWAY'S Depôt. Under these circumstances, I should never have dreamt of walking three miles, if I had not been obliged to do it. I did it, though. It exhausted me a little. It threw me into a perspiration. But, sir, it gave me an appetite for my dinner such as I had not experienced for years. I ate and drank heartily; I had not enjoyed anything so much since I don't know when; and after an unusually ample indulgence in the pleasures of the table, I sunk into a refreshing slumber, which I understand was unaccompanied by stertorous breathing. Sir, I shall continue to walk to my office--whereby I shall invigorate my frame, improve my appetite, save Cab-hire certainly, avoid liability to extortion and insolence, and lose some of the weight without any of the importance of


"_Hermitage_," _Clapham, July_ 28, 1853.

* * * * *


We are informed, by our fashionable reporter, that a _suite_ of apartments on the first floor have just been bespoken at MIVART'S Hotel for the EMPEROR OF CHINA.

* * * * *

THE DISSATISFIED CREATURES!--Cabmen should not complain of being paid at the rate of sixpence a mile; for, look at some of our best Panoramas, they only charge a Shilling--and they are generally "three miles long."

* * * * *


* * * * *


"_To the Right Hon. the House of Commons:_

"The Petition of the undersigned sheweth,

"That your Petitioners are members of the medical profession, and earn their living by the sale of pills, plaisters, boluses, black draughts, blisters, powders, and similar commodities, which are administered or applied to persons suffering from sickness, indigestion, bile, lowness of spirits, drunkenness, dissipation, and general debility.

"That your Petitioners are deeply interested in the condition of the working classes of great cities--who toil through excessive hours of labour, and dwell in close, unwholesome habitations. Your Petitioners have ever found their largest and most valuable practice among this class of the community--and continue to do so, notwithstanding the miserable and abortive attempts of Government, and of weak-minded enthusiasts, to interfere with their trade--by improving, 'as it is called,' the dwellings of the poor, and preaching against bad drainage, dirt, and drunkenness.

"Your Petitioners view with alarm and indignation the proposed desecration of the Sunday, by opening the Crystal Palace and its grounds, at Sydenham, to the people of London; and cannot but express their conviction that it would lead to the infliction of serious loss on the profession of which they are members.

"Your Petitioners humbly call the attention of your Honourable House to the fact that they derive a very considerable revenue from the following sources, all of which are threatened to be diminished by the increase of parks, pleasure gardens, and conservatories for the working classes.

"First, From fevers and other diseases generated by heated and impure atmosphere; from which even one day's escape in seven may tend to relieve the present dwellers in the dark courts and alleys of London.

"Secondly, From adulterated gin and British brandy, which are consumed in vast quantities by a large portion of the aforesaid dwellers in dark places, who seek in these stimulants some little excitement during their brief repose from the daily labour of life.

"Lastly, From broken heads, bruises, black eyes, &c., all of which require a considerable amount of medical treatment, 'both in the hospitals and out,' on Monday mornings.

"Your Petitioners forbear to enter into the religious portion of the argument, as they do not exactly remember the text in the New Testament which forbids the walking in corn-fields, or gardens, or conservatories on the Sunday; but your Petitioners are of opinion that your Honourable House ought to preserve these privileges as heretofore for Earls, Bishops, and wealthy members of your Honourable House, who can afford to keep gardens and conservatories at their private expense.

"Your Petitioners therefore pray your Honourable House to protect '_their native industry_'--by keeping the doors of the Crystal Palace and its gardens closed against the working classes of London."

* * * * *


A Cabman, being inclined to drink, stepped into a public-house, and asked for a pint of stout, which he swallowed at a draught, and in payment for the liquor laid down a fourpenny piece. The landlord, who chanced to be serving in the bar, being a wag, called after his customer, as the latter was going, "Hi there, you!" to which the other, turning his head, replied, "Halloa!"--"Come, I say!" pursued mine host, "this here won't do!"--"Wot won't do?" demanded the other.--"Wot?" the landlord repeated; "wot's this here?"--"Wot's this here?" returned the cabman; "why, it's a fo'p'ny bit, isn't it?"--"Well, and wot then?" cried the landlord.--"Wot dy'e mean?" retorted the cabman.--"Wot do you mean?" rejoined the landlord; "wot dy'e mean this here for?"--"For a pint o' stout, to be sure," was the cabman's answer.--"Ho, ho, ho, ho!" shouted the landlord.--"Wot are yer larfin' at?" exclaimed the cabman, in astonishment; "Fo'pence a pint o' stout--ain't that right!"--"I s'pose," replied the landlord, "yer calls yerself a gentleman."

Here the people who were tippling at the bar burst into a loud laugh, which awoke the cabman to a perception that the landlord had been making game of him. "Come, come," said Boniface, "I was only chaffin' you; but now I hope you'll see the propriety of takin' wot you're entitled to when you're offered it, without indulgin' in superfluous and unpleasant hobservations."

* * * * *


MR. PUNCH has received a letter, written in a bold feminine style, and sealed with a crest, a hand-and-patten--a letter, of which the subjoined are the contents:--

"At the present moment, when everything is rising, it behoves the Wives of England to be up and doing too. There are thousands--perhaps millions of my oppressed sisters this minute married to husbands in the human form who, with a meanness which ought to make them ashamed of themselves, allow so much and _no more_ for the expenses of the house. No matter what are the markets--the weekly allowance is the same. Bread may rise--butter may go up--legs of mutton may advance--and still no rise at home!

"Therefore, it is desired that all wives suffering in silence under the yoke of the tyrant will take their remedy in their own hands; and strike.

"All ladies willing to co-operate--that the blow may be aimed through the cupboards at the husbands on the same day--are requested to communicate (post paid) with


"_Shoulder-of-Mutton Fields._"

* * * * *


We have for some time looked with much curiosity to ascertain the result of the death of a noble Earl, whose name used to be as familiar to us as Household Words, in connection with certain pills which were warranted to cure bad legs, black-legs, and all sorts of legs of every degree of standing.

If the pill and ointment business should have fallen off since the death of the Earl, who was advertised as a living specimen of the benefits to be derived from cramming himself with the one, and saturating his skin with the other, we can only recommend the proprietor to put into circulation the following Advertisement, with the attractive heading of


Wanted, a Nobleman! ready to fill His noble inside with a Popular Pill. He must have a Bad Leg, Indigestion, and Gout, With an abscess internal, that ought to come out; He must suffer from Headache, Consumption, and pains In the nerves, and the elbows, the eyebrows and brains; He must also have tried every doctor in town-- DOCTOR JONES, DOCTOR SMITH, DOCTOR WHITE, DOCTOR BROWN. But vain must have proved all professional skill, Till he heard, quite by chance, of the Popular Pill.

Wanted, a Nobleman! full of disease, From his head to his foot, from his nose to his knees; With Asthma, Paralysis, Deafness, and Mumps, Sciatica, Elephantiasis, Dumps, The Blues, Yellow Jaundice, the Red Gum, White Swelling, Confining him just twenty years to his dwelling, And making him pay many doctors a bill-- Till a friend recommended the Popular Pill.

Wanted, a Nobleman! ready to swear, Of cure or improvement he'd learned to despair; When a friend, whom he'd known fifty years at death's door, Whose family long since had given him o'er, Ran into his chamber with laughter's wild shout; As he gaily continued to caper about, Declaring he owed it to taking his fill (For the last eighteen months) of the Popular Pill.

Wanted, a Nobleman! ready to munch The Popular Pill between breakfast and lunch; He must take it at bed-time, at sun-rise, at noon, At the fall of the leaf, at the full of the moon; If a noble there is, who's disposed to fulfil The office of puffing the Popular Pill, And will of its virtues incessantly speak, His salary will be a guinea a week!

* * * * *


Posterity will scratch his head when he meets with the subjoined passages whilst studying the Parliamentary intelligence in an ancient file of the _Times_. MR. C. BERKELEY, moving the House into Committee on the Expenses of Elections' Bill, said

"It was now a Bill merely to prevent the use of bands, bell-ringing, and colours at elections."

After some remarks by MR. COWPER against the Bill,

"COLONEL SIBTHORPE then rose to move, in pursuance of notice, that the Bill be deferred for three months. He said he had read the Bill carefully over, and he thought he had designated it as it deserved, when on a former occasion he had called it a mean, low, dirty bill. (_Laughter._) It was a dangerous and delusive measure; it was a trap set for unwary men, who might suddenly find themselves to have been guilty of an offence which they had no intention of committing ... It restricted the liberty of the subject...."

However, the House went into Committee on the Bill; and the COLONEL took the opportunity of renewing his protest against it: declaring that

"He would oppose the Bill in every stage, for he regarded it as a disgraceful, mean, dirty, shabby measure."

After the odd remark had been made by MR. F. SCULLY, that

"With regard to the carrying of flags and banners, he had no doubt that in England such services were frequently made the means of corruption,"

The report proceeds to state that

"SIR J. GRAHAM thought the best course would be to give up this Bill, and proceed as soon as possible with the next order on the paper, the Lunatics' Care and Treatment Bill."

Proceed with the _next_ Bill--the Lunatics' Care and Treatment Bill? How the _next_ Bill? A Bill on the showing of which it appears that certain poor creatures were in the habit of going about trumpeting, drumming, bell-ringing, carrying flags--enacting such fooleries as these--on the solemn occasion of electing a Member of Parliament; of contributing a philosopher to the Collective Wisdom; a Bill in reference to unfortunates corruptible by means of flags and banners: how, a rational Posterity will ask, could this have been a previous Bill to the other? Must not what was called the next Bill have been, in fact, merely the next clause of the same Bill; a general measure relating to the care and treatment of lunatics?

COLONEL SIBTHORPE'S denunciations of the proposed enactment will not, perhaps, tend very much to prevent Posterity from taking this view of the case.

[Illustration: The Member for Lincoln as he will appear at the next General Election.]

* * * * *


The _Examiner_ states that the Neapolitan chemists are not allowed to expose bottles, red, white, and green, because they form the tricolours of Italy. We may add that BOMBA has nearly been poisoned by partaking of an English salad which besides lettuce, contained red and white radishes.

* * * * *


"A deputation against the proposed Bill for the suppression of betting-houses had an interview with VISCOUNT PALMERSTON yesterday."--_Court Circular, Thursday._


Early on the above day, _Mr. Punch_ received a note from his friend, LORD PALMERSTON, apprising him that such a deputation was expected at the Home Office, and asking him to "come down." _Mr. Punch_, who is always ready to come down in a good cause, immediately complied, and may indeed add, that from the disgraceful state of Whitehall (proverbially the worst swept, kept, drained, and watered street in London), _Mr. Punch_ was laughingly charged by his noble friend, on entering, with having "come down with the dust." _Mr. Punch_ need hardly remark that his retort was triumphant. The Home Secretary and his friend were soon apprised that the Betting-house Keepers were in attendance. Buttoning up their pockets, therefore, the two statesmen directed that their visitors should be introduced.

LORD PALMERSTON'S easy manner, not unmingled with a pleasant scornfulness (scarcely perceptible to the fine natures of the Deputation), was a model of the best style of Reception. _Mr. Punch_ was sterner--he could not smile on such folk. His appearance threw the Deputation into manifest consternation, and one of the fraternity was heard to observe, with a most irreverent reference to one of _Mr. Punch's_ features, that "if Nosey was to be heerd, it was all Queer Street." The vulgar party was supposed to mean that _Mr. Punch's_ well-known sentiments on the subject of Betting-houses would render remonstrance ineffective.

"Well, gentlemen," said the Home Secretary, with the smallest inflexion on the latter word, "I promised to see you. What have you got to say?"

"Why, my lord," said a keen, slangy-looking man, with tight light trowsers, a scampish cut-away coat, and a dark blue cravat, adorned with a huge horseshoe pin, "we think, that is me and the rest of us, MR. BOLT, MR. SAINT LEVANT, MR. DIDDLES, MR. FLYPAPER, MR. WHITEWASH, and these other gents" (gracefully introducing each on naming him) "including your humble, namely myself MR. DOOBRUS, we think, my lord, that in this matter Parliament is rather down upon us, and that it ain't the thing. We want your lordship to see it in that light."

"I am open to--to--to--a--to conviction," said his lordship; "or, if the word is offensive to any gentleman present, I will say, to argument."

"My lord," said MR. DOOBRUS, impressively, "the British turf is a noble and manly recreation, fostered by princes, and encouraging the finest breed of--"

"MR.--a--DOOBRUS," interrupted his lordship. "_Mr. Punch's_ time and my own is valuable. Please to keep to the point. Betting-houses have nothing whatever to do with the turf, so suppose we don't talk nonsense. If you can give me any reasons why gambling-shops, that demoralise the rising generation and fill the gaols (with, I am sorry to say, the customers, not the dealers), should not be suppressed, do. But as to talking of the turf, you might as well tell me that St. Paul's is a big church, or, what is a little more to the purpose, that the House of Correction is in Coldbath Fields."

"But, my lord, as a racing man, you must know--"

"I am not a racing man, MR. DOOBRUS, but I have some race-horses. But once more, leave out of the question that which we have nothing to do with. We are speaking as men of business. It's all very well to cant out of doors about "one law for the rich and another for the poor", and to say that "JACK JONES has as much right to bet his half-crown on _Joe Miller_, as LORD BATTLEAXE has to bet his thousand pounds on _Hydaspes_", but that trash is of no use here. Rich and poor has nothing to do with the matter, except that you do your best to make the rich poor and the poor poorer. But when you take JACK JONES'S half-crown he no more bets on _Joe Miller_ than on the Moon. He knows and cares nothing about _Joe Miller_, but he wants to gamble, and a horse's name does as well for that purpose as anything else. What has JACK JONES to do with the turf, or you either?"

"But, my lord," exclaimed all the Deputation, "JACK has a right to gamble."

"Let him. But you shall not keep gambling-houses to tempt and ruin him. The law forbids them to the rich, and so it shall to the poor. The Bill will be law this day fortnight. Anything more to say, gentlemen?"

The Deputation retired, considerably disgusted, and were understood to have subsequently made particular inquiries as to the cost of passages to Australia.

* * * * *


The Tea-totallers--whose zeal we much admire, though we cannot rush into the cistern or hang on to the pump with all the ardour they display in their attempts to bring an hydraulic pressure to bear on public opinion--have published a sort of summary of their achievements. They have forwarded "30,000 letters" to noblemen, &c., from which we infer that they have filled at least 300 waste-paper baskets, and furnished wrappers to several thousand quarters of pounds of butter. They have held several hundred "tea-meetings," and they might have added, "munched a million muffins," to say nothing of the consumption of crumpets, which must have been something marvellous. They have delivered some thousands of lectures on water, and have probably exhausted a great many highly respectable pumps in the operation.

We find from a prospectus, that the hot days of August are about to be refreshed by a flood of American eloquence, which is about to be "turned on" at Exeter Hall, through the medium of a MR. GOUGH, of whom it is said that "he makes strong men to weep like little children, and women, to sob as if their hearts would burst." This command over the tears of his audience is an appropriate attribute to one whose mission is to popularise water; and there can be no doubt that when every eye around him is gushing with moisture, he will feel himself quite in his element. If he bears out the reputation he brings with him, his lectures will be no laughing matter; for he is, as it were, pledged to set all the men and women off into so many watering-pots, by drawing from them such a series of wailings and sobs, as will not only drown the voice of the orator, but threaten even to drown those who are assembled to hear him. We hope the Trustees of Exeter Hall will see to the drainage of the building before these orations come off, or we do not know what may be the result of a combination of several thousand floods of tears with the orator's flood of eloquence.

* * * * *


We must confess that our objection to the Smoke Nuisance does not extend so much to the honest chimney-pot of private life, or to the tall smoke-evolving structure of manufacturing industry, as to that useless and disgusting object, the street smoker, who puffs his "cheap and nasty" cigar in the faces of innocent passengers. We sincerely hope that LORD PALMERSTON will render it imperative on those offensive locomotives to consume their own smoke in some way or other. They are usually of a class that may be got to swallow almost anything, and we would therefore suggest that they be called upon to swallow their own smoke, for in the event of there being no other outlet, their mouths are always open to them.


* * * * *


We are particularly happy in being the first to state that the EARL OF WESTMORELAND, our illustrious ambassador at the Court of Vienna, is busily engaged composing a new March of Intellect for the EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA.

* * * * *


This Concert, which has been going on now for several years most harmoniously, is likely to be disturbed by the fact of Russia, who is, really, very clever on the base, wishing to play first-fiddle.

* * * * *



It was the auld Scottish Lion, I heard him growlin' sair; "Deil ha'et, gin I pit up wi' Siccan treatment ony mair.

"Oh, ance my mane was winsome: And oh! but my tail was lang; But on them baith is scorn and scaith, From Southron deeds of wrang!

"Now up and ride, LAIRD EGLINTON, That was sae stout in stour, That when it rainit cats and dogs, Aye jousted through the shower.

"Now, horse! my provosts and baillies, And convener of the Trades, Dean o' Guild, and maister o' Merchants, The auld Lion craves your aids.

"It's up on your ain middens, My cocks, sae croose to craw, And gar play your Scottish fiddles, And your Scottish bag-pipes blaw.

"And they hae ta'en and sworn an aith-- An aith both strang and true-- That for the auld Lion o' Scotland They will win back his due.

"I've a sair, sair pain in my belly, And a sair catch in my breath; Ye'll mind it was English misdoings That brocht me to my death.

"And ye've aye uphauld, sae bluff and bauld, My right my tail to wag, Aboon the pock-puddins' Lion Upon the Scottish flag.

"Ye'll to the Prince Royal o' Scotland-- Him the Southrons misca's 'Wales,' And ask him what gars his household Wear breeks aboot their tails?

"Why a Scots' prince hasna aboot him Scots' men and places got, A' things Scots, but the wages, whilk should be Punds sterlin', and no punds Scot.

"Say there's a keeper o' the swans Whose office ocht to cease, Or Scotland behoves a keeper too, To keep her Solan geese.

"There's the maister o' the music, That the music maks ava', For his thousand puns' a year I trow he were best awa'.

"Or if no that Scotland ocht to brink Her music-maister too, Wi' bagpipe and Scotch fiddle We'll find him wark to do.

"And they have put down the Scottish mint, Nae money noo mak' we, I trow they hae sent to Brummagem To coin the Scots' bawbee!

"And we hae Parliament Members eneuch Our votes wi' place to buy; There's many a gude job in England, But nae Scots' thumb in the pie.

"And Holyrood Park is a bonny place, But 'tis nae place for me and you; And the Embro' baillies lets it For a kailyard oot to feu.

"And oh, 'tis in geography We're driven to the wa'-- Till in the map o' Europe We're hard to find ava';

"And when a Scotsman's to be hung (E'en Scotland rogues will plague) There's nae a Scottish hangman to fit The noose about his craig.

"Now, well-a-day, and wae is me, For the days of auld lang syne, When wi' England we had nocht to do Save liftin' o' her kine!

"The Lion o' a kingdom small I trow I'd suner be, Than the Lion of an empire vast When there's ither there than me."

* * * * *


It is certainly scandalous that there should be any sale of livings, though, if the practice must exist, we are happy to find that a "good living" may be bought for a sum within the crippled means of a poor clergyman, who has not yet exhausted the whole of his begging and borrowing resources and energies. The annexed advertisement will, we trust, attract the attention of the sons of the clergy who may be induced to confer the "good living" on one of the thousands of poor parsons whom the clergy's sons claim the especial privilege of aiding and comforting. The advertisement is copied literally from the _Times_ newspaper.

A GOOD LIVING.--To be SOLD, a new PATENT MANGLE, by Baker, with good business attached, suitable for any industrious person desirous of obtaining a respectable livelihood. Price £12. Apply at, &c.

There is a "good living" to be had for twelve pounds, and it is evidently a much better thing than the average run of small curacies, for it will enable a person to obtain "a respectable livelihood."

We are glad to find that the condition of the poor clergy is at length being looked at in its proper light, and that a good mangle may be advertised as a "good living" so as to catch at once the eye of the clerical class to whom the owner of the mangle has evidently addressed himself. We shall really begin to hope that the wretched condition of the underpaid clergyman is beginning to "take a turn," if we can find in Reverend hands a few mangles with "good livings" attached to them.

* * * * *

LONDON WITHOUT A POLICEMAN.--There is a threat of all the policemen striking.--We doubt if London will perceive the difference, even supposing that they do.

* * * * *


Of what use is it to read a good book and transgress its rules in the very act?

The _Times_ has a paragraph, stating that two London missionaries, the REV. MESSRS. DICKINSON and LEWIS, attempted to read and expound the Scriptures to a crowd in Limerick on Sunday evening; when--

"After a few minutes a mob collected and set upon the Reverend gentlemen, who were severely maltreated. It is computed that 10,000 of the _canaille_ of Limerick were engaged in hooting, yelling, and throwing stones, where they could with safety to themselves, at the obnoxious clergymen."

Oh, MR. DICKINSON! Oh, MR. LEWIS! _Punch_ does not quote anything above SHAKSPEARE; but how could you--Reverend gentlemen--how could you scatter sacred words before the Limerick multitude? Have you not sufficiently studied the volume you were reading from to recollect what it says about pearls and--Limerick multitudes? Well--you have disobeyed the precept--and taken the consequences.

* * * * *


_Q._ What Member of the present House of Commons has really made himself a new name in the country?

_A._ The Member for South Essex--who spells his name SMIJTH. We have met with SMITHS in thousands before, and know a few SMITHES, and have been introduced to SMYTHS and SMYTHES by the hundred; but never, in our whole existence, do we recollect having ever met with a single SMIJTH! It's grand! How noble the simple introduction of that _j_ makes it! But we wonder how the servants pronounce it at an evening party?

* * * * *

[Illustration: CRUEL.


* * * * *



Recalcitration, WILLIAM, cease, JAMES, we'll return to work in peace. Alas! the struggle to prolong Were useless--would be, therefore, wrong.

The Legislature and the Press, Whom Heaven--although they've wronged us--bless! Have triumphed by superior force: Submission now should be our course.

And though defeated, after all, Our loss, in fact, will be but small; A slight reduction of our fare, Which our proprietors will bear.

Employment will increase, besides; Our friends will take more frequent rides, And that will amply compensate For payment at a lower rate.

Whilst o'er our tongue respect presides, And courtesy our manner guides, Of temperance let us own the sway, And that of cleanliness obey.

Of insult or extortion, none In terror, then, our cabs will shun; Perhaps ev'n ladies then will dare To constitute themselves our fare.

And oh, divesting our pursuit Of altercation and dispute, How much more pleasantly shall we Discuss our toast, and sip our tea!

* * * * *


However much the Whigs may be found fault with for their acts of omission, they are perfectly clear about their acts of Commission, for we believe it is indisputable that they have passed more acts that have saddled the country with Commissions than any other Government.

* * * * *


An unhappy French tailor has been charged, on the evidence of our old friend JOINVILLE, with a conspiracy to assassinate our old enemy LOUIS NAPOLEON. The "conspiracy" looks very like an attempt on our gracious Queen, for the unhappy wretch of a tailor wanted HER MAJESTY'S head on twenty pieces of gold coin, and his design was directed far more upon English sovereigns than upon French Napoleons. Twenty pounds was the price to be charged by the French tailor for making his country free and happy; but, considering that the trade of patriotism is rather at a low ebb just now, we cannot help thinking that the unfortunate humbug placed his services at too high a figure.

Whether the accused really contemplated the murder of LOUIS NAPOLEON is doubtful, though MR. BODKIN was engaged to argue that the tailor designed the _quietus_ of the Emperor with, perhaps, "a bare Bodkin," which, being the instrument of his trade, might have been the intended instrument of his iniquity. Our private opinion of the matter is that the French vagabond, instead of wishing to shed the blood of the present ruler of France, was anxious only to make the PRINCE DE JOINVILLE "bleed" to the tune of twenty sovereigns. Instead of elevating the scamp into a political conspirator, it would be better to treat him at once as a swindler and a would-be obtainer of money under false pretences. There is no greater "mistake" than to assign political motives to a merely mercenary act, and to arraign as a monster, who would have murdered an Emperor, a poor insignificant adventurer who, though utterly hopeless of a "clean shirt," may have aspired to the chance of "a guinea."

* * * * *


You scarcely ever receive change for a sovereign without finding that one of the shillings or sixpences has had a hole drilled through it, which--suggesting a painful doubt as to the exchangeable value of the coin--is altogether a bore. We are glad that MR. WILSON has got leave to bring in a bill to prevent the defacing of the QUEEN'S money; and we hope this measure will have the effect of remedying one of the greatest evils of change.

* * * * *


[_A Picture seen only "in the mind's eye" of Cabby._]]

* * * * *

SUNDAY AMONG THE SEWERS.--The Sabbatarians want to have nothing stirring on Sunday but stagnation; which is not only not conducive to health, but also tends to engender zymotic diseases.



* * * * *


[Illustration: T]

There has reached _Mr. Punch_ a very good-humoured letter from a Reverend gentleman suggesting to him the expediency of subscribing £10 or £20 towards the endowment of a new church at Kenilworth, in order to show that he, _Mr. Punch_, is not opposed to the Christian observance of Sunday, which might, the worthy clergyman seems to think, be inferred from his objection to the Jewish observance of it.

The idea of a church at Kenilworth is peculiarly happy. On Sundays it might be a counter-attraction to the Castle. Success to the exertions of the minister that is to preach in it to render it such!

Our clerical correspondent's suggestion is ingenious; it merits attention: it shall be attended to in good time.

If _Mr. Punch's_ ideas--and circulation--were narrow, he might plead that the church at Kenilworth is not in his own parish. But that would be an invalid as well as a sneaking excuse for parsimony. The parish of _Punch_ is the world.

When all the property appertaining to the Established Church has been so distributed among the clergy as to maintain every one of them, bishops and all, in a style of apostolical competence, and when the whole of the surplus thus created shall have been applied to the endowment of new churches, then, if any more money is wanted for that purpose, _Mr. Punch_ will be most happy to contribute as much as ever he is able; and his munificence shall, in the very first place, effuse itself upon the new church at Kenilworth.

* * * * *


Really JOHN BULL may almost be described as a maniac with lucid intervals. He appears to be always suffering under some form of mania or other. A few years ago it was the Railway Mania--a very dangerous phrenzy. Then from time to time occurs a Poultry Mania, or one of the similar and milder forms of insanity. The mania now prevailing is one which, if not attended to, may perhaps prove troublesome. This is the Striking Mania. Everybody is Striking. The other day it was the cabmen; now it is the Dockyard labourers; the policemen, even, have struck and thrown down their staves. Our mechanics have so far become machines, that, like clocks, as clocks ought to be, they are all striking together.

Should this mania spread, we shall have Striking become what might be called the order, but that it will be the disorder, of the day. The professions will strike; you will send for your lawyer to make your will, and your messenger will return with _non est inventus_--struck; or should you ask the legal gentleman a six-and-eightpenny question, you will discover that he has struck for 13_s._ 4_d._ The physicians and surgeons will strike for two-guinea fees; the apothecaries for ten-shilling mixtures. The clergy will all strike--as indeed some of them, the poor curates, might reasonably do--and pluralists will be demanding forty thousand a year instead of twenty; whilst bishops will hang up the mitre, stick the crosier over the chimney-piece, and hold out against the Ecclesiastical Commissioners for double incomes. In short, almost everybody will strike except the threshers, the smiths, and the pugilists.

With all this striking, though, we had better take care that we are not floored.

* * * * *

Musical Intelligence.

Talking about music--and our Honourable Members have been talking a great deal about it lately--a celebrated professor says: "You generally find that persons who are not fond of music play the Flute."

* * * * *


There is a song to which we have alluded before, called "_Annie Laurie_," being sung at all the Mansion House dinners; and though ANNIE is the name in common use, there can be no doubt that PETER is the party whom the ballad is designed to flatter. We have therefore engaged our own Laureate in the graceful task of fixing on the head of the LAURIES the honour which had been conferred on ANNIE, by a poet evidently unconscious of the "coming" Alder-"man."

The Mansion House is bonnie when dinners are not few; And it's there that PETER LAURIE gave me his promise true, Gave me his promise true that I his guest should be; And for Old SIR PETER LAURIE I'd lay me doun and dee.

His neckcloth's like the snaw-drift; his frill like down of swan; His watch-chain is the smartest electro e'er shone on, Electro e'er shone on! And green is his coatee; And for Old SIR PETER LAURIE I'd lay me doun and dee.

Like lead on the pavement dropping is the fa' of his heavy feet; And like winds in winter blowing, his voice on the judgment seat, His voice on the judgment seat! And, though he frightens me, For Old SIR PETER LAURIE I'd lay me doun and dee.

* * * * *


We paid a visit to the Regent's Park Zoological Gardens the other day, for the purpose of noticing the collection of Mollusca, Zoophytes, &c., and very much regret to find it incomplete.

There are specimens from the German Ocean and the Bristol Channel, but none from the Sees of London, Durham, Rochester, or Salisbury, the rapacity of whose tenants is so well known, that there is no doubt, could their destructive propensities be as clearly seen as those now exhibiting, the very Sees themselves would be drained to stop their depredations.

On inquiring the reason of the absence of so interesting a collection, we were told that although a variety of nets, such as the Ecclesiastical Commission, WHISTON'S Inquiries, and others, have been tried, they have never succeeded in bringing these very recondite creatures above the surface, for when they perceive their approach to public gaze, they become so alarmed, and struggle so violently, as always to succeed in escaping to their natural shelter among the riches deposited at the bottom of their Sees.

The most rapacious among them is said to be the "Episcopus," as only one of them can be found in a See. This will not cause surprise, for it has been ascertained that £10,000 per annum is devoured by a single specimen. The Episcopus is always attended by a crowd of Rectors, Canons, and Vicars, who are all more or less grabiferous.

These curious animals are said to possess a peculiarity wanting in all other species, that of ubiquity; as they are supposed to be able to be in several places at once.

* * * * *


"SIR,--The papers inform us that MR. PHILLIMORE, the other night, asked the President of the Board of Control why the returns given in the case of 'RUSTOMJEE VICCAJEE and VICCAJEE PESTONJEE' were incomplete? That a subject, evidently surrounded with ease, should be attended with difficulty is certainly strange. But I want to know, if you can inform me, who or what 'RUSTOMJEE VICCAJEE and VICCAJEE PESTONJEE,' aforesaid are? I thought at first that these words were specimens of the 'foul language' used by cabmen and others as complained of by COLONEL SIBTHORPE. Am I right? By the bye, while on the subject of bad words, may I ask (indignantly, as the father of a family) how it is that PROFESSOR GREGORY and other chemists are not restrained from circulating such words as the following: Methylethylamylophenylium, Ethylopropylamylamine, Methylethylamylophenylammonium; 76 letters in three words--my hand aches with writing them. To be sure, as a set-off, these professors sometimes give us something more euphonious; 'Margarate of Glycerine' sounds like the title of a novel, but then whoever heard of 'Glycerine?' Where is it? What did Margarate there, and is she a descendant of MARGARET OF ANJOU? I trust that you will be able to give me some information, or, at any rate, give your assistance in the cause of monosyllabic simplicity.


"P.S. 'What's in a name?' is a question that has been often asked. I find that 'MARGARATE OF GLYCERINE' is not so pretty as her name--she's FAT."

* * * * *



"I appeal to you in a case of difficulty, and trust that my familiarity will not beget your contempt. My name is BROWN: not an uncommon surname, perhaps, but I am distinguished by my Christian name of PETERLOO. My eldest lad is called after me, and it is in his behalf, _Mr. Punch_, that I crave your advice. He is at present an Eton _boy_, but he will soon be ready to be an Oxford _man_, and I am now looking forward to his matriculation. You are, doubtless, Sir, aware that every one who goes through that form has to subscribe to certain oaths and conditions, before he can be admitted to the privileges of the University. I myself never had the benefit of a University education, but I am well aware how it helps a man to gain a position in society--a position which my rapid rise to fortune has only in part secured to me; for there are, _Mr. Punch_, aristocrats by birth, who turn up their noses at us aristocrats by wealth, and yet will stoop to----however, to return to my son. I am determined that _he_ shall not want for advantages; but, as I have a certain sort of squeamishness about a person taking oaths that he does not know the meaning of, and swearing to observe statutes of whose nature he is unaware, I sent to Oxford for a copy of the University Statutes, that I might run my eye over them, and see what were the laws that governed the noble, the great, the famous, the--in short, the enlightened place, the University of Oxford. The book is now before me:--'_Parecbolæ sive Excerpta e corpore Statutorum Universitatis Oxoniensis_:' and a copy is, I believe, presented to every undergraduate at his matriculation, that he may be fully aware of the laws that he has sworn to obey. The Statutes I find to be written in a Latin form--I cannot say, in a _dead_ language, for it is of a kind very much resembling the living, and of that description vulgarly termed 'Dog' Latin; so that I, who never got further than _Eutropius_, and whose acquaintance with the language has become rusty from want of use, can easily make out a translation of the sentences. I find that my son will have to sign the Thirty-nine Articles, which, I dare say, is all very proper; take the Oath of Allegiance, which is quite right; and also, the Oath of Supremacy, in which he will have to say, that he, PETERLOO BROWN, does, 'from his heart, abhor, detest, and abjure, as impious and heretical, that damnable doctrine and position that Princes, excommunicated or deprived by the POPE, or any authority of the See of Rome, may be deposed or murdered by their subjects, or any other whatsoever.' Now, although I may be secretly of opinion that my lad might as well swear to any Bosh, as all this about the excommunicate Princes, yet I pass this over, and proceed to the Statutes themselves.


"I find that a great part of the book is about the keeping of terms; the granting of various kinds of degrees, of congregations, convocations, dispensations, and all that sort of thing; and I then come--under the head '_Tit._ XIV. _De Vestitu et Habitu Scholastico_'--to the Statutes that more immediately concern my son PETERLOO. And this is the result of my search.

"I find that nobody, unless he is a Peer's son--(who may do what he likes, for you will find, _Mr. Punch_, that it is one of the great beauties of our University system, that it allows no distinction of persons, but puts the sons of the ignoble and the noble on equal terms; but I am digressing!)--I find '_Statutum est_,' that 'Nobody shall wear any other clothes than those of a black, or "subfusk" colour' (_coloris nigri aut subfusci_), 'or imitate (in their dress) what is extravagant or fast:' (that seems to be the meaning of the words '_fastum aut luxum_;' but, as I said before, my Latin is rather rusty). Now, since this is the rule, I would ask how it is, _Mr. Punch_, that young BELLINGHAM GREY (my neighbour's son) should, at the end of every term, bring home from Christ Church (where by the way, he is ruining his father, but that is no affair of _mine_!) suits of clothes of every colour _but_ black or 'subfusk' (not that I exactly know what colour that may be), and remarkable solely for their extravagance and 'fast-ness?' I want my lad to dress like a gentleman, but I don't always want to see him putting in an appearance like an undertaker, or counter-skipper, or like the man in the play (is it _Hamlet_? though, probably, _Othello_?) continually clothed in 'an inky suit of black.' And, if he swears to observe such a Statute as the above, why, _of course_, the authorities will see that he obeys it, and dresses accordingly.


"It is next ordered, that 'Nobody shall follow that absurd and proud custom of walking in boots in public.' (_Insuper, ab absurdo illo et fastuoso publice in ocreis ambulandi more, abstinere compellantur._ I give you the very words, _Mr. Punch_, lest you should not believe me.) Now, where on earth is the harm of my lad wearing Wellingtons? But I suppose that every one in Oxford (I do not know the place) wears the 'Oxford Shoes,' and that this Statute has been inserted to keep up what is, doubtless, the staple trade of the city. For, _of course_, the Statute is observed, or they would not make the students swear to obey it.

"'_Statutum est_' also, that 'Nobody shall wear the hair long or in curls (_in capillitio modus est, nec concinnos, aut comam nimis promissam alant_). Now, Sir, my son PETERLOO has been favoured by Nature with a particularly curly head of hair. I wish to ask you, Do you think that this misfortune, which it is evident can be from no fault of his own, will shut him out from all the privileges of the University? It is a momentous question for a father to make, and one which may interest the bosom friend of the present Chancellor--I mean MR.--I beg his pardon, DR. DISRAELI. One thing is plain: that the advertisements of 'Do you want luxurious hair?' can be of no use in Oxford, and that bears'-grease must be at a discount. And if my son PETERLOO should fail to observe any of the above Statutes touching his personal appearance, or the giving himself airs, he will, when he is a graduate, have to pay 6_s._ 8_d._ for each offence (_poena_ 6_s._ _et_ 8_d._ _plectatur, toties quoties_), and while he is an undergraduate he will, for such offences, have to suffer corporal punishment (_poena corporali_). Good gracious, _Mr. Punch_, I have read that the great NEWTON was horsed when he was a Cambridge undergraduate; but I thought that such a degrading custom was either confined to that University, or had passed away with the dark ages, and oil-lamps, and Protection, and all that sort of thing. Does not Oxford--the Mother of Science, and (for what I know) the Aunt of Literature, and the Grandmother of the Arts--does not Oxford, I repeat, keep up with the progressive enlightenment of the age? I almost repent that I have entered PETERLOO there (at St. Vitus' College), and I tremble to think of the effect that corporal punishment, will have on him when he is become a _man_. As an Eton boy it (perhaps) does him good; but as a man! I thought such disgrace only attached to the army. For, _of course_, the corporal punishment cannot be inflicted _only_ in the Statutes.


"I then find that it is '_Statutum est_,' that if any one should happen to introduce a new and unwonted style of dress, that the Vice-Chancellor and the Heads of the Colleges and Halls shall thereupon hold deliberation and give their opinion; and that the Vice-Chancellor shall then forbid the cutters-out and the tailors, making these kind of garments (_Deinde, Vice-Cancellarius scissoribus sive sartoribus vestiariis hujusmodi vestes conficiendi potestate interdicat_); and that the Heads shall prohibit their scholars from wearing them; but that if the young men, with a morbid pertinacity (_morbi pertinacia_), persist in clothing themselves in the aforesaid garments, the Vice-Chancellor shall, after three monitions, expel them.

"The motherly care shown by Alma Mater that her sons should not fall into scrapes by making Guys of themselves, is here very strongly evidenced; and I think it would be a profitable subject for inquiry, if MR. HUME would move for a return of the number of times that the Vice-Chancellor and the Heads of Houses have met, in accordance with the above Statute.

"The remainder of _Tit._ XIV is taken up with the cut of the gowns, &c., but is as unlike a ladylike page of _Le Follet_ (which MRS. BROWN takes in) as anything can be.

"The Statutes demanding attention in _Tit._ XV. are so numerous that I will trouble you with them in another letter; but they are so amusing that they will repay perusal, and your opinion upon them will not only be highly valued by, but of the greatest use, to

"Dear _Mr. Punch_,

"Your constant reader,


* * * * *


RIPEFORAJAIL for an income is burning, RIPEFORAJAIL has no taste for clod-turning, RIPEFORAJAIL has no funds for gin-spinning, Yet RIPEFORAJAIL has "Green" gold for the winning; Come lend a kind ear to a betting muff's tale, While he tells you the craft of bold RIPEFORAJAIL.

The EARL OF BAREPURSE, o'er Newmarket doth ride, And views his colt win in the very last stride, Long odds for his net, and the Ring for his game, Short whist for the wild, and the dice for the tame; But the TATTERSALL gudgeons, and CROCK pigeons pale, Are less free to EARL BAREPURSE than RIPEFORAJAIL.

RIPEFORAJAIL, when his carcase was light, Used to sweat and to curry a thoroughbred bright, And when "grown overweight" the Kents turned him abroad. To pick winners, in print he each week pledged his word; Gents who love "the blue ribbon," and sport the blue veil, Became quite confidential with RIPEFORAJAIL.

RIPEFORAJAIL to distinction is come, He's no longer a tout, but he owns a flash home; A fig for THE DAVIS and 'cute HARRY HILL! They might lay the long odds, he lays longer odds still, A baize board and counter, and weeds very stale, Are the sole stock in trade of bold RIPEFORAJAIL.

The COCKBURN was steel, and the BETHEL was stone, And PALMERSTON warned him he soon must be gone; Fierce and loud this last week was the curse and the cry Of his victims when shutters alone met the eye; With their Goodwood deposits he gave them leg-bail, And a cove at Boulogne looks like RIPEFORAJAIL.

* * * * *


The subjoined advertisement relates to an exhibition, which is, perhaps, somewhat interesting, and which might be rendered very much so:--

DIORAMA OF CHRISTIAN MISSIONS, 32, Sloane Street, will continue open for a short time. Parents will find this a truly Christian exhibition for their children. Tahiti--New Zealand--The Maori--Island of Tanna--Death of Captain Cook--First Missionary House at Tahiti--Cape Coast Castle--Banyan Tree--Ashanti--Missionary Tombs--The Dungeon, and Rose Madiai.

What this exhibition wants, in order that it may enlist the sympathies of those who are the most earnest promoters of Missionary enterprise, is the addition of a few views of certain savage and heathen regions, the conversion and civilisation of whose inhabitants are more particularly important to the British public. The New Cut, Ratcliff Highway, Houndsditch, Whitechapel, and the slums of Westminster, afford fields for the operation of preachers and philanthropists as extensive, as remarkable, and as unknown as the Polynesian Archipelago or the Cannibal Islands.

* * * * *

DIETETIC RULE OF CONDUCT--Never ask a favour of a man until he has had his dinner.

* * * * *


Old Lady (who is not used to these new-fangled notions). "_Oh, Sir! Please, Sir! don't, Sir! Don't for goodness sake Fire, Sir!_"]

* * * * *


We think that the question of "What is a Mile?"--a question which promises to swallow up in interest the Eastern Question, and all other questions which as yet remain unanswered--should be settled as soon as possible; for, until it is settled, we shall never be able to arrive at a proper settlement of the Cab fares. This settlement is due--not only to the persons who ride in cabs--but to those who drive them, for there are so many varieties of a mile, and so many different ways of measuring it, that it is impossible to say which is the right one. For instance--

If a young lady walks round the corner of the street in which she lives, she comes home quite fatigued, and "is sure she has walked more than a mile."

If a husband is dragged--a little against his will--to a certain street where there happens to be a bonnet shop, though it is not more than twenty yards, he is morally certain "he has been taken a mile out of his way, if he has been taken an inch."

It is curious the number of miles a mother-in-law has walked when she feels desirous, poor creature, of having a cab.

Besides, miles vary so much. A mistress's mile is generally very different to a servant's--a master's to a clerk's. Auctioneers' miles are proverbially very short ones when they are describing a property as being not more than "an omnibus distance from town," or when they are enlarging upon the merits of a Villa that is "only an easy drive from a railway station." Travellers' miles, on the contrary, are generally very long ones. You will hear a delicate young man, who has just returned from a pedestrian tour, boast of having walked his "two thousand miles," just as if he had trailed a pedometer behind him, and had measured every inch of the road. Panoramas also, have a very elastic method of stretching out a mile, which cab-drivers would doubtlessly not object to adopt as their own particular standard of measurement. They talk very glibly of being "three miles long," whereas, if the distance came to be measured, it would probably turn out to be--like cabmen's distances generally--not more than half. There is another deficiency, too, that frequently occurs with the mileage question. We have known a distance, that when a party first went over it, was only four or five miles, become suddenly increased to eight or ten at least, when the same party--especially if a dinner party--had to go over it again on their way back. This difficulty has been felt so strongly at times, that every one of the party has preferred--at that late hour--stopping where he was, instead of walking home all that distance. These unnecessary difficulties imperatively call for a speedy answer to the puzzling question, "What is a Mile?" for hitherto the question has been passed over by our Police magistrates, from one parish to another, like a pauper, for the want of a settlement.

* * * * *

[Illustration: ACCORDING TO ACT OF PARLIAMENT. Lady. "_Your fare's Sixpence, I think? Please to knock at the door._"

Cabby. "_Not if I knows it, Marm.--The Hact 'bleeges me to take Sixpence a Mile, but it don't 'bleege me to knock at a door._"]

* * * * *


Vy, here's a pretty time o 'day! a precious hact indeed! I'm blest if, since I tuk the vip, the like I ever seed. The ould hacts they vos dreadful bad, and cut us all to bits; For justice from just-asses a poor Cabman never gits: Though he may do the thing vot's fair, the fare the thing vot's shabby, It's all the same; the ugly beak is allus down on Cabby.

But look at this 'ere hact: my eye! there's fine and pris'n, too! I vonder vot the Parleyment is going next to do. Just s'pose a fare should leave a purse or pocket-book behind, And s'pose, ven I gits to my stand, the book or purse I find; It isn't mine, it's werry true, but I don't know it's his'n; And there comes claws eleven, and claws a 'onest man to pris'n!

Then see the "rates" in Sheddle A, vy vot a shame it is To drag two fat uns near a mile, and only git a tiz! Now s'pose a twelve-stun fare comes up and takes me off the rank, And makes me drive him, pretty sharp, from Smiffield to the Bank; I civ'lly axes eighteenpence, and cheap, too, for the job-- He sticks into me claws seventeen, and fines me forty bob!

Ve're chaffed and jeered by every cove, by slaveys on a bus; Our werry watermen are now our masters top of us. A po-lice chap may poke his dirty mug into my cab, And, if he says it isn't clean, my license he may grab; And arterwards, if I but "use" my own cab, I must pay, Says claws the third, a penalty of sixty bob a day!!!

Vy, haven't Cabmen feelings? Then vot right 'ave you to gash em? They aren't 'osses, vich, we know, all likes us for to lash em. If we are druv about all day from this to t'other station, Our fares screw'd down to sich a pint as 's werry near starwation, Our parson'l liberty consarned, and bilked of all our priggings, I'm blowed if I don't drop the reins and bolt off to the diggings.

* * * * *


The honourable and gallant Member for Lincoln has reason for complaining that there is no prospect of the outlay upon the New Houses of Parliament being finished. The outlay will not be finished before the Houses are--Victoria Tower and all; and when we see what progress is being made with the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, we cannot but think how desirable it is that those edifices, and, indeed, the whole Parliamentary concern should have been got up by a Houses of Parliament Company. If that had been the case, the edifices would not only have been long since lighted, ventilated, and decorated, but the thing would now be a paying property. Such it might easily have been rendered by making the galleries larger, and admitting the public at so much a head--say playhouse prices--which crowded audiences doubtless would be willing to give, in order to hear the spouting. Besides, the Members might have been required to pay for their seats, and the revelations that have taken place this session before the Election Committees afford sufficient assurance that they would have done that handsomely.

* * * * *


We suppose that the principal objection of the Irish priesthood to the ARCHBISHOP OF DUBLIN'S _Christian Evidences_ as a national school-book, is, that if the pupils were allowed to have the truth of Christianity proved to them, they would also want proof of everything else that their Reverences tell them to believe.

* * * * *


Light your cigar _first_, and, after you have taken one or two whiffs, turn round, and inquire, most politely, "If smoking is disagreeable to any one present?"

* * * * *

THE MOST UNPLEASANT MEETING.--Having to meet a Bill.

* * * * *



Come, all you British females of wealth and high degree, Bestowing all your charity on lands beyond the sea, I'll point you out a pattern which a better plan will teach Than that of sending Missioners to Tombuctoo to preach.

Converting of the Heathen's a very proper view, By preaching true religion to Pagan and to Jew, And bringing over Cannibals to Christian meat and bread, Unless they catch your Parson first and eat him up instead.

But what's more edifying to see, a pretty deal, Is hearty British labourers partaking of a meal, With wives, and lots of children, about their knees that climb, And having tucked their platefuls in, get helped another time.

Beyond the roaring ocean; beneath the soil we tread, You've English men and women, well housed and clothed and fed, Who but for help and guidance to leave our crowded shores, Would now be stealing, begging, or lie starving at our doors.

Who taught them self-reliance, and stirred them to combine, And club their means together to get across the brine, Instead of strikes, and mischief, and breaking of the law, And wasting time in hearing incendiaries jaw?

Who led their expeditions? and under whose command Through dangers and through hardships sought they the promised land? A second MOSES, surely, it was who did it all, It was a second MOSES in bonnet and in shawl.

By means of one good lady were all these wonders wrought, By CAROLINE CHISHOLM'S energy, benevolence, and thought, Instead of making here and there a convert of a Turk, She has made idle multitudes turn fruitfully to work.

The ragged pauper crawling towards a parish grave She roused--directed to a home beyond the western wave; She smoothed his weary passage across the troubled deep, With food, and air, and decencies of ship-room and of sleep.

There's many a wife and mother will bless that lady's name, Embracing a fat infant--who might else have drowned the same, A mother, yet no wife, compelled by poverty to sin, And die in gaol or hospital of misery and gin.

The REVEREND EBENEZER, I'd not deny his dues, For saving Patagonians, and Bosjesmen, and Zooloos; But MRS. CHISHOLM'S mission is what I far prefer; For saving British natives I'd give the palm to her.

And now that a subscription is opened and begun, In order to acknowledge the good that she has done Among that sort of natives--the most important tribe-- Come down like handsome people, and handsomely subscribe.

* * * * *


TUESDAY--MAY 28, 18--,

Shall I ever forget the day? As it comes round--if I'm spared for fifty years--I'm sure I shall always feel a chill, a pang at the thoughts of it. That dear, foolish creature, FRED! As if being shot could make it any better! And then the thought--the horrid thought would press itself--piercing like a dagger--to be sent into weeds in one's very Honeymoon!

Of course, the whole house was raised. When JOSEPHINE heard me scream, and came to the bedroom door, and found it locked, and couldn't make me sensible to open it--for I'd the key in my hand, and so had dropt it on the floor when I fell myself in a swoon--

Of course, when JOSEPHINE could make nobody hear, she very soon raised the house, and there were chambermaids and waiters at the door, and they were breaking it open, when I came enough to myself to prevent it!

"It's all right, Ma'am," said JOSEPHINE. "Master's safe: not a whit the worse, depend on't."

"Safe! Are you sure?"--

"Certain, Ma'am. 'Cause the landlord has given information to the constables, and no doubt on it, he says, they'll all be in custody afore they can shoot one another."

"Shoot!" Well--for the moment--I did hate the creature as she spoke the word; speaking it with all the coolness in life--death, I _might_ say.

I hastily slipped something on: went into our room. Had up the landlord, the landlady; and it really was wonderful--gave me for the time quite a shock at human nature--to see how little they were moved--in fact not moved at all--by my wretchedness, my downright misery. "Oh," I thought, every other minute, "if I once get him home again!" And then the next moment, some horrid sight would come before me--and no one, no one to help or advise me. Yes. The landlady counselled me to have a cup of tea, and the landlord advised me to make myself comfortable. "Things o' the sort"--he said--"never come to nothing, now-a-days. Besides, he'd given the word to the constables--and I might make myself easy they'd all be locked up in a jiffy."

"Could he tell me"--I asked--"the most likely road to take?"

"Why, no," he said, "some folks took one, some another. Some liked the cliffs, some the Devil's Dyke; but as he'd sent all ways, why, again he assured me, I had nothing to do but to make myself comfortable."

And even as the horrid man said this, his more dreadful wife--not but what the woman meant well; only I couldn't abide her for her composure at such a time--the woman came to me stirring a cup of tea with, as she said, just a spoonful of brandy in it to settle my spirits.

What a thought! I to take tea with brandy in it, and FREDERICK perhaps at that moment--

JOSEPHINE--I'll do the girl so much justice at last--was running to and fro, upstairs and downstairs--and putting the house, from one end to the other, in a ferment. At last the landlady desired her to be quiet, and not go about making noise enough to tear people out of their beds. If all the world was gone out to be shot, that was no reason why their house should be ruined!

Well, I won't attempt to describe the two hours I suffered! How, sometimes, I thought I'd have a horse and go galloping anywhere, everywhere.

"It's all over, Ma'am!"--cried JOSEPHINE, running in.

"Over!" and I saw death in the girl's face.

"Over, Ma'am. They fired two shots, Ma'am--two a-piece--they say, and"--


"And master"--

"Killed!"--I screamed.

"No, Ma'am! Quite the reverse!"--

(How I thanked the girl for the words, though where _could_ she have picked 'em up?)

"He has not killed his--I mean the--other gentleman?"--

"No, Ma'am, totally the contrary. Nobody's hit--not so much as winged, though what that means I can't say--only I heard one of the men say as much. But all of 'em in custody."

"What now? Why, what for?--"

"Why, Ma'am, as I hear, for every one of the gentlemen to be bound over to keep his peace for the rest of his born days! And la! bless me--how ill you turn, Ma'am, and when it's all over?"

"Not at all, JOSEPHINE. I'm very well, now: very well, indeed," and then rose my determination. Yes, I'd go home that very day. "JOSEPHINE, pack up as much as you can. Your master shall go home, I'll take care of _that_ directly."

"That's right, Ma'am. Now you've got him safe and sound once more, you couldn't do better, Ma'am. And for MR. TRUEPENNY"--

Well, his very name set me in a flame. "MR. TRUEPENNY! He never crosses _my_ threshold! A very pretty friend indeed, to come and lure a man--a newly-married man"--

"Not married a month yet, quite, Ma'am," said JOSEPHINE, "which makes it hard."--

"And take him out, I may say, in cold blood"--

"Which makes it ten times wickeder," said JOSEPHINE.

"And butcher him like a lamb," said I.

"Exactly like a lamb, Ma'am," cried the girl. "Only there is this difference, Ma'am: you know master isn't a bit hurt."

"That has nothing to do with it. He might have been killed, and what would MR. TRUEPENNY have cared? No! I might have been left a wretched widow!"

"And much MR. TRUEPENNY would have helped you then, Ma'am," said the good girl.

"No, he never crosses the _Flitch_--never: and that I shall tell your master. The foolish, dear fellow! How I will scold him."

"Do, Ma'am; he deserves it all. To go fighting and--and after all, do you know for a certainty what he went fighting about?"--

"Folly, madness, of course," said I. "Jealous of"--

"Well, I thought so!" cried JOSEPHINE, with a strange knowing look. "I thought as much. Jealous, and of you, too, above all folks! And in your Honeymoon, too. Well, I'm sure; as if there wasn't time enough for that!"

"I don't mean to say jealous; not of me--of course not. But the fact is, he fired up at a rudeness, a liberty that"--

"You don't say so, Ma'am!" cried the girl. "La, and if you please, how was that?"

"Why, it was all folly--all nonsense--and he ought to have known better; but--there was a little flower-girl on the beach. What's the matter, JOSEPHINE?" for I saw the creature look suddenly confused.

"Nothing, Ma'am--only I--I once saw that girl--a gipsey-girl, Ma'am--with flowers, Ma'am; yes, to be sure."

"Then you know her?" I asked.

"Can't say I know. Because one should hardly lower oneself to know a creature of that sort. Only once, and perhaps twice, I've had a nosegay of her."

"Well, she _would_ give a nosegay to me," said I.

"Just like 'em, Ma'am," replied JOSEPHINE.

"Yes. She ran to me, and put a nosegay in my hand. And in that nosegay, what, JOSEPHINE--(and I watched her narrowly as I further questioned)--what do you think there was?"

"Law! Who can answer for the gipsies," cried JOSEPHINE.

"Well, then, there was a letter--a love-letter; and that letter finding its way to your master's hand"--

"Oh, Ma'am! _Do_ forgive me! Pray forgive me! I couldn't help it; but I see it all now. The gentleman _would_ write--that letter was not for you!"--

"No? For whom then?"--

"If you please, Ma'am, and you'll not be angry, that letter"--said the bold creature--"that letter was for me!"--

"For _you_! And here has nearly been murder done--here has your master"--

But at the moment FRED ran into the room, and I was in his arms.

* * * * *


_N.B._ MR. JONES'S _skin is extremely sensitive; he must not remove his hands from the Table, and for 35 agonising minutes a wretched fly makes a promenade of his face_.]

* * * * *


How to find fit work for convicts--work that shall at the same time be serviceable to the Public, and shall not take the bread out of the mouths of honest men--is a question that nobody has yet answered. Profound philosophers have sometimes got very near to the discovery of the quadrature of the circle, perpetual motion, the transmutation of metals, the elixir of life, the crystallisation of carbon, the longitude. They have almost succeeded; all but solved the problem; when, just on the verge of the accomplishment of the great work, they find all their profound calculations upset by some petty, superficial obstacle which they had overlooked. Precisely thus had we nearly attained to the invention of a proper employment for convicted thieves: just so were we confounded on the brink of success by a stumbling-block, which has tripped us up and flung us back again heels over head, alighting, however, on the former, as we always do.

A communication in the _Civil Service Gazette_ states the case of a letter-carrier, in the Derby district, who has to walk above 20 miles a day, and deliver letters at eleven villages. This amount of walking exercise, allowing 15 minutes for delivery at each village, and 25 minutes for refreshment, the writer calculates to be 8 miles an hour for 2½ hours. It reads like an achievement of running a fabulous distance and picking up an incredible number of stones with the mouth. That a man might match himself to attempt such a feat of pedestrianism for a limited period and high stakes is conceivable: but this one does it daily for 11s. Of course he has sent in his resignation; no free agent could continue to do such work on such terms. Only eleven shillings for all this hard labour!

Hard labour. These two words are brilliantly suggestive--seem to flash upon us the settlement of the convict employment question. Hard labour--occupation toilsome and unremunerative; at the same time useful: just the proper occupation for criminals. Rig out all our rogues and thieves in blue and scarlet, turn them into postmen, and give them six months, or upwards, of 8 miles an hour for several hours daily letter-carrying. MERCURY in Windsor uniform; messenger and thief in one: on the turnpike treadmill--'tis a pretty idea, too, into the bargain.

But here up starts the difficulty. It is peculiarly necessary that a postman should, before all things, be honest. By this trifling obstacle is the magnificently specious scheme of substituting Post Office employment for the treadmill frustrated. The mounted police, and other constabulary, might prevent the fellows from escaping, and keep them in their routes; but could hardly hinder them from secreting money and notes in stumps of trees, old walls, and other nooks and corners, for concealment therein till the expiration of their sentences. Whilst, however, there exists this objection to the employment of rogues as postmen, there is nothing whatever to forbid them from employing themselves in that capacity. Hence the frequent abstraction of half-sovereigns from letters; taxing the detective acumen of MR. SCULTHORPE.

We see that a bumpkin of a Post Office messenger was tried the other day at the assizes for making away with letters. He was an ignorant clown: and he destroyed them simply that he might not have the trouble of delivering them. Alas for our economy! Unfortunately we can't give inadequate wages without being in danger of getting either a knave for our servant or a fool.

So we didn't quite set the Thames on fire; it won't do to make letter-carriers of convicts: and as to the nuisance of having knaves and fools amongst our postmen, there is evidently no help for that but to raise the postmen's salaries.

* * * * *


MR. LUCAS, the other evening, made a reasonable speech in the House. He complained that the principle of religious equality, in English prisons, was not sufficiently observed with regard to Roman Catholic prisoners. A fair ground of complaint! By all means let every Romanist convict enjoy his own conviction.

* * * * *


[Illustration: T]

This question is, at last, effectively answered. We are glad to announce that _Constantinople has just been taken by_ MESSERS. GRIEVE and TELBIN, who, dead to the influence of Russian gold, refuse to surrender it, upon any terms, into the hands of the EMPEROR NICHOLAS. They intend to hold out as long as they possibly can; but all English subjects will be admitted to view its numerous beauties by applying at the Gallery of Illustration, in Regent Street.

No Russians need apply.

* * * * *


A complaint against damp houses has been recently made by a letter-writer in the _Times_, who says he has suffered severely from wet walls. We are happy in suggesting an efficient remedy by recommending that the walls of new houses should be papered with Parliamentary speeches, the usual dryness of which would, we are convinced, render any little dampness impossible.

* * * * *


There was a talk of passports being issued with photographic portraits. Men may not object to this plan, as they do not care so much for a little disfigurement, but we doubt strongly if ladies will ever give their countenances to it. It is well known that photographic portraits do not improve the beauty of any one. They give the features of the "human face divine," but without the slightest touch of flattery. Worse than this, if there should be any little defect, the cruel metal does not trouble itself in the least to conceal it, but has the vulgarity to render it in all its staring obliquity or deformity. We have our fears, therefore, that this very unfashionable system of portrait painting will never suit the ladies. It goes upon the Antipodean theory of making the pretty faces appear ugly, and the ugly ones still uglier. We are confident that no lady who has any respect for herself, or her husband, will face such an ordeal. Some other plan must be invented by the police, or else there will be an end to all travelling on the part of our ladies.

Where is the woman who would care about going abroad, when she was liable to be stopped at every minute, and forced to produce, for the amusement of some coarse gensd'arme, an ugly photographic portrait of herself? We propose, therefore, that the following system be adopted:--Let M. BAUGNIET, or some other artist as clever in taking portraits, be constantly in attendance at the passport office. He would strike off a likeness in a very short time--such a likeness as, delicately flattered, the lady herself would take a positive pleasure in producing every time she was asked for it. It would be an elegant work of art; which the lady would like, probably, to preserve by her, and the possession of which would also materially enhance the pleasures of travelling. All the expenses to be paid, of course, by the State--for it would be a most ungracious action to ask a lady to pay for her own portrait--or else to be defrayed by the railways, or steam-packets, of the country which the fair traveller intended to visit. The companies would be amply repaid by the influx of passengers, besides having the enviable privilege of claiming copies of all their female visitors. An ample profit, even, might be realized by selling the lithographs, for a lady might be allowed to claim as many copies of her likeness as she pleased, upon the understanding that all copies, beyond the one which was _given_ to her for the necessary police purposes of travelling, were to be paid for. A large revenue might be derived from this branch of the passport system, for what lady would hesitate to take a hundred copies of herself, if she was made extremely handsome?

* * * * *


The Vegetarians have been consuming a quantity of green stuff in public at the Town Hall of Salford. We shall expect soon to hear of a variety of Extraordinary Feats performed by geniuses of the Vegetarian class, such as swallowing turnips whole, demolishing spinach by the sieve, onions by the rope, and cabbages by the cartload. We perceive that the Vegetarians have set themselves in opposition to everything like compromise; and a poor unfortunate who endeavoured to meet the Vegetarians half way by living on tapioca, was recently hooted down, and warned of the frightful consequences to be apprehended from the starch in the tapioca, which might lead to stiffness of the joints, and a thousand other maladies.

* * * * *


Of COCHRANE and the Court, Sing the glorious day's renown, When to Spithead did resort All that London could send down Where they lodged the night before, is unknown-- Room to sit, or sleep, or stand, Fancy prices did command: With the houseless, street and strand Thick were strewn.

Many a cockney was afloat, Unaccustomed to the brine; But no wind to speak of blew, And the day was bright and fine; It was ten of Thursday morn by the chime, And no ripple curled in wrath, As they steamed upon their path, And sniffed old NEPTUNE'S breath. Oh, 'twas prime!

Old penny boats, new-brushed, Till they looked quite smart and clean, Their bows plebeian pushed More nobby craft between. "Give 'em coke!" the captains cried; and each one Charged his furnace to the lips, Till steamers, yachts, and ships, The funnel's clouds eclipse-- Dark and dun!

In vain! in vain! in vain! All attempts to keep 'em back;-- With a turn-a-head, again They were right across the track-- Underneath some first-rate's bows, or frigate's boom-- Spite of angry captain's hail, And passengers grown pale, When did Thames' steamers fail, To find room?

The well-bred yachting men Much better did behave, With six pounders and e'en ten Their salute they duly gave, And their burgees to the breeze did smartly fling-- While Solent's shores repeat The thunders of the fleet, That HER MAJESTY to greet, Loudly ring!

Till to the great relief Of eyes and ears and nose, At a signal from the chief The salutes came to a close, And we thought the firing over for the day; While COBDEN and friend BRIGHT Asked themselves "if such a sight Of powder we'd a right To fire away?"

When sudden through the haze, The foemen heave in sight, And again those broadsides blaze In the mimicry of fight-- But yet, from out the cannon's harmless roar, Speaks a warning true and deep, Of the floating powers that sleep, The curse of war to keep From our shore!

The friends of peace may chide, But not the less 'tis true, There's a time our strength to hide, And a time to show it, too; 'Tis not always true economy to save-- Then wherever ocean rolls, From the equator to the Poles, May our hearts of oak bear sail, True and brave!

* * * * *

AN OBTUSE ANGLE?--Attempting to catch a perch with a hook, but no bait.

* * * * *



* * * * *


(_By a Distinct Observer._)

I had the advantage of inspecting the Review of the Fleet from a peculiar point of view. Before me was an enormous volume of smoke, which completely prevented me from seeing the vessels; it was, however, a volume in which I think I read something to the purpose.

There is, perhaps, hardly any mind wherein the tremendous roar of 1,076 guns, the smallest of which are 32 pounders, and the largest throw 68 lb. shot and 84 lb. shells, would not excite some degree of emotion of some sort.

The boom of each Brobdignagian piece of ordnance inspired me with a sum in mental arithmetic, which the immediate thunder of another explosion prevented me from carrying out with strict accuracy. The problem, however, was simple enough. So much noise, so much gunpowder, so much money. So much money; so much taxation. The scene--of smoke chiefly--was too sublime; the noise was too overwhelming; perhaps I had also drunk too much brandy and water: to admit of my COCKERING myself in exact calculation; but I ciphered roughly in a mental soliloquy, thus:--

Bang! There goes the Income Tax. Bang! That's the Succession Duty. Bang! Bang! That's the Stamp and Paper Duties. Bang! Bang! Bang! There's the Assessed Taxes. Bom! the Malt Tax. Pop! the Wine Duties. Pop-pop-pop! The rest of the Taxes on Consumption.

All this money gone in fire and smoke? Not so--the greater part of it, doubtless in national defence and Peace Assurance; but is it not just possible that a rather enthusiastic nation may get a little too fond--as it has been ere now--of gunpowder and artillery; a little too prone, if it does not take care--no disparagement to Chobham Camps and Spithead Reviews--to amuse itself by playing at soldiers and sailors.

Of course it is necessary, to a certain extent, to discharge small arms and to fire broadsides at nothing. But yet, "amid the joy and the uproar" of these imposing high jinks, it may be a useful exercise for the mind of the spectator, if not too much clouded by powder smoke, or other fumes, to count the cost of the cartridges, and compute the dimensions of the hole which they blow in our pocket.

* * * * *


It is useless to affect any further disguise with respect to the condition of an Illustrious Body; or to the human certainty, almost, of that melancholy event which nothing but some unlooked for occurrence, or inconceivable change in the Constitution, can now protract above a few days. The following Bulletin was issued this morning:--

"_St. Stephen's, August 18, 1853._

"Parliament has passed a very unfavourable night; for the most part in a state of extreme prostration: dozing heavily at intervals, but now and then exhibiting symptoms of restlessness. The distinguished patient is happily free from pain, and so completely in possession of the mental faculties as to express a wish for Grouse: but the difficulty of performing the vital functions increases; and the mind of the nation must be prepared for the inevitable result.


We cannot be expected to express much sorrow at the approaching departure of the Imperial sufferer from the present Session of existence, already protracted beyond the usual span; and, in fact, will not pretend to say that we shall not consider it a very happy release.

* * * * *

THE REVIEW AT SPITHEAD.--It is wonderful that this affair was not a sad mistake; for there is no doubt that the Reviewers were all at sea.



* * * * *


[Illustration: T]

There is a question we would ask the reader: Did ever he meet with a person who had sent any "conscience-money" to the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER? We have met with many curious people in our lifetime, but we must say we never came in contact with an eccentric individual, who indulged in any peculiarity half so strange as the above. We do not believe such an individual exists. If ever there was a myth, we should say that individual is fairly entitled to call himself one. He must be the myth of all myths; unless perchance it is the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER himself, who sends all these conscience-moneys. We have long had a suspicion of this nature; firstly, because we never see any return of these numerous sums of money entered in the Quarter's Revenue; and, secondly, because we believe he does it to decoy others to do the same. If you notice, these conscientious offerings are generally made in favour of the income-tax. Now, the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER knows very well that this tax is not a popular one. He also knows that, on account of its unpopularity, there is a very large class of HER MAJESTY'S subjects who particularly dislike paying it. Give them but a chance of evading the payment, and they do not in the least scruple availing themselves of it. We do not say whether the practice, so pursued, is honest or not, but such is the fact! The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, therefore, hits every now and then upon the "conscience-money" expedient in order to reproach every man who has been a defaulter with the fact of his non-payment. It is only another way of saying to him, "Why don't you follow his example? Look at A. B.; what a noble-minded fellow he is! By some accident he has neglected to pay £50 for his share of the Income-Tax, and here, by Jove, he has sent it! Now, if _you_ have any conscience, you will immediately do the same."

We cannot say whether any one does send anything. A few pounds may drop in occasionally, but we suspect that the majority of the sums, sent in the name of A. B., or X. Y. Z., and the other popular initials of the alphabet, are forwarded by the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER himself. It is a financial dodge for inducing reluctant tax-payers to do that as a matter of "conscience," which they will not do as a pleasure.

* * * * *


Among the many novel systems of medicine for which the present day is remarkable, there is one distinguished by a name that, at least, seems very appropriate. It is called Coffinism. This is candid. The term, however, is so comprehensive, that it might, with great correctness, be applied to all manner of therapeutical schemes which deviate from true medical science. There is one right method of treating diseases, and there are many wrong ones; to all whereof the denomination of Coffinism is justly applicable; since it indicates, with exactness, the tendency of each of them; every improper way of attempting to cure people being a path which leads to the "bourne from which no traveller returns:" in short, which terminates in the elm box.

* * * * *


We hope we have heard the last of the EMPEROR OF RUSSIA'S Ultimatums, or Ultimata, just as you like to call it. We trust the EMPEROR will bear in mind the old Latin injunction of "_Ne sutor ultra crepidam_", which, for his own particular Imperial use, we beg to alter into "_Ne sutor ultra Ultimatum_."

* * * * *

CURE FOR A CUT.--Buy a new suit of clothes.

* * * * *



Wearily spins the web of life; Dismally London's streets I tread: I've got at home a consumptive wife, And two small children lying dead. (_Aside._) I must indulge a quiet grin-- I shall feel better when I've laughed; My wife's at home consuming gin, While the children sleep with an opium draught.

If my wife and children you could see, I'm sure you'd help me, good Christians all; Believe my wretched tale, and on me In halfpence let your compassion fall. (_Aside._) If my wife and children you wish to meet As soon as she's sober, you'll mayhap Find her in the adjoining street, With the well-drugg'd infants on her lap.

A Weaver I've always been by trade, From the time when I was eight years old; But I've been unfit for labour made, By hunger, over-work, and cold. (_Aside._) Yes, I am a Weaver, I'll stick to that; And my skill will often myself surprise, When I think what precious yarns I spin, And what wondrous webs I weave--of lies.

To beg I'm forbidden by the Act; But Providence will your charity bless, If you'll purchase a small religious tract From a pious Weaver in distress. (_Aside._) Hallo! how's this? I'm fairly caught; A religious tract, I think I said; I've left them at home, and by Jove, I've brought My stock of flash song-books out instead.

* * * * *




"In my last letter to you, I mentioned a few of the _Statutum ests_ of '_Tit._ XIV.' of the Oxford Statutes; and I now come to consider '_Tit._ XV.' of the same amusing work, premising that I shall confine my remarks to this _Tit._, as it would be a task of insufferable weariness--and one, I suppose, which like the discovery of the source of the Nile, no philanthropist would ever live to carry out--to attempt to explore the twenty-one _Tits._, which, with their _appendices_ branches, run through that immense tract of paper intended for the use of the academic youth (_in usum juventutis academicaæ_). But I may remark, _en passant_, as our 'lively neighbours' say--(I don't know French, _Mr. Punch_, but I like to quote it occasionally, as it shows refinement and education, and that you read the _Morning Post_, and all that sort of thing)--I may remark, that for the Vice-Chancellor to drive twenty-one of these _Tits._ in hand, and keep them well together, must be no ordinary act of JEHU-ism; and I think it would have added greatly to the effect of the late Commemoration, if they had put out illustrated posters, that the new Chancellor, 'acknowledged by the Press to be the premier jockey of the day, and without a Peer in the Westminster Circle,' would make his 'first public entrance into Oxford, driving TWENTY-ONE TITS IN HAND!' after which would, of course, follow 'the performances in the Theatre,' with 'the drolleries of the Caucasian Clown,' and 'the laughable farce of _The Phenomenon in a Doctor's gown.'_ I think something might have been made of that; but the hint may perhaps be taken against the next opportunity.

"_Tit._ XV. treats '_De moribus conformandis_;" and it first orders that all juniors should pay due respect to their seniors--their seniors that is, in academical rank, for age does _not_ come before dignity in Oxford--the undergraduates to the B.A.'s, the B.A.'s to the M.A.'s, the M.A.'s to the D.C.L.'s, and so on, according to the standing of the 'Man of letters;' (a phrase which evidently refers to those mysterious decimations of the alphabet, which some people delight to put after their names). And the 'due respect' is to be shown, firstly, by yielding up the best seats, (_locum potiorem cedendo_) which, they tell me, was done in the theatre at the late Commemoration, by putting the undergraduates in the gallery, the M.A.'s in the pit, and reserving the boxes and dress circle for the 'Dons' and the ladies; and secondly, by giving the wall, and by capping, or, as the Statute more expressively says, 'by uncovering the head at a proper distance,' (_ad justum intervallum caput aperiendo_) though what this proper distance may be, appears to be left to the taste of the capper, the rank of the cappee, the force of the wind, the length of the arm, or any other directing influence. Probably the distance is measured by the relative dignity of the wearers of the cap, so that an undergraduate would have to uncover himself as soon as the Vice-Chancellor came in sight; and, in the event of a dispute as to the proper distance, the matter would probably be settled as they arrange similar differences of opinion under the new Cab Act, and would be brought before the Vice-Chancellor's Court, who would, doubtless, order the distance to be measured. At any rate, it appears that my son PETERLOO will have to learn to keep his distance, and this inclines me to think favourably of this Statute; for I have always been of opinion (since I made money by it) that there is nothing like being 'umble' to your superiors, and showing them all that respect which they desire, even if they don't deserve. But I am glad that the Oxford authorities enforce this Statute by wisely ordaining that those who neglect the proper marks of respect, shall be punished with impositions, loss of terms, and the setting down of their names in the Proctor's Black Book, (_in Libro Nigro Procuratorum_), which I have no doubt is the Bogy with which the nurses of Alma Mater terrify and awe her refractory children. But moreover, if they should still contumaciously persist in their conduct, (_si contumaces perstiterint_), they shall be fined in addition, not more than five pounds for each offence. It does not say what is done with the money, but it probably goes towards purchasing a plaister for wounded dignity. Now, _Mr. Punch_, as touching this healthy Statute, I am rather curious to know how many undergraduates, B.A.'s, or M.A.'s, were, during the late Commemoration, castigated by the Proctors (_Procuratoribus castigentur_), or fined this five pounds, or had their names put down in that terrible Black Book, or done anything else to, for not capping at a proper distance, or yielding the wall to DR. SAMUEL WARREN, D.C.L., F.R.S., &c. &c., when they met that talented author of _The Lily and the Bee_, (that _sweet, thoughtful_ poem, as MRS. BROWN calls it,) when he promenaded the High Street in all the scarlet glories of his new D.C.L.-ship? For, if the Proctors' Black Book be innocent of names branded therein for the dire offences mentioned, of course there would not be such a Statute for matriculating members to swear to obey.


"It is next ordered that nobody should wander idly about the city or its suburbs, or be seen loitering about the streets, or the public market-place; (_neque in Plateis, aut publico Foro, stantes aut commorantes conspiciantur_,) just as though Oxford was always in a state of insurrection, and it was feared that if groups of students lounged in the streets, the Riot Act would have to be read, and the military called out. But, on the whole, I admire this rule also; for I know that when young men hang about in front of attractive shop-windows, the natural result is the running up of bills; and my son, PETERLOO, has rather a pretty taste for jewellery and pictures. I am glad to think, therefore, that the authorities put a stop to these expensive lounges, and even punish them '_pro arbitrio Vice-Cancellarii, vel Procuratorum_.' But I cannot help thinking, _Mr. Punch_, how greatly painters must draw on their own imaginations, when they represent the High Street of Oxford as always enlivened by several of these condemned groups: clearly an artistic license, as the authorities would have immediately dispersed them, in accordance with their Statute.

"The next Statute that says nobody must frequent the houses of the townspeople and the workshops of artificers, without reasonable cause, I pass over with the simple remark, that it would have been better to have avoided the gratuitous insult that places respectable houses in the same clause with others that are both shameless and nameless; and I come to the next Statute, which says that Nobody shall frequent the taverns, wine-shops, or places within the city and University precincts, where wine, or any other liquor, or the herb Nicotiana or 'Tobacco,' is commonly sold. ('_Cauponis, Ænopoliis ac domibus_ * * * _in quibus vinum, aut quivis alius potus, aut herba Nicotiana sive_ Tobacco, _ordinarie venditur, abstineant_), and that the townspeople who admit the students to such houses shall be heavily fined, or punished with loss of custom for a certain time.


"Bless me, _Mr. Punch_! to think that I have smoked tobacco all my life, and called it by its wrong name! But, as SAM SLICK observes of the Frenchman, 'Blow'd if he didn't call a hat a shappo! This comes of his not speaking English!' so, I suppose, I fell into the mistake of calling the herb Nicotiana by its vulgar name of Tobacco, from not having had the advantage of an Oxford education. The Statute speaks for itself. It entirely sets at rest those absurd reports that we hear and read of the great consumption in Oxford of wines and spirituous liquors, pale ale, and the herb Nicotiana; and when my neighbour's son, BELLINGHAM GREY, of Christchurch, has the politeness to offer me a 'weed' (he does not call it a 'herb,' I observe, so I suppose the plant has degenerated,) which he says he purchased at CASTLE'S, or some other great stronghold for Oxford smokers; and when he further entertains me with accounts of snug little undergraduate dinners at the Star, or Mitre, and how from the effects of an injudicious mixture of liquors the waiter's face came to be artistically corked and otherwise taken liberties with; and when he narrates other anecdotes of a like pleasant nature, I must suppose that he takes me for a Marine, and tells his tales accordingly. For it is very evident to all sensible persons, that when the authorities require the students to swear _not_ to do these things, and to receive certain punishments if they do them, that they would be strict in enforcing the Statute, and would not tamely suffer either thoughtless undergraduates to break their oaths, or the unfortunate tavern and shop-keepers, and vendors of the herb Nicotiana, to run a risk of fines and loss of custom. Would they, _Mr. Punch_? I should rayther think not, says

"Your Constant Reader, PETERLOO BROWN."

* * * * *

A BARE POSSIBILITY.--The Russian Bear keeping the peace in Europe for long.

* * * * *


The Act has at length passed for the total destruction of Westminster Bridge, and another bridge is to succeed, which, if it is really to succeed, must be as unlike as possible to the existing bridge, which has been a complete failure. The career of this bridge has been downward from the first, and its continuance has been a phenomenon similar to that which is illustrated by the old saying that "a creaking door hangs long upon the hinges." Westminster Bridge has been, as long as we can remember, "going, going, going," and it has been a matter of constant wonder that it had never yet "gone." We have never on traversing it been able to look back upon it with the respect due to "the bridge that carries us safely over," for we have always felt that the safety was due rather to good fortune than to any merit the bridge itself had to rest upon.

We cannot help feeling delighted that an act of Parliament will at last put this unhappy old bridge out of its misery, instead of sanctioning the further infliction of the painful operations to which it has been subjected. The poor old bridge is no longer to be maimed and mutilated, but it is to be made away with once and for ever. It has already undergone the process of trepanning, by having something removed from its crown, and it has long ago been able to boast of nothing better than wooden legs, by the process of giving it timbers to stand upon, as well as wooden arms, by the substitution of wood-work for its old original balustrades. We are delighted that the old nuisance will not be suffered to die in its bed, or rather in the bed of the river, into which it daily threatened to tumble. Westminster Bridge has, indeed, had a fair trial, for it has been tried by its piers, and its condemnation has been the inevitable result, for its piers have been, perhaps, the chief cause of its downfall.

* * * * *


MISS LAURA TREMAINE _to her Sister, the Wife of_ AUGUSTUS FLOPP, ESQ., M.P.


"Certainly, of all the unkind, and churlish creatures that ever lived, the House of Commons contains the very worst specimens, and, my dear, they are all alike, so there is no use in your making a protest on behalf of your own Honourable Member. Not to take you to the Spithead Review, and then to plead, as an apology, that there were no ships for your accommodation! And this is the omnipotent Parliament, that has only to say that coals shall not smoke, and they instantly emit nothing but perfumed incense; that cabmen shall not cheat, and they at once become as polite as guardsmen (and a great deal politer); that candidates shall not bribe, and they immediately begin to pay the voters who have opposed them, just to prevent the poor men from being unlawfully rewarded by their own friends. And yet this wonderful Parliament pretends that it cannot find a ship or two to take its own wives to see the Queen review the fleet! The men must think you are perfect geese, my dear LOO, to offer you such rubbishing excuses. It is very well for AUGUSTUS that he married you and not me, as he was once inclined to do (he _was_, so you need not make a face), for you accept 'the House' as an excuse for everything, and are afraid to look at the newspaper in the morning to see what hour Parliament rose, for fear you should discover that he _could_ not have been waiting for a division at three. And you believe, too, that it is necessary for him to be full dressed for a debate, and that it produces just the same effect upon him as champagne does upon ordinary men. O, LOUISA! But you _like_ it, I believe.

Well, as I have not got an AUGUSTUS to tell me stories and leave me at home, I went with LADY DE GULES and her sister to Portsmouth, and every kind of care was taken of us. We went from the hotel (where I hear they were demanding unheard-of prices from strangers, and charging them five guineas for leave to pass the night on a hob, with the run of the fender for a dressing-room), and some naval officers whom LADY DE GULES ordered up for our service--her brother, you know, is a Lord of Admiralty--escorted us through the dockyard, and had a boat waiting at the stairs to take us to a great steamship lying in the harbour. Now, I should like to know why the wives of Parliament could not have had this very ship. There was plenty of room, nothing could be nicer. We had an awning over us, and the Captain ordered one of the cannons to be taken in, so that we had the porthole for a window, and there we clustered, LADY DE GULES having shawls and things put upon the cannon, and perching herself on the top. There were a few good people on board, but I rather think that at the last moment, when the Admiralty authorities found that they did not want the tickets, they flung them to the local folks, who came on board very fussy and angular--horrid men, all in black at ten in the morning, and women covered with jewellery, which one of the little middies said they bought cheap of the Jews in the High Street--it _did_ look like it. However, they kept at a respectful distance, and sneered at one another. Some of the officers on board were very attentive, and if I wanted to marry a man in uniform, I would sooner have the sea-livery than the land. They are fresher, and much pleasanter to talk to than the hardened army men, and really think more of you than the other spoiled creatures do. It was quite delightful to see them fly about to make you comfortable, doing things the soldier-officers, as your dreadful child calls them, would faint at the idea of--except at Chobham, where I admit they behave very decently. I should think it was not impossible for a woman to get to like a sailor pretty well, if she saw nobody else.

About the sight itself, my dear LOUI, you had better ask somebody who understood it--your husband, perhaps, for he was in the _Bulldog_, which behaved dreadfully ill, breaking the line, or some fearful seawater crime. First, when the QUEEN came in her yellow yacht, the guns were fired, and then there was a long pause, while she visited the _Duke of Wellington_, a monster of a ship with, I think they said, eleven hundred and thirty-one guns, or tons, or something; but you must not take figures from me. Then we all went away in a sea-procession, which was very pretty, the great ships in long lines in the middle, hundreds of steamboats and thousands of yachts following in a miscellaneous crowd, the sun shining very brightly, and the sea as green as grass. LADY DE GULES, like a goose, fancied herself sea-sick, which I believe she would do if a glass of salt-water were set upon her dressing-table; but we would not pity her, and she thought better of it. While we were at lunch--at which the officers behaved with great devotion, and a disinterestedness remarkably unlike something you and I have seen--it seems that the fleet was cannonading an enemy, but I looked out of window and could see nothing but smoke, so we stayed where we were.


I send you a sketch of it from memory. _Entre nous_, I was not quite unprofitably engaged. I do not know whether it will come to anything, but just ask AUGUSTUS, _from yourself_, whether the Shropshire branch of the LARTONBURY family is the right one, and if he knows HENRY LARTONBURY. Swanby House, or Hall, or something, is, I think, the family place, but I have some idea that _my_ LARTONBURYS don't live there. Until I know this, of course, I can say nothing, but it is a _strong case_, and he can wait with great safety. Be sure you ask AUGUSTUS, and write to me directly to LADY DE GULES'S.

"We came to town by a special train with lots of Members of Parliament. I could not see AUGUSTUS, my dear, but the others did not look so unhappy at being without their wives as you pathetically tell me he looked on leaving you. O you silly LOUISA!

"I hope I have given you a full account of the day's proceedings, but the newspapers will tell you the rest--one of the writers was in the carriage with us--I had no idea they were such nice clean people, and he knew more than all the Members put together--there, don't look angry.

"Ever your affectionate,


"_Gules House, Saturday._"

"P.S.--Be particular about the _Shropshire_ branch, because there are some Hereford LARTONBURYS who won't do at all, and who ought to be made to change their name. Light hair, dark eyes, and a very affected manner, but not a bad style."

* * * * *


There is a curious epidemic flying about--we hardly know what it is--but it attacks principally the highest and the middle classes. So very contagious is it, and so certain in its effects, that, to our knowledge alone, no less than 5632 families, principally residing at the West-end, have been ordered by their physicians to _leave town immediately_ for "change of air."

* * * * *

SCREAMING.--A term generally applied to refractory children, and Adelphi farces!

* * * * *


* * * * *

Immense excitement prevails among an important class of manufacturers--those engaged in the manufacture of that atmospheric canopy, the sable expanse of which extends over London and its environs, serving the inhabitants of the whole metropolitan district as a parasol. The cause of this commotion is the Smoke Nuisance Bill--so called; against which a number of gentlemen, and others, professing the principles of Free Carbon, met last night to protest, at the Hole-and-Corner.

The chair having been taken by MR. SUTKINS, the business of the meeting commenced with uproar. Comparative silence having been obtained, MR. LONGSHAFT, brewer, rose to move a resolution, that the principle of the Smoke Bill was at variance with the constitution of England. At a time when London was much more smoky than it is now, it was said that "Liberty is like the air we breathe." Could any atmosphere be more salubrious than that air? Smoke possessed curative properties, especially in reference to hams; and the very essence of smoke was applied for the cure of kippered salmon. He had sent some bottles of smoke from his own brew-house to a celebrated German chemist, who had written him a certificate in the form of a letter, to the effect that he had analysed the smoke, and found it to consist principally of carbon, which possessed antiseptic properties; sulphurous and carbonic acid gases: the former of which acted as a tonic, whilst the latter constituted the enlivening element of bottled ale and stout, ginger beer and soda water. The philosopher had accompanied this statement by a declaration that he, for his part, liked the smoke as a perfume, and would be glad to be supplied with a few more bottles of it for his personal use. Hitherto this beautiful smoke had been allowed to waste its sweetness on the London air, which was now threatened with the deprivation of that singular advantage. The loss of the smoke would not affect him individually much, as he lived some distance out of town; and could only indulge in a whiff now and then, when he went to his place of business. He regarded the attack upon their chimneys as the commencement of an invasion of their hearths; and exhorted all who meant to defend the latter to rally round the former. (_Great applause._)

MR. FUNNELL, Captain of a Thames steamer, seconded the resolution. In his situation he had good opportunities of hearing the expression of public opinion about the Smoke Bill. People said if Parliament objected to volumes of smoke, why did they publish so many Blue Books? If they wanted to prevent chimneys from puffing they shouldn't have took off the Advertisement duty. What was the use of emancipating Blacks abroad if they wasn't to enjoy freedom at home? That was what the Public had to say about the matter. For his part he looked on the separation of fire and smoke as a unnatural divorce. Consume his own smoke! Why they might as well ask him to consume his own wife. Fire without smoke--by-and-bye, he supposed, it would be bread without butter. What? he expected the next thing would be your scientific legislators would bring in a bill for dividing thunder and lightning. He called this here Smoke Bill the Repeal of the Union. A little smoke on the river was wholesome. A stream that had such a lot of sewers flowing into it required fumigation. He had heard passengers returning from Kew Gardens talk about plants there that lived upon air. In course, the more substance there was in the air the more nutritions it must be both for wegetable and hanimal life. Legislation was going too fast. Ease her! stop her! take a turn astarn! As to this tyrannical and arbitrary Bill of LORD PALMINSTER'S for the consumption of smoke, he should give it every opposition: and he hoped through their united efforts it would be brought to end in that wery identical object it was directed agin. (_Much cheering._)

MR. COWL had the honour to belong to a branch of the medical profession. His practice was the cure of smoky chimneys. He protested against a measure which would deprive him of his patients; and if the Smoke Act was enforced he hoped at least he should receive compensation.

MR. GENTLET was a producer of smoke. He supposed his interests were affected by this measure, which required the producer to be also the consumer, but did they call that political economy? To be sure he was not the proprietor of a chimney; but he possessed a nose: which came to the same thing. The very occupation he pursued was that of smoking. It was the employment of his life. It might not be a very useful branch of industry: but it was an ornamental one. They knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled from the end of his weed that a Pickwick was near. They knew that a gent of fashionable exterior and elegant manners was nigh likewise. If he was obliged to consume his own smoke, how could he continue to diffuse fragrance in society? He identified himself with the party of smokers; as he was a smoking party himself. If smoke was such a nuisance, why did they make so much the other day at the review at Spithead? Let them put that question in their pipe--and, he would add, smoke it. Talking of pipes, he would tell PALMERSTON that his idea of a chimney consuming its own smoke was a mere sham.

[_The speaker resumed his seat amid great laughter, principally from himself, and the meeting terminated as it began, with clamour._

* * * * *


[Illustration: W]

Why should young ladies in distress commit suicide, or turn governesses in genteel families, when they might earn a decent competence by penny-a-lining? Can they? Why yes, to be sure they can. For example, here is a piece of that work as characteristic as crochet:--

"THE MOORS.--This morning, with the break of dawn, the quick report of the rifle would be heard on all the moors of Scotland, and before this sheet is in the hands of our readers, many thousand boxes of birds will have been bagged by the keen sportsmen."

"Many thousand boxes of birds," each box containing several, will have been "bagged by the keen sportsmen;" every single bird almost out of the several thousand bagged on "the quick report of the rifle." For, you see, the rifle could not, except very rarely, kill two birds with one bullet: so that a brace of grouse dropping to the "quick report of the rifle" would be a rare occurrence. Pop goes the rifle; down goes the bird, perhaps; but that is all, in general. As the keenest sportsmen, however, sometimes miss, and rifle balls have a longish range, the sporting on these moors must have been rather dangerous to unfeathered birds as well as to game. Six shots might "achieve;" but the seventh, at least, would, in all probability, "deceive," as the British melodramatist says in _Der Freischütz_. But we are ourselves firing wide of our mark, or digressing from the point: which is, that the above paragraph, copied from the _Stirling Journal_, is evidently the production of a lady. The sex of the writer is betrayed in the vague allusion to "the rifle." A masculine scribe, with that precision in reference to shooting that cannot be expected from the female mind, would have been more specific, and would have told us whether these wonderful Scotch rifles that brought down so many grouse were _Minié_ rifles or American revolvers.

* * * * *


A Cabman was summoned before the LORD MAYOR-- The report in the _Times_ may be found-- For refusing to take in his carriage a fare, Which to do he was legally bound.

The cab of defendant, complainant averred, That he saw, disengaged, on the stand; And to hire it proposed, but defendant demurred, And declined to accord the demand.

But only to think, now, how gentle, how mild, How pleasant a Cabman can be! As he made the objection, he quietly smiled, And observed that he wanted his Tea.

In the same airy strain and light jocular mood, Which we cannot too highly admire, Did the gentleman not, he politely pursued, That refreshment himself, too, require?

But how shall we ever the sequel relate? This behaviour, so worthy of praise, Procured--it is really distressing to state-- Twenty Shillings--or else Fourteen Days!

* * * * *



The manuscript of the following "True Discovery of Iximaya," by "a wit of this court" (as the old Spanish dramatists would have said), was brought to _Mr. Punch's_ office, together with three pounds of chocolate and a box of cigars, by an unknown hand. _Mr. Punch_ forgives the mixed jargon of the verses, being moved thereto by the integrity of the chocolate and cigars, which were entirely Spanish; but, as his readers have not tasted of the one, or inhaled the fumes of the other, he has employed three of the best Spanish scholars in the Foreign Office (placed at his disposal by LORD CLARENDON) to prepare the annexed translations of his correspondent's most recondite phrases.

SENOR PUNCH, amigo mio; cuyo sobremucho brio Todo triste enfado rio drives from out the heart of man! JUDITH, cuyo cor aïroso ofiende su esposo! Y TOBIAS, tan jocoso, de los canes Grande Can! Hear a singular narration of a long-lost Aztec nation In a lonely situation dwelling on its ancient plan; I alone have entered into its forbidden lands by dint o' All the wit of MENDEZ PINTO, and the brass of JONATHAN. In the town of Guatemala, sitting in the antesala (That you know's the tap-room parlour) of a queer old Spanish inn, While the portly Mesoñero--platicante el dinero De tan rico forastero through his appetite to win-- Brought from out the meagre larder of his precious poor posada A sabrosa sazonada, mess of beans, in dripping fried; I was mindful of a greasy Padre, very fat and wheezy, Who, with action free and easy, came and sat him by my side; Saying, "Senor por mi vida, if I share your slight comida, It is not because I need a meal, but that I wish to show Mi poquito de respeto por tan principal sujeto." "Tan afable y discreto Padre I am glad to know: You are welcome, father," said I; "my repast, you see is ready, So, if you will bless the bread, I gladly will the half resign." Thus we sat, some white wine sipping, and the pan bendito dipping in the unctuous beans and dripping, till I said, "O! Padre mine, Prithee tell me sin engaños why your old ciudadanos Twixt two large and fierce volcanoes chose to build this lordly town?[2] Uno d'agua rebienta; un con llamas atormenta El Pueblo; both have sent a raging torrent rolling down." "Ah! amigo muy amado!" said the Padre; "ALVARADO Este lugar mas dichado chose betwixt each fatal spout, Thinking that whene'er they brought or floods of fire or streams of water On the town from either quarter, one would put the other out." Then I said, "I've heard men say a town entitled Iximaya, Never seen by white man, lay a few leagues off behind the hills. Is it true, Sir?" Said the Padre, "Por los ojos de mi madre, Vino con los contos cuadre! Talking, dry-lipped, nothing skills. Bring us, quick, some Ratafia and cigars, DOLORES mia; Manana sera otro dia; all to-night we'll merry be. Yo estaba un chiquito (here he took a cigarrito) Algo de lo pastorcito, when its walls I chanced to see: 'Twas from yonder high Sierra's cloud-encircled summit; where a Vagabunda negra perra, which I loved, had gone astray, Sus esplandientes tejas, blancas como mis ovejas, I could see and count the rejas, tho' 'twas twenty leagues away."

Struck by what the priest related, for a while I meditated How to find if what he stated were the very truth, or no. Then I said, "You live so near it, that methinks 'tis somewhat queer it Is not better known down here." "It, Senor," said he, "is not so! Por, sus gallos y gallinas, envueltos en basquinas Viven en profundas minas, lest they should be heard to crow." Slily to DOLORES winking, straight I left the Padre drinking, And departed quickly, thinking, "I will make a journey there." Soon I paid the Mesoñero; sought me out an Arrièro, Asked the road, and hired a pair o' steady mules and paid the fare. Dificil y peregrino se mostraba el camino; Nunca Mulatèro vino on that lonely road before; Por las selvas mas obscuras, y profundas espesuras, Where the jaguar would be sure, as we appeared, to give a roar, Por los montes y fuentes, y arroyas sin puentes, Where the alligator spent his leisure hours, on we bore; Till the Mulatèro dying, I was forced to leave him, lying On the mountain after trying circulation to restore. Then for want of preparation for my novel situation I was threatened with starvation; ate the very clothes I wore; Comi yo de las albardas por el tanto Sol asadas; Cenè de las almohadas sodden in the streams I past; Till one day, desaliñado, flaco, manco, fatigado, I attained (A! desdichado!) Iximaya's walls at last.

Ricos hombres, bellas damas, que con frescas verdes ramas Gobernaron blancas llamas, came to meet me at the gate, En su lengua me hablaron, y mi garbo alabaron, (Though I must have looked a rare one) led me in, in wondrous state: Took me to the Casa Real, where the King and Queen at tea, all Joyful any white to see, allowed me there to stop and sup. Quando dormir partiamos, El Rey dijo, "Te amàmos Antesque al lecho vamos, let us take a parting cup!" Early the ensuing morning, I my person was adorning, When without the slightest warning, some one came into my room. Su semblante presumido, y su limpio vestido Con toallas guarnecido, made me for a while presume 'Twas the barber come to shave me, curl, shampoo, perfume, and lave me; But an awful turn it gave me, when I saw he had a knife. Thought I, "If it's not the barber, peor esta que estaba, Some designs they sure must harbour 'gainst my sad unhappy life," Hombres de colossal talle metièron me en calle, Saying to each other, "Shall he cheat the sun and stars and moon? No! but at the rich and costly shrine of HUETZILOPOZTLI (That's the god they worship mostly) he shall be a victim soon." Y llevaron me eutonces to the temple, for the dunces Didn't know that more than once his life the stranger tried to beg. But a condor o'er me flying, just as I was sadly lying On the sacrificial stone and crying, let me catch him by the leg. One priest held me by the paletôt, but the condor soared in alto Aire with me till, por falto de fuerzas, down he fell, And I woke in the posada, where my reverend camarada At the self-same almohada I was holding tugged as well. So if you should hear one day a little more of Iximaya, In the speaker's ear just say a single verse of CALDERON, "In this world, so full of seeming, all the sons of men live dreaming; That their dreams are true still deeming. '_Y sueños sueños son._'"

"SENOR PUNCH, &c." My good friend _Punch_, whose superabundant pluck expels every sad annoyance, &c., &c. JUDY, whose valorous heart disturbs her spouse, and thou, O, jocose Toby! of all other dogs, the grand dog (for the so-called Italian prince was but a type of thee).

"Mesoñero, &c." The innkeeper considering how to win the silver of so rich a stranger.

"Posada." An inn where you should, but cannot repose. _Lucus & non lucendo._

"Comida." Dinner, otherwise a periphrasis for beans and dripping.

"Mi poquito, &c." My little modicum of respect for so principal a person.

"Uno d'agua, &c." One bursts with water, the other torments the town with flames.

"O, wondrous policy! From North to South, Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth.

"Este lugar." This delightful residence.

"Por los ojos, &c." By the eyes of my mother wine and talking go together.

"Manana." To-morrow will be another sort of day.

"Yo estaba, &c." I was a younker doing a little bit of the shepherd.

"Vagabunda, &c." A vagabond black female dog. "Sus, &c." Its shining roofs, white as my sheep. "Rejas." Windows.

"Por los gallos, &e." For the cocks and hens, with their heads wrapped in cloaks, live in cellars.

"Dificil, &c." The road proved strange and difficult. No muleteer had travelled it before.

"Arroyas sin puentes, &c." Rivers without bridges.

"Comi, &c." I dined on the saddles cooked by the heat of the sun. I supped upon their cushions, sodden, &c.

"Ricos hombres, &c." Noblemen and beautiful ladies, who guided milk-white llamas with fresh green boughs.

"Quando, &c." When we were going to bed the King said, "We love thee," and then followed in the language of the nursery rhyme, "Let's take a cup," said Greedy. "We'll sup before we go."

"Su semblante, &c." His conceited look and white dress garnished with towels.

"Peor esta, &c." I am out of the frying-pan into the fire.

"Hombres, &c." Men of colossal figure put me into the street.

"Y llevaron, &c." And carried me off at once.

"Por falto, &c." For want of strength.

"Y sueños, &c." Dreams are only dreams.

[Footnote 2:] The town stands between two volcanos: one of fire, the other of water.

* * * * *


There is this difference between the great tragedian at the Olympic and the great burlesque actor at the Princess's:--That whereas MR. ROBSON elevates burlesque into tragedy, MR. CHARLES KEAN lowers tragedy into burlesque.

* * * * *


The seizure of the Principalities by the Russian bear was an act of aggression which must be allowed to be unblushingly bear-faced.

* * * * *

PITY.--We have a great pity for a man who is ruining himself, but very little for the man who is ruined.

* * * * *


[Illustration: A]

A Numerous and highly influenced meeting took place last evening at Glasgow, to protest against the proposed opening of the Crystal Palace on Sundays, as being likely to lead to that of other instructive exhibitions, tending to seduce the people from the spirituous observance of the Sabbath.

It is notorious that the sobriety of Scotland, generally, is particularly exemplified in the statistics of drunkenness at Glasgow. The assembly of Sabbatarians was held in the building appropriately denominated the National Temperance Hall. There were about a thousand persons present, though a gentleman on the platform declared that he saw twice as many.

The chair having been taken by a MR. M'GLASHAN, or GREGALACH--we could not, as he himself gave the name, make out which--the proceedings commenced with an inarticulate solemnity. The Chairman then called upon MISS SMASHER--as we understood. He meant, however, MR. MAXSWILL, deacon and drysalter, who said--Gemman-ladies--hech!--that is, mabluvbraythren--an' sesthers--'a shink a neednafashmysel' to shplain zh' objeck o' zhis meet'n. (_Hum!_) 'Su mosportant objeck. Nashligion! Nashmorality! 'Scration o' Shabbas. Zha's zh' objeck--to preven' 'scration o' Shabbas (_Hum-um-m-m-m!_) Joost that. 'A shay, to preven' 'scration o' Shabbas. By op'nin' Crishlpalaceashunday. Na' ca' zhat 'scration o' Shabbas? Na' 'scration o' Shabbas?--then sh'like to ken wast ish. Not a Scosh quesh'n? Zha's an unco lee! Mosportant Scosh quesh'n. Joost your neebor's biggin in a low!--zha's a'. Infecsh'n spread like wildfire and brimson. Scotland catch't o' England (_Hech! hech! and laughter_). Open Crishpalace--open Brismusheum neist--open Nashgallery--open a' siccan places--enst'tutes--hawsoscience--aiblins leebraries--whilk is waur. Gar sinfuwretches taktobuiks! Sh' prospeck's awfu'! Hop a' shall nev' livetosee sic bocksli'nes i' Scotlum. Scosh a mol people. A molpeople an' ar'leegious people. 'Stroy 'leegion shap zh' varra base o' morality. 'Mortal BURNS (_Cheers_)--Cotter's Saturday Night (_Immense applause_) Eh? But open Crishpalace a Sun'ay and whosh's become o' Cotter's Sunday morrin'? Cotter's a' richt noo a Sun' mor'n. A'richt! Gin not at kirk--seekin' speeritchal cons'lation elsewhar. (_Hech, hech! hum-um-m-m!_) Takkin's nappie over his wee drappie in's ainhameithinglenook. Bet' be dune zhat zhan glowrin at peckturs, an' stotchies, an' stuff'dbirdies an' beasties, forbye lezzardancrawcadil deevles--objecks o' nashistory an' artanshiensh, an' ither warks o' darkness--o'zh Shabb's. Scollan ev' tollate sush 'scration o' Shabbash as zhash? (_Never, never!_) Weelzhen!--mush lay protest at zh' foot o' shrone. Temp'rate and 'shpeckful protesh!--mush be temp'rate and shpeckful! But firmansteady. An' plain--not be mishunstood. Joost as 'a stan' the noo o' mahurdies--joost as 'a shpeak--zh' firm and speckf'l temp't anshteady pro'st o' zh shober 'nabitantsh a Glassgie gains 'scration o' Shabbas. (_Tremendous cheers._)

The speaker then proceeded to move a resolution, but found unfortunately that he could not see to read it. He was followed in speeches of a character similar to the above, by BAILLIE M'BREE, MR. SOTTIE M'QUAIGH, MR. PINTSTOUPIE, MR. WILLIEWAUCHT, and the REV. MR. TODDIEWHOSKIE. "_We are na fou'_" was then sung, and the meeting separated at a late hour in a state of excitement bordering on _delirium tremens_.

[Illustration: A BIT OF SENTIMENT.

(_Founded upon a Popular Song._)



* * * * *


SIR J. V. SHELLEY reads a circular in the House of Commons summoning certain members to attend on a certain occasion for a certain party purpose. The document bears the signature of C. H. FREWEN. It is couched in a spirit of low cunning, and tends to reflect great discredit on its author.

MR. C. H. FREWEN writes to SIR J. V. SHELLEY, demanding to know from whom he had received this circular; a private letter presumably given to him in breach of confidence.

SIR J. V. SHELLEY replies that the circular was a printed document, and therefore not entitled to be considered private. Whereupon MR. C. H. FREWEN (who dates his letters from Cold Overton Hall) replies that, no matter for that, or in whatever way he got possessed of it, the man who would read such a letter in such a way

"Can have no pretensions to call himself a gentleman."

But stay. We do not say that all this is true. We only say that it has appeared in the _Times_. For aught we know, the _Times_ may be a facetious contemporary, cracking jokes on the head of MR. FREWEN, as if it were a thick one. We do not mean to say that MR. FREWEN made such an ass of himself, as he did make, if his correspondence, as printed in the _Times_, is genuine. But, however, SIR J. V. SHELLEY--always according to the _Times_, mind--rejoins by desiring of MR. FREWEN that the whole of the correspondence should be published, as the first letter had been, and declining to answer any more letters. And then:--

"MR. FREWEN returns this letter unopened. SIR J. SHELLY ought to be aware that MR. FREWEN cannot receive any more communications from him except through another person."

What does MR. FREWEN mean by this?--if the nonsense is his really? Surely not the old bluster, the obsolete bullying trick; Chalk Farm, pistols and coffee for two, with cock pheasant also if required for the satisfaction of a gentleman desiring a bellyfull for breakfast. Not an invitation to fight a duel; that ridiculous anachronism; the necessary consequence of which in these days, to the principal fools concerned in it, each of them, must be getting either shot, or imprisoned, or laughed at; most probably the latter. Shot by the other fool; imprisoned--if not hanged--for shooting him; or laughed at for neither having shot him nor been shot by him; but probably having simply exchanged with him a blank pop! If MR. FREWEN has indeed been such a booby as it appears in the _Times_ that he has, _Mr. Punch_ can only say that he would recommend him to change the designation of Cold Overton to that of Clod Hall, and to assume the name, together with the arms, of _Bob Acres_.

* * * * *


Here is a gross libel or a fine satire:--


MR. R. L----, MEDICAL HERBALIST, 15, I---- STREET, ROXBURGH TERRACE, begs respectfully to intimate, that as a great many Persons have been very desirous to see the Serpent which he extracted alive lately from the breast of a lady labouring under Cancer, he will be most happy to show it to those interested, any day from 10 to 12 o'clock, at his house, 15, I---- Street.

_Edinburgh, 12th August, 1853._

This is either a libel upon somebody or other, glanced at under the figure of the Serpent: or it is a satire on the gullibility of the inhabitants of Edinburgh, from the _News_ of which city it is extracted. The modern Athenians, with all their acuteness, are said to be rather susceptible subjects for quackery.

* * * * *


We observe that at one of the Metropolitan theatres an endeavour has been made to dramatise _The Times_. We admit some curiosity to know in what way the leading journal has been adapted to the purposes of the Stage. During this hot weather it is of course impossible for us to visit the theatre; but in the mean time we have drawn upon our melodramatic reminiscences, and have sketched what we suppose must be the playbill of _The Times_. We are, however, open to conviction, should our anticipations have been inadequate.


SCENE 1.--Printing House Square, by moonlight. A policeman on duty. Clank of the steampress heard amid the silence, and distant plash of the river. Coronetted carriage driven hastily in. Beautiful and fashionable lady, in opera costume, alights. Her agitation. "_He must be saved._" She dashes hastily into the building. Policeman saunters up and examines arms on carriage, and the next moment is recognised by the flunkey. "_Ha! my Lord._" "_Silence, my faithful_ JEEMES." Resumes his walk. Lights seen along a passage--mysterious lady is being conducted to the EDITORIAL CHAMBER!

SCENE 2.--The Strand. Meeting of two Reporters, one coming up from the House of Commons, the other going down. "_Likely to sit?_" "_Another hour--Irish row._" "_Bless those Irish!_" "_Amen._" They part--_exit_ Reporter to the House. The other lights a cigar, and three ruffians spring out upon him. They have long Macintosh coats, but beneath the disguise is seen the glittering uniform of the Guards. "_You bring the wepawt of_ LORD NAMBY MACPAMBY'S _Speech_!" "_I have._" "_Hand it over._" "_With my life only._" They seize him, but he dashes his cigar into the face of the first, and wrestles with the second, but would be over-mastered by the third, when the latter is dashed to the earth. Two run away, the last is prisoner. "_But, who is my preserver?_" "_Sir, I am but a numble actor, but you were once kyind to me in a notice of my_ Clown _in the Pantermine, and, believe me, Sir, kyindness is like the gentle jew from eaven, which droppeth, &c._" They drag the prisoner beneath a lamp. "THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE MARQUIS OF HAUGHTYCASTLE! _Ha, minion!_" "_Nay, let him go--my numble Friend. I know the game._ A LADY'S SECRET."

SCENE 3.--Same as first. Beautiful woman comes out in tears. "_He was most courteous, but firm as the monumental adamant._" She enters the carriage, and throws herself sobbing on the cushion. Policeman springs in after her, and seating himself opposite, throws his bull's-eye full on her face. "_My husband!_" "_Aye, wrrrretched woman. Drive on_, JEEMES." (In a voice of thunder.) "HOME!" (With intense irony,) "_Your_ home, Madam; yours, _once loved_ CORONETTINA."

* * * * *


The House of Commons. Very full. Cries of "_Order, order!_" Clamour increases, and no one can be heard. Fifty Members on their legs, trying to speak. LORD JOHN RUSSELL springs upon the table and gesticulates violently; but all that can be heard from him, is "_Obleege_," and "_Constitution_." MR. DISRAELI dashes his hand furiously upon the Green Box, which gives way, and all his oranges roll out. Scramble and comic business. LORD NAMBY MACPAMBY rises; dressed in the extreme of fashion, and also extremely tipsy. Terrific cries of "_Spoke, spoke!_" The Chairman of Committees falls on his knees and pleads for silence, but sinks beneath the volley of blue books, votes, and bills, instantly hurled at him from all the Members. Suddenly the SPEAKER rushes in, seizes the mace, and lays about him on every side. Members are knocked over one another. Tremendous confusion! Fights!--and Curtain.

* * * * *


The Editor's Ante-Chamber. Several of the Ministers waiting to see him; some with glittering stars, blue ribbons, &c. A door opens (centre), and an eminent Stockjobber is kicked into the middle of the scene, and falls--a huge bag of sovereigns in each hand. Bags burst, and the gold strews the stage. "_I offered £500,000 for leave to put in one article._" Proud tribute to the British Press. Porters sweep up the gold, and throw it out at window, and the Stockjobber after it. Enter LORD ASTERISK dragging the beautiful lady. "_Ha! you here, my lords! But 'tis well. She appealed to the "Times" and I have brought her hither._" Lady on her knees--back hair down. "_I am innocent--indeed I am innocent._" "_I am not to be juped, Madam._" "_I swear it._" "_I believe you not. Your adorers, in disguise, have been staining the pure streets of our proud Metropolis with ruffianism. But in vain, Madam._" "_In vain! Wretched me!_" "_Now by all that is sulphureous_"--(he draws the sword usually worn by the British aristocrat)--"HOLD!!!" Awful appearance of the EDITOR. "_Mistaken nobleman! She came but to save her_ BROTHER, LORD NAMBY MACPAMBY. _He has spoken in the House to-night, and knowing what a dreadful fool he is, she wished his speech suppressed, that_ your brother-in-law's _idiotcy might not be published all over the world_." "_Her brother! And those Guardsmen!_" "_Her cousins._" "_Ow! ow! ow! Can you forgive me_, CORONETTINA?" "_Am I not your wife, dearest?_" The EDITOR, moved, tears up LORD NAMBY MACPAMBY'S speech. "_One husk will not be missed amid so much chaff._"

* * * * *


[Illustration: "OFF WITH HIS HEAD!"]

* * * * *


Sing a song of Sixpence, "A pocket-full!" says I. Four-and-twenty farthings? That's all my eye! But my eye was opened-- A summons he did seek; And wasn't that a pretty case To bring before the Beak?

The Beak was on his judgment-seat A fining swell coves money; And _Punch_ was perch'd 'longside him, Grinning precious funny. FITZROY had, in the Commons, Been pickling us a rod; And off went the prison van, And took me to Quod!

* * * * *


The days of the Highwaymen are over: but that need not be lamented by the admirers of the robbers of the good old times. The Highwaymen have been succeeded by the Railwayman.

* * * * *


The First Emperor left behind him a "NAPOLEON Book of Fate."

The Second Emperor promises to enrich the history of France with a "NAPOLEON Book of Fêtes."

* * * * *

TOO MUCH AND TOO LITTLE.--The man who believes too little may be safer than the man who believes too much; but it is a question if, through life, he knows half as much pleasure.

* * * * *

RUSSIAN IMPUDENCE.--A celebrated Diplomatist who lisps a little, being asked to define Russian Impudence, answered very significantly "Why, ith's beyond PRUTH!"


* * * * *


[Illustration: A GENERAL STRIKE.]

The Director-General of the St. Stephen's establishment, _Mr. Punch_, proceeded, in one cab, to Westminster Hall, and, desiring a chair to be placed for him upon the top of the flight of steps at the further end, commanded that the gentlemen of the Upper and Lower Schools should forthwith attend him, for the purpose of hearing his opinion of their general and individual conduct, preparatory to their being dismissed for the holidays. It is needless to say that his orders were instantly complied with, and that the Westminster Boys at once assembled before him. The only exception was in the case of MASTER SIBTHORP, who sturdily refused to come, and for whom a policeman was dispatched. MASTER SIBTHORP expended much abuse, and several quotations from the Eton Grammar, upon the officer, but was ultimately brought in, and placed within convenient reach of _Mr. Punch's_ cane. _Mr. Punch_ then spoke as follows:--


"You have had a long half, but it is over, and I am glad to dismiss you for your vacation. The word vacation, SIBTHORP, is derived from the Latin, and originally signifies emptiness, for an illustration of which I will refer you to the head of the gallant member for Lincoln, or to the heads of those who can be such donkeys as to elect him. My boys, I am, generally speaking, satisfied with your conduct during the half.


"I rejoice to find a marked improvement in the way you treat your themes. Your elocution is still open to amendment. I commend your regular adherence to the beneficial habit of early rising. I would caution you against quarrels amongst yourselves, arising from the use of intemperate speech or inapt quotation (_Masters_ DERBY _and_ OXFORD _blushed_); and I would remind you that no social position occupied by your papas and mammas exempts any of you from the duties which are imposed upon others (_Master_ WINCHELSEA _began to cry_). But, as a whole, you have pleased me this year, and I will add that the politeness with which you behave to ladies who may look in upon the establishment reflects great credit upon you, not unincreased by contrast (_Sensation among the Lower School_).

"ABERDEEN, you are leader of the school, and I could wish you to display more energy. I applaud your love for a peaceful life, but remember that there is one thing better than peace, and that is, honour. In the map of Russia, which you have drawn, you have not defined the boundaries strongly and well, and you do not seem to know where Turkey begins and Russia ends. You will lose credit unless you exert yourself.

"MALMESBURY, your English is exceedingly bad, and your logic very unsatisfactory. I understand that you are proud of your intimacy with a French person, who at one time bore no good character. Take care, sir. And be more guarded in your assertions as to what feats you have accomplished, and of which I find few traces in the school records.

"LANSDOWNE, I give you much credit for having just exerted yourself to put down the practice of smoking--the rather, as you have reached an age at which you are entitled to all due indulgence. You are a very excellent member of the school, and I wish you regarded as a model.

"MONTEAGLE, you talk a great deal too much in school hours, and are said to busy yourself in matters with which you have no concern. You have been a lucky boy--be an agreeable one.


"I am sorry to have had to expel so many of your number this half, but I hope it will be a warning. Once for all, I will not permit you, by gifts of money or beer, to induce your inferiors to misconduct themselves for your gratification. I can use no adequate word of contempt for the meanness which sought to shift the guilt upon servants. In other respects I am tolerably satisfied with most of you. A good deal of work has been done, but there is far too much talking in the establishment, and you keep people out of their beds looking after you at hours when you ought to be asleep. I hope to have different reports next half.

"RUSSELL, I am glad to see you the leader of the school. I was pleased with your conduct to the Jew boys, whom I still intend to place in the school. I am sorry you have done next to nothing in the way of helping the education of those under you. However, as you have given me a large promise of reform for next half, I shall say no more.

"GLADSTONE, you deserve the highest praise for your proficiency in arithmetic, and for your gentlemanly conduct. Some of your companions hint that you talk rather too much. I do not impute this to you, but you will consider for yourself whether the allegation is justified. The way you have got through all duties is admirable.

"CARDWELL, I shall give you a well-deserved navigation prize, so you need not be quite so solemn.

"STAFFORD, the painful exposure I was compelled to make of your conduct would have prevented my referring to it again, but that I understand you and some of your friends have been swaggering, and declaring that you had escaped unpunished. Beware, Sir, that I never again hear your voice in the school, in which I only permit you to remain because I believe that you were made the tool of bigger and worse boys.

"FITZROY, I am sorry to see that you are not looking well. Take care of yourself in the country, and be assured, my boy, that I shall not forget the spirited way in which you protected those poor women from their husbands' brutality, or the very proper chastisement you gave to the insolent cabman.

"LUCAS, you are a foolish lad. Instead of enjoying the rational and manly liberty of your companions, you cripple your mind with silly stories and legends, and do not take your meals regularly. I hear, too, that you are very ignorant of the history of Rome, which you appear to have learned at second-hand from some monkish book in dog-Latin. You are no credit to your class, Sir, and I believe I have told you before that you are Lucas, _à non lucendo_.

"BROTHERTON, I applaud you for trying to get the school to bed by midnight, but you want perseverance, and let yourself be put down by any one who opposes you. If you are right and know it, never give way. Be firm, or you will not carry your objects--you cannot bolt a door with a boiled carrot, as you, as a vegetarian, ought to know.

"PALMERSTON, you are a very spirited, gentlemanly, thoroughly English fellow, in whom I have the utmost confidence. All that you have done this half has been excellent. I believe it would give everybody pleasure to see you at the head of the school, and it rests with yourself whether you will be so or not. _Excelsior_, my good boy. By the way, I have of course nothing to do with your amusements, but I observed you gave MASTER CORDEN a tremendous back fall the other day. It has shaken him a good deal, but he richly deserved it for the sneaking way he came to the scratch.

"SIBTHORP, as you say that you consider it an honour for me to notice you, why do you not so conduct yourself that what is certainly an honour to you may be a pleasure to me? (SIBTHORP _burst into tears_.) There, don't cry, you know I am never seriously angry with _you_.


"You may now go into your respective schools, and wait there until your monitors announce to you that vacation has begun."

* * * * *


We believe the General Screw Steam Shipping Company is connected with the Port of Southampton. It may not be generally known that there exists another Screw Steam concern in connexion with that same good town. We mean the South-Western Railway, which, particularly by its arrangements respecting the Camp at Chobham, and the Review at Spithead, appears to have decidedly adopted the principle of the Screw.

* * * * *


A man should never object to exercise, for the gentleman is always distinguished by his walk; but there is this excuse to be made for a woman who takes but little exercise--that the lady is immediately known by her carriage.

* * * * *


* * * * *


There appeared a chance a few days ago, that certain Members of Parliament would, instead of shooting the grouse, have the more exciting sport of shooting one another. SIR JOHN SHELLEY very properly refuses to be drawn into either a murder or a breach of the peace; and quietly refers MR. FREWEN'S furious correspondence to MESSRS. TYRRELL, PAINE, and LAYTON, who are, we presume, SIR JOHN'S solicitors.

A "little quarrel" with a legal firm may be less agreeable to one whom we fear we must call Fighting FREWEN, than a personal _rencontre_ with the Member for Westminster. A fight with a forensic antagonist in Westminster Hall is more formidable than a little harmless pistol-popping at Chalk Farm; and the powder of a barrister's wig is more dangerous to be set in agitation than the common gunpowder of commerce.

Poor FREWEN is evidently much nettled at finding that SIR JOHN SHELLEY won't fight, and in the desperate endeavour to stir up the unwilling baronet, tries the old cab-driver's dodge of calling after him "No gentleman!" We must say we cannot congratulate MR. FREWEN upon having got the best of the matter in either spirit, taste, or argument; for there is something more dignified in SIR JOHN SHELLEY'S request to be "excused from answering any further letters," than in MR. FREWEN'S coarse wind up of "Call yourself a gentleman!"

* * * * *


A great philanthropist, and distinguished man of the world, has invented a new Lactometer for testing the milk of human kindness. We believe it is exceedingly simple, and consists principally of a plain sheet of paper--not unlike, in size, a page torn out of a banker's cheque-book, but having a Government Stamp in the corner of it. It is the size of this stamp that determines the quantity of milk of human kindness. The larger the stamp the greater the supply of milk. The test rarely fails, excepting with lawyers, guardians, step-fathers, and others, whose hardy natures are well known not to be largely imbued with the softening lacteal properties of human kindness. The philanthropist intends taking out a patent for his ingenious invention.

* * * * *


MR. HAYTER, the Whipper-in, was supposed by the Members of Parliament to be very unfortunate with his servants, for during the past session, he was always going about trying to get a House made.

* * * * *

A RAP FOR THE CZAR.--A great deal of base gold coin is in circulation, but the worst Sovereign that has come before the public lately is the EMPEROR OF RUSSIA.

* * * * *

[Illustration: A BATH AT BOULOGNE.


* * * * *


Tobacco fumes are unpleasant to the majority of ladies. Nevertheless, we must protest against the prohibition of smoking abaft the funnel on board Thames steamers. The other day we were ascending the river in one of these vessels, seated in that quarter of it, when a youth, who was indulging in a Pickwick to the windward of us, was caused to transfer himself and his enjoyment forwards. No sooner had he gone away with his smoke, than our nostrils were assailed by the vilest of odours; a breath from the open mouth of a sewer on the opposite bank. This was just as we were passing the ARCHBISHOP'S Palace at Lambeth; and we could almost have imagined that DR. SUMNER had been at work purifying the Church, and had rendered its abuses palpable to the olfactory sense; in such great indignation were our nostrils at the perfume emitted in the neighbourhood of his Grace's premises. We wished our young friend back again with his "weed," the fragrance of which we very much prefer to that of metropolitan tributaries to the Thames: and until that stream is somewhat dulcified, we should think that even ladies would approve of universal fumigation on board its boats.

* * * * *


The question of Peace has been carried in Europe, _nem. con._ BRIGHT, feeling peacefully inclined, said he should like all war-questions to be met and decided by a similar enemy; and, being asked by COBDEN "What enemy?"--he eloquently replied, "A-_n-emine contradicente_."

* * * * *


A curious old philosopher of our acquaintance says:--"I can always tell what kind of masters and servants there are in an establishment by the way in which the bell is rung and answered. If the bell is rung sharply, or snappishly, or at all loudly, I say to myself, You are hard masters, impatient, intolerant, making no allowances, and always expecting a thing to be done before it is even asked for, and my suspicions are generally verified by their ringing the bell a second time more loudly than the first; and if the servants take a long time in answering the bell, I say to myself, You are bad servants, either lazy or pampered, or spoilt by too much indulgence, and evidently taking but little interest in your master's wishes. It is a sure sign that there is not much peace or comfort to be met with in the house where the master rings several times for everything he wants; and where the servants require the bell to be rung twice before they think of answering it."

* * * * *


We are sorry to notice an anachronism in a popular review. We mean the review at Spithead. A gun was used in the fleet, called--we cannot say christened--the "NELSON AVENGER." Now NELSON has been sufficiently avenged; if insufficiently honoured: whatever account of vengeance may have been owing to him was settled at the time; though our debt of gratitude to him may be eternal. Posterity has no revenge to take on Posterity: and a gun only meant to rake the rigging of our enemies should not be so named as to rake up animosities with our friends.

* * * * *



(_From_ COWPER.)

[Illustration: T]

The Camp has departed!--farewell the parade, And the earth-shaking march of the stern Colonnade[3] The bands play no longer from manuscript leaves, Nor detectives prowl stealthily watching the thieves.

The City of War, which immense fun we've had in Is fled like the palace that flew with ALADDIN; And musketry's crack, and artillery's roar Astonish the echoes of Chobham no more.

The Lancer in scarlet, the Rifle in green, And the Horse-guard in blue, have abandoned the scene; And we've witness'd the last of the blood-stirring frays Where gallop'd in glory those terrible Greys.

No longer in toothsome libation is spilt The Dew that is dear to the sons of the kilt; No longer falls plashing in pleasantness here, The frothy cascade of the black British beer.

O! Chobham Olympics, your games are all done, The last close is wrestled, the last race is run, The stone's "put" away, to the leap-frog there's truce, And the ultimate caber is pitched to the deuce.

Rejoice in thy stable, thou omnibus steed! For thee the campaign-times were wiry indeed. No more shalt thou toil on that villanous road; With a cargo of snobs for thy heart-breaking load.

Weep, rascally drivers of ramshackle flies, Adieu your extortions, your sauce, and your lies, Farewell to that Station, the cheating point where You've so oft charged a pound for a two shilling fare.

Well, everything passes: a Camp like the rest, But this ends while its novelty still has a zest; And we're free to confess that we see with regret The Flutters Hill's sun, like the Austerlitz, set.

Here's a health to the officer--liner or guard-- Who with CAMBRIDGE and SEATON has laboured so hard. Here's a health to his men, whose good looks and good will Did such excellent credit to messman and drill.

The object was good, and the object is gained, Right sound is the teaching the troops have obtained; And we'll mark that M.P. for a short-sighted scamp Who grudges one mil for the Chobhamite Camp.

[Footnote 3:] A Colonnade is that which consists of columns. The British Army consists thereof. Therefore the British Army is a Colonnade.--WALKER.

* * * * *

NUMBER ONE AND NUMBER TWO.--The first time a woman marries it is generally to please another; but the second time it is invariably to please herself.

* * * * *


Here is a pretty dish that was to have been set before the QUEEN:--

"Whosoever, during the performance of the sacred functions or ceremonies of the Church of the country, the Roman Catholic Apostolic Church, the maintenance and protection of which, in its present position, are secured by law, and guaranteed by the British Crown, shall disturb the same with violence or with intent to profane, whether within or without places appointed for public worship, shall be punished with imprisonment, from seven months to two years."

According to MR. I. BUTT this passage is contained in the 50th Clause of the amended Maltese Criminal Code which has been coolly sent to this country for the sanction of HER MAJESTY.

No doubt a person who should wantonly interrupt a congregation of Mormonites, or even of dancing Dervishes, engaged in their devotions, would deserve to be punished; of course, therefore, there is no complaining of a law which avenges interference with Roman Catholic rites and ceremonies--those rites and ceremonies not going quite so far as the rite of cremation and the ceremony of an _auto-da-fé_.

It is also indubitable that the adherents of the Romish Church have a perfect right to call their persuasion Catholic and Apostolic, or anything else they please, and hold that assertion against all comers, by all means: except, we will say, by means of fire and sword.

But to propose the recognition of the Roman Catholic Church, as Apostolical, to the QUEEN OF ENGLAND, is--without reference to polemics--richly absurd: since HER MAJESTY holds her royal seat on the very condition of constantly protesting--right or wrong--that the Roman Catholic Church is no such thing.

If _Mr. Punch_ were in Malta, writing under this same amended criminal code, he would have to take care how he pointed out any Roman Catholic absurdity. He is informed by MR. NEWDEGATE,

"That the 54th Clause declared it to be punishable to 'revile or otherwise insult or ridicule any article of the Roman Catholic Church.'"

Now there are other varieties of ridicule than burlesque, caricature, horse-laughter, and making faces. There is the ridicule of the _reductio ad absurdum_. It is possible to place a proposition in a ludicrous light by showing that if it is true, it is a truth which is contrary to another truth. In Malta, therefore, subject to the above clause, it would be dangerous to assert the impenetrability of matter, or any other fact in the nature of things inconsistent with any dogma of the papal system: and if _Mr. Punch_ were not to mind what he was about, he might get himself into trouble in like manner with that other buffoon, GALILEO.

However, MR. KINNAIRD has procured the re-consideration of these penal papisticalities: and Ministers will think twice before they advise HER MAJESTY to stultify herself and sanction a Maltese Inquisition.

* * * * *


We hint to noblemen and gentlemen of (very) independent property, before rushing out of town, that they should think of the numerous little bills they leave behind them. They would not enjoy themselves any the less if they discharged those little bills instead of making their tradesmen wait six long empty-pocketed mouths for them. The probability is, even, they would enjoy themselves all the more, knowing that they had left a clear coast behind them, where they could always land with safety whenever they wanted to escape from foreign pirates, and continental sharks, sea and land robbers. We beg, (merely moved by a charitable motive to add to their pleasures,) to draw up the following advertisement for them, on the plan of the one issued at the end of the season by the Directors of the Covent Garden Italian Opera:--

ALL persons having claims for the last season upon the RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD TOM NODDY are requested, before he leaves for Baden-Baden, Homburg, Wiesbaden, &c., where he is going to take the usual annual course of _rouge et-noir_ and the mineral waters, to send in their accounts immediately, and to apply on Saturday, the 27th inst., when they will be paid in full, as the RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD TOM NODDY has no desire to increase the ducal revenues of any German principality with money that belongs properly to his creditors.--239, Belgrave Square.

* * * * *


Most of the illuminations in honour of the Emperor's fète at Paris, displayed the glittering initials, N. E. This was only telling half the truth. It wanted the addition of R. O. for the French nation clearly to understand in whose honour the fête was given.

* * * * *


(_As gone through by a real Member of the Peace Society._)

I shall, and will, fight Thou shalt, and wilt, fight He, or she, shall, and will, fight We shall, and will, fight You, or ye, shall, and will, fight They shall, and will, fight.

[_To be repeated as often as the probability of a War springs up._

* * * * *

PLAIN UPON THE FACE OF IT.--Many persons are led by their vices as there are many who are led by their noses: but there are a far greater number who follow both without any leading at all.

* * * * *

ANOTHER DIETETIC RULE OF CONDUCT.--Never to send a servant out on an errand after dinner, but _always a little before_. It is extraordinary how very quick, in the latter case, he (or she) will return.

* * * * *


[Illustration: T]

The _Wolverhampton Chronicle_ contains the following paragraph, highly important to ladies:--

"THE WOMAN'S WALK.--MRS. DUNN'S pedestrian feat--walking 1,000 miles in 1,000 hours--at Noah's Ark, Hartshill, continues to attract much attention, great numbers of people visiting her. She has accomplished about four-sixths of the task, and is very confident of success."

It has been said with no less truth than vulgarity, that the walking of womankind is all WALKER. Too generally, indeed, it resembles a mode of progression adopted by the insect tribes, except in being performed with two legs instead of several, or without any at all. All praise to the exception to this rule presented by MRS. DUNN. We have not the pleasure of being acquainted with either that lady or MR. DUNN, but sure we are that she makes her husband a happy man if the health of his wife can make a man happy; as of course it can or should: whereas her illness at least makes him very much the reverse. By exercise in the open air is acquired that soundness of condition, accompanied by mental serenity and beauty of complexion which can never result from dancing in an atmosphere of carbonic acid--the only purpose for which many, many ladies use their legs. What MR. DUNN'S partner costs him for shoes, we are sure he does not grudge, and he would be a fool if he did, for it is much cheaper that she should walk him out a little leather than that she should stand him in a large quantity of medicine: to say nothing of the cabs and omnibuses which are frequently required to travel a hundred yards or so by other wives.

* * * * *


If you wish to save your Succession Duty, reform your Undertaker's Bills. There is nothing to prevent you but the censure of the lowest vulgar--the mob that does not think for itself: a mob composed of quite as many well dressed persons as ragamuffins. Unfortunately, however, this populace may be able to injure as well as hoot you; and that power it will exercise if you do not conform to its idiotisms; one of which is, the addition of upholstery to ashes, and drapery to dust.

It would therefore be a great boon to you--being a wise man, and likewise an executor or a legatee charged with an interment--if your expenditure were subject to be regulated by the subjoined ordinance:--

"In conveying dead bodies to the burial-ground every kind of pomp and publicity shall be avoided."

They manage these matters better in Spain, you will say: for this is one of the articles of a Royal decree that has been issued at Madrid.

But it is also ordained in the same decree, that

"No church, chapel, nor any other sign of a temple or of public or private worship will be allowed to be built in the aforesaid cemetery."

Now, the aforesaid cemetery is the Protestant cemetery. And it is further declared that

"All acts which can give any indication of the performance of any divine service whatever are prohibited."

The above regulations will be found in a Parliamentary paper recently published, containing official correspondence between GENERAL LERSUNDI and LORD HOWDEN, relative to the Protestant Cemetery aforesaid at Madrid. The noble Lord's reply to the gallant officer will be found highly satisfactory, as conveying to the Spanish Government the assurance of that distinguished contempt for it, which is due to a set of imbecile and miserable bigots--utensils of their priesthood.

One would really think that the clergy of Spain and almost all other Roman Catholic countries were doing their very utmost to earn the crown of martyrdom--not, however, for themselves, but for their ecclesiastical brethren, together with all the lay partisans of Popery in Protestant countries. They appear to be trying as hard as they can to prove that the predominance of their religion is inconsistent with civil freedom. The struggles, then, so perseveringly made, both in and out of Parliament, to extend and establish an influence which, wherever it prevails, is seen to issue in tyranny the most hateful; what can they be considered but endeavours to spin cobwebs about our liberties? And have we not every temptation to sweep away the spiders? Resist it, however: resist it, MR. BULL: don't crush the poor creatures, but destroy their webs.

* * * * *

THE CONCEIT OF THE WORLD.--"There isn't a mite" (says LAVATER), "but what fancies itself the cheese."

* * * * *


(_Dedicated, without permission, to the Honourable Directors of the East India Company._)

JOHN BRIGHT is a pestilent fellow, Always ready for making a fight, But of all his low bluster and bellow, We East India Directors make light. Some appointments (we do not mind telling him) We do give away now and then, But to go and accuse us of selling 'em!-- When we're all of us "hon'rable men!"

SIR JAMES HOGG from his place in the House Repelled MR. BRIGHT'S imputation; And showed all his usual _nous_ In insisting on investigation. Such inquiry we've made as we can, Sir, And we're ready to make it again, To ask freely--when parties won't answer-- Proves clearly we're "hon'rable men."

In the first place our statutes declare The sale of appointments illegal, So of course to such sales none would dare Directors to try and inveigle, 'T was done once--but though that was by _charity_-- The law on the case threw its ken, And the row that was made proved the rarity Of such practice 'mong "hon'rable men."

City men--we've our City connections-- (In this there is no impropriety) We've the social and private affections Which belong to our grade in society. If I lay a man 'neath obligation, Of course he'll oblige me again; But we never take remuneration-- For we're all of us "hon'rable men."

If the daughter of one of our Board (And such things have occurred in the body), By winning the hand of a Lord From MISS BLOGG become LADY TOM NODDY. If young NODDIES have writerships handed 'em, And young BLOGGS Treasury clerkships, what then? Is BLOGG less, though JOHN BRIGHT may have branded him, One of twenty-four "hon'rable men?"

As we're quite the commercial _élite_, In the very first circles while moving, If the dignified clergy we meet, The occasion we're right in improving. What delight for the son of a bishop To provide, by a stroke of the pen! In return--if a living he fish up Why we're both of us "hon'rable men."

Even Cabinet Ministers often Are proud to admit us as friends, In those social enjoyments which soften Official hauteur, till it bends: What pleasure to give one's cadetships To a hard-worked First Lord--and if then, One's sons, now on half-pay, should get ships, Does that prove us less "hon'rable men?"

As with other men's daughters and wives, So with ours it is often a passion (As the Bank or the Brewery thrives), To shine in the regions of fashion; For a chaperon countess's matronage, Or a duchess's favouring ken, A slice of one's Indian patronage, Is no price among "hon'rable men."

Then let's hope that the scandal will never Again with belief be received, That for Indian appointments we ever Dream of such thing as "Value received." "Nought for nothing," of old was the motto, And appointments were trafficked in then, "All for nothing," is what we have got to-- We twenty-four "hon'rable men."

* * * * *


No. 1.

[Illustration: T]

The philosophic traveller leaves his native country in order to study the manners of "our volatile neighbours." At the London Bridge Station he finds a crowd of excited persons, evidently bent on the same object. Every man has a passport in his breast-pocket, and is encumbered with much unnecessary luggage, including the plate-chest, so indispensable to the English gentleman's toilet. A foretaste of foreign sights is given by groups of Frenchmen in beards and moustachios, wrapped in furred garments of strange fashion, and overcome by nervousness at the varied dangers which they are about to encounter. Your correspondent, with proper indifference, reads _Punch_ and the evening papers all the way to Dover. His companions are two anxious Gauls, a boy and his tutor, and a party of exceedingly gay appearance and manners, who has no uniform rule for the introduction or suppression of his h's. He is perhaps a traveller in the button or hook-and-eye line.

At Dover the tourist is turned out into the dark with his companions, and finds himself in the power of a band of bravoes, who share the luggage between them, thrust us, the helpless owners, into narrow and filthy dungeons on wheels, and then, reckless of prayers and menaces, hold a council upon our fate. We are at length hurried off into deeper gloom, and the plash of the ocean awakens indefinable apprehensions in the breasts of all. But we wrong the band--they are honest as things go, and will take ransom. A shilling, under pretence of an omnibus ride of a hundred yards, satisfies one ruffian; a second shilling stays the wrath of another, who in return mildly slides your portmanteau down a board into the steamer. This vessel is fuming in great excitement at everybody's confounded stupidity and slowness. "What on earth are you waiting for?" it seems to say. "How can you possibly expect me to take the letters in time? It's all very well for you, you know, but I'm a public character, and have got a reputation to keep up. Don't stand loitering there about those things. Pitch 'em in anyhow. Hang the luggage. What's luggage to letters? You have no idea how important the mail-service is. I know I'm very passionate, and if you don't come at once I shall scream."

Ah! the last carpet-bag is in; the bell rings, the bad language partially ceases, the mooring ropes are cast off, and the fussy old animal is allowed to have her own way. The philosophic tourist finds his companions of the train. The tutor is curled up under the table in the cabin, which is full of sleepers, lying about in every direction like great flies who have over-eaten themselves. The distinguished foreigners have already become pale even at the tranquil heaving of the harbour tide. The hook-and-eye man and the boy are smoking infamous cheroots, drinking neat cognac, and making pointless jokes in a loud voice to the steward. We are outside the pier. Your correspondent has no emotions. He sees the cliffs of Albion diminish without a sigh--a regret. He does not feel the poetry of the situation. He omits to quote _Childe Harold_ to a gentleman's servant who kindly helps him on with a third great-coat. He is perhaps brutal; yet he is not without some remains of human sentiment. The greatest pleasure man can enjoy is to contemplate the misfortunes of others. Accordingly, he visits the sick. The cabin has become a hospital--a Pandemonium. To stay there is impossible, he returns to the deck. Alas! the furry exiles are paying a bitter tribute to the ocean. The happier ancients could propitiate NEPTUNE with a horse. Now-a-days he has a fancy for human sacrifices, and will only lie appeased by a portion of ourselves. HOOKS-AND-EYES has lost his disposition to joke, regrets the brandy, curses the cheroot, and sits down in gloomy silence. The youngster is jollier than ever, and chaffs his discomfited friend, whom he pronounces in private an awful snob.

Meanwhile the swift steamship cuts through the hissing waves. A south wind springs up, and we enjoy a pleasant variety of motion. To the original regular dip and rise which tried so many, is now added a jerking roll, occasionally amounting to a lurch. "_Ah ciel!_" gasp the expiring Gauls. "Steward, steward!" yells HOOKS-AND-EYES, as he flies across the deck seemingly by some supernatural impulse, and clings convulsively to the lee bulwarks. "And they said we should have a good passage," complain half a dozen other wretched beings, who make up a party to occupy the same position. The philosopher and his young friend pace the deck as well as they can, and hold sweet conversation. The artless lad details his ancient lineage, his past at Eton, his future at Oxford, and the Continental tour which, illustrated by the mild wisdom of JENKINS, M.A., is to fill up the interval between the two. These pleasant words make short the voyage. "Mark, my youthful acquaintance," says the philosopher, "mark the abject misery of these men. There are Britons among them, but the first, the feeblest of them all are French. Rejoice, therefore, for this malady is the Guardian Genius of our shores. Here are coast-defences more stubborn than Martello towers, more terrible than militia men, more vigilant even than a Channel fleet. Figure to yourself an army of red-trowsered invaders in this state offering to land on English shore, and bless the beneficent dispensations of nature. And now, perhaps, you will do me the favour of whistling _Rule Britannia_. Thank you."


The lights of Calais become rapidly visible, the seas abate, the groaning invalids recover their legs, the poor sick ladies come up from the cabin; we glide into smooth water listening to strange cries from the pier, and finally grate along the quay. We are welcomed to the strand of France by _douaniers_ in green with round caps, and policemen in blue with cocked hats and yellow shoulder-belts. We must try to admire and love these men, for as long as we remain, they are fated to be our constant companions. The dilapidated troop of travellers is marched into a sort of condemned cell, whence a detachment disappears from time to time to undergo the examination of their passports and luggage. Here comes the first need of the French tongue. The miserable foreigners recover something of their importance, and the Britons, proud of their exemption from the troubles of the sea, begin to find that they are mortal. HOOKS-AND-EYES, emboldened by excessive draughts of brandy, which make him blink and walk unsteadily, becomes a public character by the wonderful volubility with which he talks an idiom of his own, perfectly unintelligible to the officials. He fancies, it would seem, that he is speaking some Continental language. An hour--two hours--are thus cheerfully spent, and we ultimately settle into a train which ultimately starts. Sleep is rendered impossible by a tin box full of hot water laid at the bottom of the carriage, which, though it certainly warms your feet, brings your knees up to your chin, and at last amounts to an instrument of torture.

The chill of dawn penetrates through voluminous wrappings, and the grey light, as it gradually strengthens, renders visible the dreary face of the country and the haggard unshaven countenances of the travellers. Our young friend, however, is as fresh as a rose and as airy as a lark. "Why, the sunrise is just like the sunrise in England, only not so fine. My eye, look at those pigs! what tremendous legs they've got! That black one is just like a greyhound; he might go for the Derby if he was in condition. Look, there's a clod in wooden shoes. Ah! none of the labourers in Leicestershire wear wooden shoes. That's what my governor said at the last election, when we licked the Freetraders so. Nothing like the British peasantry, their country's pride, when once--I forget how it goes on. Why, they have not got any hedges, just fancy. That isn't good farming, is it, MR. JENKINS?" That Master of Arts, who, under happier circumstances, might have here given a quotation from _Virgil's Georgics_, was meekly prostrate beneath the vicissitudes of travel, and quite unable to reply. As we stop at occasional stations we see groups of happy country people, the women in jackets and white caps, the men in blouses, mounted in open cars, and laughing and jabbering without end. Houses become more frequent--tall, slim, chilly-looking white structures, with Venetian blinds outside each window. More careful cultivation marks the proximity of a great market. Finally, we pass deep ditches, low massive walls, not visible till you are close to them when you see how enormous they are, a ragged suburb, and we are in Paris. A fresh searching of luggage, a light one this time, for butter, eggs, and cabbages, I believe, sets us free--that is, as free as any one can be out of dear Old England.

The philosophic traveller here makes one reflection. What assurance a man must have to bore the British public with the description of a journey that every one has made, and knows as well as he does the Greenwich Railway, or the route from Chelsea to the Bank!

* * * * *


[Illustration: A]

An accident, the consequences of which have proved more serious than was at first anticipated, has occurred on the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway, the rails and sleepers of which had, we understand, been, for some time previously, in an insecure condition. The result has been damages to the amount of above £7,000, incurred by the Company at the Northern Circuit Assizes for loss of life attributed to that state of things. As the sufferers in this instance are directors, instead of stokers or engineers, the calamity will perhaps prove a salutary lesson to them, by teaching them to make better arrangements for the safety of the public. Many of the victims, we believe, have wives and families, to whom, however, it is not apprehended that their loss will prove unusually distressing.


Since the accident, we are informed by our special contemporary, the _Morning Post_, that the authorities of the Railway in question

"Have issued the following ticket, which passengers on their dangerous line are required to sign, and which we here give word for word as it is printed and issued by these liberal directors:--

"'This ticket is issued by the Company and accepted by the holder, upon the express understanding and agreement that the Company are not to be in any way held responsible to the holder, or his representatives, for the consequences of _any accident, however caused_, which may happen to the holder while travelling in any of the Company's vehicles, or being at any of the Company's Stations. It must be exhibited to the Company's Officers whenever required, and any person using it other than the person named herein will be liable to the same penalties as a passenger who does not pay his fare.'"

We have no reason for supposing that the above agreement is a hoax, which has been palmed off upon our contemporary, or that it is a joke at the expense of those unfortunate people who have been already put to so much. On our mind there is no doubt of its authenticity. We are sorry to say we do not think it calculated to answer its purpose; which is to insure the pockets of the Company against the consequences of those awful accidents which are inevitable on an unsafe line. In the first place, we are of opinion that it would not hold good in law. But even if it were legal, it would only tend to obviate the pecuniary consequences of accidents, by preventing the accidents from occurring; and that simply by deterring the public from running the risk of them. To find a Railway Company demanding to insure their property against his loss of life or limb, as a condition to taking him as a passenger, is rather calculated to reduce a man to a sense of the dreadful situation in which he must place himself by venturing on their line. If they persist in issuing this precautionary ticket, they might as well, for consistency's sake, adorn their stations with death's heads and tombstone cherubim, and cover their platforms with black cloth.

* * * * *

[Illustration: A FACT FOR "MURRAY."

London Cousin. "_See them things, Bill; them's what the swells in Ancient Days put out their veeds with. Nobby move, wasn't it?_"]

* * * * *


It is perfectly well known, and firmly believed by many of the gullible, that some clairvoyants, by the mere inspection of a lock of a patient's hair, are able to ascertain his complaint and also to prescribe for it, without having acquired any knowledge of medicine. We are informed by a person of quality, on whom we can depend, that a certain clairvoyant having had a portion of hair shown to him the other day, instantly pronounced the individual it had belonged to a lunatic, and recommended that the whole head should be shaved. The declaration of the somnambulist was remarkably verified, and the propriety of his advice demonstrated, by the fact, that the individual who had owned the hair turned out to be a gentleman who had been sending conscience money to the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER "for omitted Income Tax."

* * * * *

A Present for Aberdeen.

The _Times_ correspondent writes that English sailors are dying, poisoned by the miasma and mosquito bites at the mouth of the Danube, blocked up by the atrocity of Russia. And what says ABERDEEN? Nothing. We have heard of such visitors as a flea in one's ear; now, by way of a memento of dying British tars, we wish LORD ABERDEEN had just one mosquito in his night cap.

* * * * *


Battle steamers will, perhaps, in one sense of the word, be correctly denominated Navy tailors, in consequence of cutting out men of war.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "_Oh!! Look'ee here, Sir, here's a warm long enough to last you a fortnight._"]

* * * * *


WEDNESDAY--MAY 29, 18--.

"Now, my dear FRED--if I could only feel certain you were quite ashamed of yourself, you don't know how comfortable I should be? Call yourself a Christian, and going out murdering people!" I couldn't help saying as much: no, quite the reverse.

"But nobody's hurt," said FRED, laughing. "Besides, now we're the best friends in the world."

"Well, men _are_ creatures, to be sure! To make friendship over bullets and gunpowder. And supposing you'd been killed? Now, just to satisfy me, just for a moment suppose that?"

Whereupon, in his odd way, he stared in my face; and said he thought the calamity would have mightily become me.

"And to have been made a widow for another person--and that person, one's own servant. But I have given JOSEPHINE warning"--

"Nonsense!" said FREDERICK, and I _did_ stare. "Nonsense, my darling," he repeated in his tender way; but I was not to be persuaded.

"Why, the creature was bold enough before. But with the thought in her head that her master had been fighting a duel, and all about her, she'd be as conceited, the house wouldn't hold her. She _goes_: now, it's no use talking, of _that_ I'm determined."

"And so because a foolish young man--not but what he's a very good fellow--_will_ write letters to a silly girl"--

"Oh, never tell me! He'd never have sent letters and nosegays to _such_ a person, if she hadn't encouraged him."

"Ha! that's how you women help one another! The man begins the injury, and the sister-woman finishes it. No, LOTTY; you'll do nothing of the sort. You'll not part with JOSEPHINE; and, more than that, you'll see young BLISS to-day. Who'd have thought to fight the brother of"--

"The fisherwoman? Well, it's very odd; I must say it's odd: and if I _do_ consent to see him, I know I shall only be laughed at."

"Do what's right, LOTTY; and then you may laugh with the laughers."

Now there was such good sense in this, that what could I say? Why, I didn't know; so I just put my arm about his neck.

"Yes, my love, and you'll not crush poor TRUEPENNY"--

"Now, don't ask me that, FRED; that is really too much."

"They'll both be here to-day; and, come, I'll strike a bargain with you, LOTTY?"

"A bargain?" said I. "Why, what's the use, FRED, when you always get the best of it? Well, I'm in a foolish good temper, so what is it?"

"If you'll receive young BLISS"--

"But is it really true that MISS BLISS--the young lady with the artificial flies--is going to be married? Really true?"

"I've told you, I hear next week. That fine young fellow we saw at the church, he's the man. When _their_ honeymoon is over, I intend to ask them, and young BLISS, too, to _The Flitch_."

"Well?" said I, a little relenting. "And now your bargain?"

"You'll see young BLISS and TRUEPENNY--they'll be here to lunch--and we'll start for home, by the first stage to-day, directly afterwards. Is it a bargain?"

"It's two days earlier than we're looked for," said I.

"Very well, let us stop out the time here," cried FRED.

"Not another hour. No; now I shall never be fully happy till I'm at home. I do verily believe, I shall go upon my knees and kiss the door-step. So JOSEPHINE has but to bestir herself--I only hope she'll prove herself worthy of the confidence we place in her; but it's a risk, FRED; depend on it, 'tis a risk."

With this I ran away to my room, and made JOSEPHINE comfortable, telling her that I thought her a most imprudent, if not a very culpable young woman, to have nosegays and letters sent to her, and so to destroy the peace of families--for it was no use to tell me that she couldn't help the gentleman sending them, that I _couldn't_ believe;--but nevertheless if, as I believed, she was truly sorry for her conduct, I wouldn't have the heart to throw her upon the wide, wide world; but would much rather prefer to take her home with us, and--if she continued to behave herself--to make her happy as the day was long. I said all this; but I was sorry, really hurt to observe, that the young woman listened to a good deal I said, like any stone. But then for gratitude, who's to expect it?

We soon had everything packed, and I returned to FRED. Was ever anything so provoking? Instead of MR. BLISS and that TRUEPENNY, came two letters of apology. MR. BLISS had received a sudden call upon his attention that he must obey, but hoped to be allowed to see FRED and "his charming partner"--(and he'd thought nothing of making her a disconsolate widow!)--some day at _The Flitch_. As for MR. TRUEPENNY, he declared to FRED that "he had not the courage to meet his wife:" which I considered a very proper compliment to my spirit. I scarcely thought the man had as much remorse and proper feeling in him. And then he added--"P.S. I write this upon my knees, sending my contrition to your estimable partner; with an earnest prayer that, at some distant day, I may be permitted to approach her at her own fireside. Dinner is beyond my ambition as above my deserts: but, I trust, that after due time and penitence, I may hope to be called to the tea-table. May hope still lift up her azure eyes to muffins?"

"I really don't see anything to laugh at," said I to FRED, who was mightily amused as he read the letter. And to say the truth I _was_ a little vexed. Because I had made my mind up to show FRED how forgivingly I could behave--and then to be disappointed of the opportunity _was_ vexing.

However, we lunched alone; paid the bill; and--shall I ever forget how I jumped into the carriage? I seemed to have wings!--and away we trundled homewards--homewards!


I fairly cried with happiness when I crossed the threshold. When I dropt in my chair at my fireside, I felt like the happiest Queen upon her throne. How beautiful, too, everything looked! There seemed a bloom, a brightness upon everything in the house; whilst the garden was glowing, brimming with flowers; all of them nodding at me, as I thought, a welcome.

What a house-warming we've had! And I never can complain of the smallness of the house after such a party! A hundred and fifty, and still plenty of room for _Roger de Coverley_. Mamma danced with TRUEPENNY who--the foolish fellow!--would go upon his knees on the hearth, and drink a glass of champagne in honour, as he said, of the household gods. We've had merriment enough almost for a life! I begin to be afraid of so much happiness--can it last?

_May 1, Twenty-ninth return of Wedding Day._

Thankful, grateful, for all blessings! Happiness has continued; happiness the purest and best, for--as dear, dear FRED says--the happiness was ever home-made.

* * * * *


LORD PALMERSTON has furnished the Women of America with a new answer to the Women of England. The American ladies say that now the Smoke Nuisance Bill has passed, we cannot blame the States for their Runaway Negro Act, inasmuch as we ourselves have made a law to prevent the escape of the Blacks.

* * * * *


The Yankee scheme for purchasing the fictitious title to the American Fisheries from the pretended EARL OF STIRLING, comes out under the auspices of an Ex-Secretary of State with the portentous name of--WALKER!

* * * * *


* * * * *


[Illustration: W]

Whether everybody has his price or not; there are some quite capable of selling themselves, even by auction: as, for one instance, we should think, the author of the subjoined advertisement:--

AS LEDGER CLERK, Manager, and Correspondent.--A gentleman, of close-sticking business habits, who does nothing by halves, whose references as to character, &c., are first-rate, and whose devotion to his employers' interests ever has been unbounded, is just now open to a RE-ENGAGEMENT. The advertiser is of ripe, vigorous, middle-age, and so undeviatingly systematic, as by the restless force of example, to be qualified to establish, in all around him, habits of perseverance, self denial, and fagging industry, such as could not fail to tell wonderfully, as those habits became more and more fully developed, on any set of people so organised. Clever men of business, who, one and all, admire cleverness in others, and especially when it makes to them its own peculiar bow of the most profound obeisance, are most respectfully requested to address their replies to ALPHA DELTA, &c., &c.

The gentleman so industriously adhesive certainly does not cry himself up by halves; and the glowing language in which he describes his age as "ripe and vigorous," might well become some YANKEE GEORGE ROBINS appraising an UNCLE TOM. We can vividly imagine him putting himself up, ringing the changes on his ripeness and vigour, first-rate references, undeviatingly systematic ways, close-sticking business habits, and unbounded devotion to his employers' interests: and ultimately, with his "own peculiar bow of the most profound obeisance," respectfully knocking himself down to the best bidder. We should like to buy him at our terms in this manner, if we could afterwards dispose of him at his own. But our friend blows his trumpet with rather too many flourishes; makes overmuch use of the figure hyperbole, to commend himself for employment in those figures that Ledger Clerks are more particularly concerned with.

In the same _Times_ that contained the foregoing announcement, appears also the following:--

NO SALARY REQUIRED.--A young Gentleman, (20 years of age), author of several works, wishes for a HOME. He is a beautiful reader and writer; can write poetry, tales, essays, and anything literary. He is possessed of pleasing manners, kind disposition, and would do all in his power to make himself useful, and contribute to the happiness of those with whom he may become associated. One of his works sent for six stamps. Address Reginald Villiers, &c., &c.

This is a performance on a similar instrument; but it is the clarionet to the cornet-à-pistons. Only 20; a "beautiful" reader and writer; can write poetry, tales, essays, and "anything literary;" and is already the "author of several works." Why, this is a second

"CHATTERTON the marvellous Boy,"

and we should say he had better take care that he does not so far resemble

"The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride,"

as to go off, some day, in a fit of vanity and self-conceit.

We are almost inclined to send him six stamps for one of his works, in order that we may ascertain if it is worth a single rap.

* * * * *


The _Sheffield Independent_ announces that MR. ROEBUCK'S health is so much improved that he has accepted an invitation to the Cutlers' feast. We are happy to hear it, and hope MR. ROEBUCK will do the Cutlers the credit of playing a good knife and fork.

* * * * *


_The Chairman of the Committee to the Vulgar (fractional) Public._

AIR--_"Won't you Come and take Tea in the Arbour?"_

The Coinage Committee, which sat in the City, At last have completed their labour, And derive from the action intense satisfaction; We're sick of "COLENSO" and "MAVOR!" But as it may be thought that we mean our "report" For the special behoof of "the City," Half a page of the _Times_ we'll condense into rhymes To the air of a popular ditty. So, though it's uphilly, give up all your silly Ideas, which might suit your grandfather About shillings and pence, which are not common sense, And take to the decimals rather!

As in loyalty bound, we shall stick to the pound-- 'Twould be treason the "sovereign" to banish; But all the half-crowns, "bobs", "joeys", and "browns," Into Royal Mint-sauce must vanish. But we'll leave you the _Florin_, which cannot be foreign, As every one lots of them handles, And of these 'twill be found, ten will go to the pound, For all the world like--kitchen candles! Then, though it's uphilly, &c.

Still on decimals bent, we descend to the _Cent_ (Find its value yourself, if you're able), Divide by ten still, and you'll come to the _Mil_ There, my friends, you've the whole of the table. So we hope by next session, you'll be in possession Of some sensible decimal money; And pay all little bills in cents, florins, and mils, Never mind if, at first, it seem funny. But, though it's uphilly, &c.

Those who talk about "browns," and say "bulls"--meaning crowns, Perchance for "nicknames" may be roarin'; Recollect in a "_mill_" you've of _pound_ing your fill, And frequently plenty of _floorin'_. Now, Public! tho' slow--that you're grateful to show (If you are not a stingy, mean sinner), The least you can do, is to just buckle to, And give the Committee--a dinner! Then, though it's uphilly, &c.

* * * * *


(_From our Travelling Contributor._)

The British Consulate at Boulogne still "hangs out" over the "tinnery, leadery, and zincery," at the end of the port, as we have ascertained by a recent visit. The ground floor is occupied by a sauce-pan shop, while British diplomacy has taken the floor above, and the frontage of the premises displays a rivalry of attraction between the "British Consular Office for Passports" and the "_Bazar des Quatre_" something or other, which the tinman adopts as the name of his domicile.

We recognise no change in the arrangements since we noticed the establishment two years ago, except that the individual who represents British diplomacy has got a new cap, is rather more civil spoken than he was, and the boy who runs to call him when he is in another room is grown bigger than he used to be. This is all natural enough, and so far unobjectionable, though we are not quite so well satisfied with a rope that has been attached to one side of the staircase by way of bannisters. On the day of our visit there was a consular _torchon_, or diplomatic dishclout hanging to dry on the landing, which we thought savoured of anything but dignity. The rope was well enough as far as it went, and the Consul has given the public just rope enough to hang itself, or rather to pull itself up by, in ascending the staircase. We presume that all this homeliness is as much as the passport fees will afford, and we can only regret, for the credit of British diplomacy, that it is as much dignity as can be sustained upon the four-and-two-pences that pour in on the establishment at Boulogne.

* * * * *


A hair of the dog that bit you is recommended as a cure for the consequences of drunkenness; but when intoxication results in beating women, the dog does not afford so proper a remedy as the cat.

* * * * *

Who was the first "Gent" on record?--The Lawyer, when he was allowed by Act of Parliament to write after his name "Gent, one, &c.."

* * * * *


_French Official._ "YOU HAVE PASSPORT?"

_English Gent._ "NONG, MOSSOO."

_Official._ "YOUR NAME."


_Official._ "CHRISTIAN NOM?"

_Gent._ "'ARRY!"

_Official._ "PROFESSION?"

_Gent._ "BANKER!"]

* * * * *


The stubble-headed Ploughboy No more a-field shall stride, Smock-frocked, with whip on shoulder, The steer or steed to guide; At dawn, no more shall whistle With early lark and thrush; No longer stalk the fallows, The clods no longer crush.

In vacant rumination, No more shall sit on gate; His shanks beneath him dangling By hob-nailed highlows' weight. That form of grace no longer The hedgerows shall adorn, His dab of bacon slicing Upon his palm of horn.

The Boy--smock, boots, and bacon, And whip,--must yield to Steam; His whistle must be silent, Whilst engines hiss and scream; For MECHI has in action A new machine e'en now, And says his apparatus Will supersede the Plough.

* * * * *


The Turkish question appears to have subsided into an affair of grease. The subjoined advertisement shows what our Imperial friend has come to:--

BEAR FOR SALE.--A fine large RUSSIAN BEAR, very tame. To be seen on board the Atalanta, CAPTAIN WESENBERG lying in the West India Import Dock.

NICHOLAS has come to the West India Dock. We suppose we shall soon have him Promoting the Growth of the Hair, in combination with essence of rose, violet, or bergamot.

* * * * *

THE HEIGHT OF ABSURDITY.--A Vegetarian attending a Cattle Show.

* * * * *


(_On the proposed New Coinage._)

We are, and always were, averse to change. We do not mean to say that we have, or ever had, any objection to those coppers which long custom has hallowed, and which have been consecrated to charity. But when innovation would tamper with the coin of the realm, we, in common with all HER MAJESTY'S loyal subjects, are necessitated to rally round the SOVEREIGN, not only as such, but as represented by monetary subordinates. And when we observe that one of the principal features in the contemplated revolution is the abolition of the Half-Crown, we cannot but consider the CROWN, and with the CROWN the THRONE, and of course the CHURCH to be placed in jeopardy. In short, we must record our emphatic protest against the proposed Decimal Currency. It was under the old arrangement of pounds, shillings, pence, and farthings, that the country attained to its present pitch of glory and prosperity. That the Decimal system has been adopted by foreigners is the very reason why we should persist in our own. What is it that makes them so eager to take our money, if not its acknowledged superiority to theirs?

The democratic, indeed the levelling character of the decimal agitation is obvious from one remarkable fact, which, may, perhaps, however, be new to our readers. It is notorious that the lower classes are addicted to the use of slang or flash language, especially in connection with pugilism. Now we have already had introduced a coin of foreign denomination, but domestic orthography. We allude to the piece of money termed a florin, a word which, as spelt by the populace--as many of them as can spell at all--signifies the act of knocking or being knocked down. It is proposed that one of the new-fangled coins shall bear the yet more vulgar appellation of a mil; which in the same vocabulary signifies a fistic encounter.

From a Parliamentary Commission subservient to a Downing Street gang, thus evidently deriving the nomenclature of their projected coinage on the one hand from Continental Jews, Papists, and Infidels; and on the other from the BRUMMAGEM CHICKEN and the TIPTON SLASHER, what can we expect but the overthrow of all our ancient institutions, unless the blow which they are about to aim at all that we hold tender, be parried by a determined exertion of the art of self-defence?

* * * * *

A REGULAR PUMP.--An eminent teetotaller being requested by "a few of his admirers" to sit for his portrait, consented, on condition that it should be taken in water-colours.

* * * * *


* * * * *



"I venture but once again to trouble you with a few remarks; and, as I am looking forward to my lad matriculating this next October, I shall be glad of your speedy advice as to whether I ought to send him to a place where he will have to swear to observe Statutes like those I have spoken of, and those I am now about to mention.

"The next Statute after 'the herb Nicotiana,' is about the closing of the College gates at 9 o'clock, and says, that if circumstances should call for it (_si res ita postulet_), the Heads of the Houses shall then go round to each chamber (_perlustratis singulorum cubiculis_), to see if their tenants are there. This is a delightful rule; and, if circumstances do _not_ call for the Heads to make their rounds, it only shows that the Statute is obeyed without such supervision. Early to bed, you know, _Mr. Punch_, not only leads to salubriousness of body and purse, but also conduces to wisdom of intellect; and, doubtless, much of the success of the 'Oxford discipline' that we hear so much about may be traced to this 'early-closing movement.' I am glad to find that my son PETERLOO will not have to carry out the popular idea of a student, by burning 'the midnight oil'--which you and I, as men of the world, know is a mere figure of speech, and only leads to biliousness of body and cutting of morning chapels--but that he will have to be in bed by 9 o'clock, and, possibly, may be tucked up by the Head of the College himself, attended, of course, by bedels and 'holy pokers,' and all the paraphernalia of Collegiate grandeur. And, _Mr. Punch_, what an instructive subject 'Alma Mater putting her children to bed' would be for MR. TENNIEL to turn into a cartoon for the new Houses of Parliament; where, in spite of the exertions of MRS.--I mean MR.--BROTHERTON, the Members _will_ waste the gas and their health in keeping late hours--a thing they were plainly never allowed to do as long as they were at Oxford!


"The next Statute not only forbids the students to indulge in all games that might be hurtful to themselves (_abstineant ab omni lusus genere, in quo de pecuniâ concertatur_), but also requires them to abstain from every kind of game or sport which might cause any danger, injury, or inconvenience to others; as, for example, from the hunting of wild beasts with dogs of all kinds, with ferrets, nets, or snares (_item quod abstineant ab omni genere lusus vel exercitu, ex quo aliis periculum, injuria, vel incommodum creatur: veluti a venatione ferarum cum canibus cujuscunque generis, viverris, retibus, aut plagis_). Oh, _Mr. Punch_, does Oxford still keep the same position it held in dark centuries ages ago, that it is forced to make its matriculating candidates swear to abstain from the sports of a savage life, which may be all very well for a GORDON CUMMING, but do not accord with the peaceful pursuits of a cloistered student? And what, I would ask, are the wild beasts for which Oxford is famous? Are they of the same genus as those which my young neighbour BELLINGHAM GREY speaks of? He tells me that Oxford is infested with the varied species of the Ornithorhyncus--_the Beast with a Bill_--which usually lurk in dens to which they endeavour, by many allurements, to entice their victims; and that, so cunning are they, that they will even steal within the College walls and attack a Student in his own private room, and cannot be got away before they have made him bleed freely. He says that there is no way of capturing these beasts, and that they can only be kept off by Degrees; but, that when once you have found means to settle them, their Bill immediately drops off; and that they are not seen again until their bill has been curiously renewed. I wonder that the manager of the Zoological Gardens don't get hold of specimens of this very curious beast, the Oxford Ornithorhyncus; more especially as they seem to be so common. But I suppose that their difficulty of capture at present stands in the way. But, who knows, but what we shall see them next season among the 'lions' of the Gardens, and eclipsing in interest even the vivarium and the hippopotamus?



"But to return to the Statute. Though I think I smell a badger, yet the word 'ferrets' seems to point at rats. But if, in their humanity, the authorities discourage rat-hunting--which, of course, must be an 'inconvenience' to the rat, even if it cause him no 'danger or injury'--why do they shut their eyes to the legions of terriers, and other rat-killing dogs, that are openly possessed by the members of the University? I am at a loss to know for what species of wild beasts the 'snares and nets' are intended, unless the young men poach for rabbits and hares. But as for fox-hunting, I shall know now how far I may believe young BELLINGHAM GREY when he says that he, and more than a score of 'pinks' may be seen in a morning, setting off from the Canterbury Gate of Christ Church! And as for the loo, and whist, and 'Van John' that he speaks of, not to mention écarté, and the money that changes hands in one evening, why I am sadly afraid that the young gentleman has been imposing upon my credulity.


"The Statute goes on to forbid the boys--I beg pardon, the 'men!'--from the use of hawks for fowling, and from the carrying of cross-bows and 'Bombardarum' (_necnon ab omni apparatu et gestatione Bombardarum, et arcubalistarum; sive etiam accipitrum usu ad aucupium_). Now, I am aware that the old noble sport of hawking is being revived, because I take in _The Field_ (for, of course, I look upon myself as a 'country gentleman,' and do everything that country gentlemen ought to do), and in _The Field_ I sometimes read about it; and I suppose the Oxford gentlemen are assisting in the revival. But, in the name of wonder, _Mr. Punch_, what _can_ be meant by 'Bombardarum?' Has it anything to do with your Austrian friend 'BOMBA?' Or does it mean that the young men must not carry about mortars for the discharge of bombs, or battering-rams, or some 'bombarding' implement 'of that ilk?' But no. 'Town and Gown' disturbances can never need such warlike preparations as these. I suppose I must write to your facetious contemporary _Notes and Queries_, and ask what 'Bombardarum' really does mean; for no Latin Dictionary that I have access to is able to inform me. Really, _Mr. Punch_, my LORD CHANCELLOR DERBY ought to publish either a translation of the Statutes of his University or a dictionary of these 'Oxford mixture' phrases, '_canino Anglico Latine reddita_:' for how can young men be expected to obey Statutes which are made up of words of which the meaning can only be conjectured? And if, _Mr. Punch_, you take up the cudgels for the Oxford Statutes, and tell me that they are thus purposely framed, and after the fashion of the Statutes of the country, I beg to observe that the seat of learning ought to be stuffed with other stuff than that which fills the woolsack, and that the framers of its laws should not be like the noble and versatile Lord of the Upper House, to whom we might say, in the words of COLERIDGE:--

"'You can utter, with a solemn gesture, Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning, Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics!'[4]

"The statutes next call upon the matriculating candidate to swear that he will keep aloof from all rope-dancers and actors, and from the strifes and shows of--gladiators! (_Item quod, intra Universitatem Oxoniensem aut Præcinctum, absque speciali veniá Vice-Cancellarii, nec Funambuli nec Histriones, qui quæstús causâ in Scenam prodeunt, nec Gladiatorum certamina sive spectacula permittantur; nec Academici eisdem intersint._) Good gracious, _Mr. Punch_! is this the nineteenth century--is _Punch_ an institution of our land; have we got a Camp at Chobham, and a Fleet at Spithead, or are we RIP VAN WINKLES in an inverse degree, who have slept backwards into the past? My brain is fairly _muddled_, Sir, with the thought that I am about to send my son PETERLOO to a place which I had fondly imagined to be the centre of all enlightenment, and which I now find retains the barbarities of the darkest ages. I don't object to the rope-dancers and actors--although I might perhaps be inclined to ask why SHAKSPEARE, and SHERIDAN, and BULWER-LYTTON should be condemned as improper; and PLAUTUS, TERENCE, and JUVENAL decided to be the only pure and proper dramatic guides of youth--I don't object, I say, to my lad going to see the rope-dancing and acting, but I do decidedly object to his even having a chance of obtaining 'the special permission of the Vice-Chancellor' to be present at such degrading exhibitions as the 'sports of the Gladiators.' I shudder to think (and so does MRS. BROWN, Sir), that my lad, who has been so carefully brought up, will _really_ 'see before him the Gladiator lie, his manly form all cover'd o'er with wounds;' and that he will, perhaps--(I can assure you, Sir, that MRS. BROWN is obliged to have recourse to her smelling salts at the bare thought of such horrors)--that he will perhaps set his own slave (or scout) to fight for his amusement, and, like those frightful Romans that he is obliged to read about, will be turning up his thumbs to give the dreadful signal for his wretched servant's death! I must really pause a moment to recover my equanimity. Yet a bright thought strikes me! Perhaps, after all, _Mr. Punch_, these gladiatorial exhibitions are only intended to assist the students in their classical pursuits, the mind being, we know, often more speedily instructed through an appeal to the eye. And this idea is supported by the words of the Statute that the Students must not be present at such shows without the special permission of the Vice-Chancellor. For, of course, if there _are_ no gladiatorial exhibitions in Oxford, the candidates for matriculation would not be required to take oaths about them.

"It would fatigue both you and me, _Mr. Punch_ (weakened as I feel by these gladiatorial prospects), were I to make more lengthy observations on the Oxford Statutes; for the subject is so copious, that it would take me some time to travel through all the _Statutum ests_, and stop at each. Yet I think I have told you enough about them to enable you to give me your valuable opinion on the propriety and wisdom of suffering my son PETERLOO to enter an university, to the privileges of which he will only be admitted on the condition that he swears to observe all the foregoing Statutes, and a host of others, to the utmost of his power: '_Scito te_,' says the Vice-Chancellor, as he gives the young man a copy of the book which I have now been considering, '_Scito te in matriculam Universitatis hodie relatum esse, sub hac conditione, sempe, ut omnia Statuta, hoc libro comprehensa, pro virili observes_.'

"But I will add one word in favour of a few more Statutes of this '_Tit._ XV.' I am glad to see that, while my son will not be permitted to draw a weapon upon another, or threaten him with a knife, dagger, sword, or other species of weapon (_cultellum, pugionem, gladium, aut aliquot aliud genus teli aut distrinxerit, aut intentaverit, cum minis, &c._), yet, that he will be allowed to bear a bow and arrow for the sake of honest recreation (_qui honestæ recreationis causá arcus cum sagittis portaverint_), and will not be suffered to ride in, or be the charioteer of, any vehicle, unless he is permitted to do so by the Proctors or the Heads of his College, on account of his infirm health, or some other reasonable cause (_nisi cui propter infirmam valetudinem aut rationabilem aliquam causam licentia, &c._). And yet, _Mr. Punch_, why does young BELLINGHAM GREY tell me tales of Traps, and Dog-carts, and Tandems, and Teams? Have _all_ their charioteers infirm health? or has that young gentleman, in this as in other things, been practising upon the credulity of

"Dear _Mr. Punch_,

"Your constant reader,


[Footnote 4:] "Tragedy of Remorse." Act ii., Scene I.

* * * * *


* * * * *


Here go the Funds, up, up, And there go Consols, down, down, Fluctuate backwards and forwards, And then come around, round, round,

NICHOLAS cries, "No, no!" There's a fall in the Three-per-Cents, Aloft like rockets they go The moment the CZAR relents.

Sing hey! for the Bulls and Bears, And ho! for the Turkey Cocks, Sing Bonds, and Scrip, and Shares, Sing British and Foreign Stocks.

Sing Ninety-seven, Two, Three, Sing Two-and-a-Half at Par, And that's the way £ _s._ _d._ Depends upon Peace or War.

* * * * *


In these days of steam we encounter a great deal of puffing, but few probably have beheld the largest locomotive emit so extensive a puff as the subjoined:--

"Grand, Fortentous, and Most Auspicious Event. Speedy and Imperative and Peremptory Sale of the Entire Stock of Shawls, Mantles, and Robes, of

a firm that we will take the liberty of calling MESSRS. HOKES AND CO.

In the first place, MESSRS. HOKES are to be congratulated on having introduced a striking novelty into the English language--the word Fortentous; which, being big and indistinct, looms, as it were, at the head of their advertisement, with a misty sublimity.

The nature of the impending event, denominated "fortentous" is thus elucidated:--

"In consequence of the Proprietors being made Sole Agents for MACINTOSH'S Registered Waterproof Dupallas, for Ladies' Sea-side, Yachting, or Travelling Wear, they are determined to clear off their entire Stock--and, doing this, they sink all Personal Interest, forego every consideration of gain or lucre, renounce every motive but the one Grand Object--that of a positive and absolute Clearance of the entire Stock--and this, they are determined, must, will, nay shall be accomplished, as the Dupalla will be ready for Inspection in a few days."

This paragraph is a masterly composition--the very perfection of the insinuating style. Sinking all personal interest, foregoing every consideration of gain or lucre, renouncing every motive but that of desiring the positive and absolute clearance of a quantity of stock--that "one grand object" might obviously be accomplished in a simple and effectual manner by making a bonfire of the goods; which, moreover, would probably be the best thing to do with them.

The conclusion of H. AND CO.'S Puff at once invites criticism--and defies it--

"But words are but words, after all, so H. & CO. will proceed to lay before the Public something of a more tangible nature. They pass on to facts, and facts are stubborn things, but they unhesitatingly affirm that the incontrovertible facts given in the annexed quotations of prices, only require ocular observation to establish their identity."

The stubbornness of H. AND CO.'s facts is only exceeded by their acquisitiveness; and perhaps, indeed, the latter propensity may be considered to have dictated their entire advertisement.

* * * * *

GENTILITY AT THE GOLD FIELDS.--Refinement in Australia appears to be a gross anomaly: and the only use of polish relates to boots.

* * * * *



The traveller whose philosophy has passed through these severe trials, hungry, dirty, unshaved, weary, almost querulous, hurls his baggage and himself into a venerable and heavy hackney coach (such a one as DR. JOHNSON might have hired to take MRS. THRALE to the play), drawn by a pair of ragged grey ponies painfully over the rocky ways, which people here have the face to call a pavement. Half-an-hour's jolting brings him to the Hotel in the Rue de Richelieu, where he demands a lodging. "But yes, Monsieur can have a chamber, but certainly," is the cheerful announcement of the _concierge_, a very pearl among women, who advances from the lodge with a smile to welcome the travel-stained, ill-favoured guest. "Behold the steward who will make Monsieur know." "Give yourself the pain to mount, Monsieur," says a solemn official in a fur-cap, with a reverence. The traveller wearily ascends hundreds of shiny, slippery steps, till he arrives at the third floor, where he pauses out of breath. "Mount, mount always!" says the respectable conductor. "But Monsieur, behold us who are arrived at the fourth. This is in fine enough, is it not?" "But no, Monsieur, pardon; it is necessary to mount always." The traveller's hind legs are awfully done up; nevertheless, _allons_! we arrive at another floor. "Behold, Monsieur," gaily says the steward, as he opens the door of 299.

The first thing that strikes one is, that the last gentleman must have been addicted to chewing garlic, and smoking very bad tobacco. The windows, which appear not to have been opened for weeks, enable the fastidious English nostrils to analyse these flavours with unerring certainty. A little hall of entrance, furnished with a stove, a table, and a bench which seems intended for the repose of exhausted creditors before they make their unsuccessful appeal to milord, leads to an apartment furnished both as bed-room and sitting-room, with great taste and cheerfulness. The chairs are pretty in form, and covered with maroon velvet. There is a walnut table, escritoire, and chest of drawers. Over the chimney-piece of black marble is a mirror and a clock. (There is not a room in Paris which does not boast a looking-glass and a clock or clocks, though the latter may not go.) In a recess is a bed, which turns out to be perfect. The last detail, however, strikes the traveller with horror. He will be forced to wash with a slop basin and a milk jug. What to do? The official in the fur cap listens with smiling courtesy to the expostulations of Monsieur, but cannot comprehend his meaning.

There are excellent baths in the Rue Vivienne. But in the chamber? Ah, good, they shall bring a hot bath to Monsieur at three francs. It is still something else? The English waiter shall mount to Monsieur. A shower-bath, a hip-bath, or a sponging-bath he hath not seen, neither can he conceive. The philosopher straightway orders a hot bath, and makes a note never to leave his country for the future without a collapsible caoutchouc arrangement, which may so far make him independent of the short-comings of continental civilisation. The respectable steward retires, the hot bath arrives, painfully supplied with water by a groaning gentleman in a blouse who evidently hates his business, especially in its _higher walks_. Perhaps he will be a member of a Provisional Government some day, and pay society off for his present griefs.

Under the potent influence of hot water the traveller gradually returns to his usual serenity. The bravos of Dover, the exhibitions of weakness on board the steamer, the bureaucratic tediousness of the _douaniers_, the insolence of the police, the jolting over the _pavé_, the interminable flights of stairs, all fade from his memory as he simmers into a happier and more tranquil world of thought. Mysterious analogy to the miracles of culinary science! His heart, so to speak, stews into tenderness in like manner as the lobster, hideous and savage, gradually is divested of his gross nature till he becomes the delicate inmate of a Mayonnaise. Full of this pathetic thought the sage reaps his chin, anoints his hair, makes an elaborate toilette, and descends like JUPITER from Olympus to mingle with men of lower earth. He returns with confidence the smiling salute of the _concierge_. Ah, Madame! you may now regard us; we carry fair linen, and smell of sweet odours: we are no longer a disgrace to Albion. An astounding breakfast, and so to the Boulevards.

How much alike men are! Here are a few more Leicester Squarers than one sees in Regent Street. The gentlemen wear plaited trowsers and broad-brimmed hats, and turn-down collars; women of the lower class walk about in caps; here and there is a blouse, and that is pretty nearly all the difference to be seen. To what end should we describe an ordinary Frenchman? Have we not seen him?--have we not noted him? What child is ignorant of his unobtrusive costume, his pantaloons full round his hips and covering all his boots, his pockets half way down his leg, his tight-waisted coat, his dubious linen, his not dubious hands and face, his modest gait and diffident manner? Know we not his hair grotesquely short or filthily long, his stubbly moustache and beard, or imperial, or republican; his high cheekbones, his eyebrows running up on each side; his vehement discourse, his grimaces, his shrugs, his lively gestures? Mark those three _flâneurs_! They are talking each as loud as he can on a different topic, not listening or listened to, yet perfectly happy and content. Would any one but a Frenchman call such monkey-jabber conversation--_and like it_?

They slacken their talk a little, to exhibit the national politeness. A lady, young, charming, and dressed to perfection, though a little more sumptuously than is usual with us for the promenade on foot, must descend into the kennel (a little river) if these Messieurs will not give place. Ah, bah! do not derange yourselves. JULES puts his head under her bonnet, and perfumes her exquisite coiffure with tobacco smoke. ADOLPHE and HORACE exchange _bon mots_ with a coarse laugh, and the poor lady makes her escape as she may. Oh, French politeness! truly thou art a thing of the past. The modern Gaul has still the trick of taking off his hat; but the spirit of courtesy is evaporated, leaving nothing but dregs behind.

Your correspondent leaves this last sentence as he wrote it in the heat of indignation (if his temper is capable of heat) at what _could not_ have happened in England. Mindful, however, of the danger of drawing general conclusions from particular premises, he wishes to limit his censure to French officials and French Boulevard _flâneurs_, the only persons that have as yet shown themselves to deserve it, and who may be unfavourable specimens of their countrymen. Certainly he has met with an obliging good humour in waiters and shop-keepers, that contrasts favourably with the reserved and almost sullen air of the same classes in England. On the other hand, carters and cabmen seem brutally cruel to their cattle, and will drive over a foot passenger (especially, perhaps, if an Englishman) without scruple. Who shall correctly appreciate these things?


* * * * *


That troublesome quadruped the British Lion, generally supposed defunct, turns out to have been Scotched not killed; as he is now roaring and bellowing more ridiculously than ever, in the character of the Lion of North Britain or Scotch Lion. He is clamouring not only for what he conceives to be his proper corner on the Royal flag, but also, on behalf of his baronetage and some other connexions, for the whole territory and fishing-grounds of the Royal Province of New Scotland, as he calls it; that is to say, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and the adjacent regions. We expect very soon to hear this foolish old Lion roar for the moon, in a state of second cubhood. To humour him, however, it might be advisable to depict him wherever he wishes in that state of rampancy which he chooses to figure in, that is, in an attitude of rampant absurdity.

* * * * *


It is determined that LORD PALMERSTON--who goes in attendance upon the QUEEN to Scotland--shall have the freedom of Perth. Had PAM had his own way, we take it, long ere this, he would have had the freedom of Turkey.

* * * * *



Clear, and grey the day is dawning, free from each ill-omened warning, And the sharp fresh air of morning blows upon our mountain way, As o'er brook and chasm springing, or up woody crag-sides swinging, Showers of dew and blossom bringing down from each rich laden spray; While the birds from tree and thicket greet us with a jocund lay, Merrily our band advancing, towards the mountain's summit glancing, Sees the early sunbeams dancing on a dome of burnished flame, Where, with open doors entreating our approach, a cordial greeting Angel voices seem repeating, singing, sloth and fear to shame, "Hasten! favoured mortals; hasten upward to the House of Fame!" Pausing now, in contemplation, I perceive that every nation, From each calling, class, or station, sends its quota to our band; Poets jostling grave logicians; botanists by politicians; Soldiers marching with physicians; kings, with hermits close at hand Miners, æronauts, and divers, pass before me as I stand. OWEN, with a fossil tusk or femur strides along, and BUSK a Jar has got of fresh Mollusca to sustain him in his toil; WILLIAMS, fond of vermicelli, has a mess of small Sabellæ, Serpulæ, and Terabellæ; FOWLER in his "mortal coil" Thinks he has a force sufficient any obstacle to foil. MURCHISON, with CHAMBERS walking, of striated rocks is talking; CUMMING up a glen goes stalking deer, with LANDSEER painting him; BROUGHAM here and there is tripping, up the rocks for wild bees skipping, In the brooks and fountains dipping; gazing, till his eyes are dim, On the Sun, as "Hydrostatics," "Optics," "Instincts," suit his whim. While ARAGO drags his dying limbs with us, and, though still plying All his much-loved arts, is sighing for his country's broken laws: Happier HUMBOLDT'S mind in masses groups rocks, pebbles, trees, and grasses, Clouds, brooks, torrents, mountain passes; thence one grand conclusion draws; From the greatest and the least of Nature's works the Common Cause And purpose of them all divining. "Sages, in a well reclining, Saw the stars at noon-day shining," ancient legends said; but HIND Marching on in contemplation, by mere force of calculation Every wandering planet's station in the sunlit sky can find, Gazing at them from the deep recesses of his mighty mind. And as thus, with collimators, syphons, hydro-incubators, Seismoscopes and insulators, stuffed birds, insects, ferns and grasses, Microscopic preparations, tons of fire-new publications, Trophies of departed nations, jars of new invented gases, Lenses, crucibles, and gauges, all the hurried _cortège_ passes; CLAUDET, on the concourse gazing, as they come beneath the blazing Sun, much dust around them raising, dips his brush in solar flame; And so skilfully his art he plies, that 'ere the busy party From before his eye can start, he manages the whole to frame In one picture, as a fitting tribute to the House of Fame. Now the glens and gorges clearing, and on steep bare slopes appearing Blither grows our band at hearing, from the gazing crowd below, Shouts of praise and gratulation: but our joy to consternation Changes, on the observation that some men we do not know Have crept up by other paths, and share our glory as we go. And these interlopers blending thoughts of fame and pelf are vending Various wares while they're ascending. FOX the public fancy hits, At so much per scratch revealing scratches on the walls and ceiling, Made with infinite good feeling, by dead heroes, bards, and wits, To amuse an epileptic milliner between her fits. REICHENBACH here runs up, saying he can see a marsh light playing On the hill in open day; in swamps to sink above his knees For his pains he is devoted. 'Mongst the rest, too, here, I noted The unknown, but often quoted, author of the "Vestiges," Seeking for the geese that spring from barnacles that grow on trees. Here our path with doubts and dangers thick is set; for shabby strangers, Little better than bush-rangers, try our purses to retain: Pupils these of PROUDHON'S teaching: CARLYLE runs amongst us preaching That we are but wind-bags, screeching flunkies, shams and shadows vain: CULLEN, WISEMAN, NEWMAN, tell us our true path is down again. And a band, denominated Critics, of mere words created, (Like the horses who were stated to be children of the wind) Come to settle each pretension; but our best and wisest men shun The oft proffered intervention of these blind guides of the blind; On we press, and leave quacks, critics, dreamers, schemers, all behind. From the crowd some intervening pine-trees now our band are screening, Yet they shout, their praises meaning for the quacks we leave below. We, with bated breath, slow creeping up the sharply rising steep, in Indian file our course must keep in paths that faint and fainter grow-- Only by the spoils of those who went before, the track we know. For in crevice, nook, and cranny peering, we perceive that many Of our predecessors any loads they liked not, here threw down. LOYOLA'S whole knightly armour, and the ploughshare of the farmer HAMPDEN; SOUTHEY'S early drama of _Wat Tyler_; CODRUS' crown; Stout ARCHBISHOP BLACKBURN'S cutlass; JOAN OF ARC'S plain hodden gown; GALILEO'S _early_ notion of the Sun's diurnal motion; BECKET'S slily feigned devotion to his Royal Master's sway; LOPE'S, CALDERON'S, CERVANTES' swords, exchanged for pens, and DANTE'S (When as force could not supplant his foes, he took a surer way); BRUTUS' simulated weakness; strewn about the mountain, lay. On these relics as we trample, fired by such a good example, Some of our men leave an ample share upon the flinty strand; PIO NONO'S contribution is his taste for Revolution; "RUSSELL on the Constitution," tumbles from its author's hand; DISRAELI flings away his projects to relieve the land; Engineers let fall a shower of statements that the tractive power Of steam, just fifteen miles an hour cannot possibly exceed; SUGDEN his determination quits, the due acceleration Of amended legislation, by mere quibbles to impede, _Pelham_ and _Paul Clifford_ BULWER drops, and climbs with greater speed. Now small hillocks round us lying mark the spots where others, trying Feats beyond their strength, sank dying, ere the summit they could gain. LUTHER'S love of toleration perished _here_ by congelation; _There_ the too great elevation turned NAPOLEON'S seething brain; _Here_ a whirlwind caught DESCARTES and swept him downward to the plain. And the day is well nigh ended, as against the steep extended, Each by each in turn befriended, each to each for succour clings; While the tempest, well nigh brushing us away sweeps down, and gushing From our very path come rushing mighty rivers' snow-fed springs, And the avalanche's roar through far off glens and valleys rings; But, a glimpse sometimes espying, through the clouds beneath us flying, Of the plain all peaceful lying, of the paths by which we came, Or, along the road before us, of the fame close hanging o'er us-- Where the high celestial chorus greeting every one by name, Sings; "O! Hasten, favoured mortals! Hasten to the House of Fame!"-- Pressing upwards at a pace, meant for success, we reach the basement. Shattered is each door and casement; ruined are the lower halls, Not a word by us is spoken, seeing statues long so broken That of what they were no token yet remains, and crumbling walls Whence the mouldering tablet, carved with long-forgotten letters, falls. Through these chambers sadly wending, and to other halls ascending, Newer they appear, though tending slowly to a like decay; ARISTOTLE'S, PLATO'S pages, which, through long succeeding ages, O'er the minds of other sages held so absolute a sway; Panels, which APELLES used, with all the colours worn away; Witty jests of PERIANDER; bulletins of ALEXANDER; Systems of ANAXIMANDER; fossil _Pterodactyles_ found In the old Homeric strata; speeches that could once create a New soul in a dying state, or burst the chains a tyrant bound; Once loved arts and cherished customs; moulder on the dusty ground. To the higher rooms approaching, still we find the new encroaching On the old; the Moderns poaching coolly on the Ancients' land. NIEBUHR'S stern determination many an ancient reputation Tumbles from its lofty station; HARDOUIN'S sacrilegious hand Threatens Virgil; SHEPHERD scarce will let one ancient father stand. Nay, our predecessors hearing our approach, and greatly fearing Hurt from us, on our appearing, mostly haste to give us way; BREWSTER with delight is glowing, laurels won from NEWTON showing; CUVIER yields his wreath to OWEN, DAVY _his_ to FARADAY; HUME does homage to MACAULAY; FIELDING welcomes THACKERAY. But though on the topmost story now we stand, we know our glory Shall at best be transitory; brief our triumph is, though proud, For, far down the mountain glancing, rays, that set for us, are dancing On the rapidly advancing columns of a mighty crowd; As their leaders cheer them on we hear them shouting long and loud. That, as ours was, so their race is; that their course our track defaces; That they crave our hard-won places; thrills us like a sudden flame; And the high celestial chorus once again descending o'er us, As of old it would implore _us_, sings, to urge _them_ on, the same Strain of "Hasten, favoured mortals! Hasten to the House of Fame!"

* * * * *



Somebody writing from Naples, about Music, to a fashionable contemporary, says:--

"I know, too, more than half-a-dozen Americans who have left their gold cupidity behind them, and are now in Italy, living in small dirty back rooms with a piano-forte, practising _solfeggios_, with the intention of becoming singers of Italian opera."

The development and cultivation of music in the soul of America may, perhaps, tend to arrest the progress of Filibusterism, and other stratagems and spoils; including the spoliation of black liberty: and to render the airs which JONATHAN sometimes gives himself--on the fishery question for instance--tolerable. But it will in all probability produce results yet more extraordinary. A go-ahead people will not be content to stop short at operas and concerts. Music will be utilized; applied to political and social purposes; employed to enhance the charms of eloquence, and adorn the wisdom of statesmanship. Patriots will sing bravuras at caucus or in Congress on behalf of freedom: and Presidents will express themselves in notes arranged to form symphonies; whilst the foreign policy of the States will take the form of overtures. The unseemly contests which sometimes occur in the Legislature will be replaced by grand scenas; and the stump-orator that now is will become a stump-warbler: whilst the mob will respond in chorus. American song will be famous all the world over, and command immense engagements, being paid for--as no doubt it will be delivered--through the nose.

* * * * *


It is seldom that signals of distress are hoisted from the episcopal bench; but the signals in question have actually been hung out recently on behalf of the BISHOP OF DURHAM. One of the "friends of the Church" has made the melancholy calculation that the good Bishop is in such an impoverished state that, after making sundry deductions, the poverty-stricken prelate has scarcely more than seven thousand a year to live upon. Considering how bishoprics go in the present day, we are astonished how the prelacy of Durham can pay at the price, and how, in fact, the bishop can manage to do it for the money.

We shall probably be told next that it is a losing concern, and that the occupant of the wretchedly seedy see is about to give it up in consequence of his being "out of pocket." We recommend the Bench of Bishops to fraternise with the cabmen in making one common stand against the system of reduced fares to which both have been doomed in obedience to the modern principles of economy. The Bench may object to the association, but it is clear there is some affinity between the episcopal and the other class, for the cabman can drive his horse, while both cabman and bishop can drive a bargain.

* * * * *


Among the recent visitors to London we find notified an extraordinarily dense fog. This visitor, though somewhat obscure, created considerable sensation, and a sort of general illumination was got up by the London shopkeepers on the occasion. The fog arrived by the Thames, and made so much of the short time of remaining that the visitor was nearly all over London in a very brief period.

* * * * *


Frenchmen having foreign orders are, by a recent decree, to be allowed henceforth to wear them. If the French boot-maker in Regent Street should really wear all the foreign orders he receives he will be papered from head to foot, and it will be necessary for him to wear an additional placard requesting bill-stickers to beware, to prevent them from mistaking him for a hoarding on which bills may be exhibited.

* * * * *


* * * * *


[Illustration: O]

Our fashionable contemporaries have been amusing their readers with the details of how many birds have been bagged by my Lord This, or the Honourable Captain Tother; and, as every class has a peculiar interest attached to it, we have been at some pains to collect the results of the sporting season among a somewhat humble order of individuals. The best accounts assure us that the DISHONOURABLE BILL SOAMES bagged no less than twenty pocket-handkerchiefs in a few hours, and brought down--off a clothes' line--everything within his reach. In the juvenile sporting circles MASTER JONES bagged twenty blue-bottles off his own pop-gun, and young SMITH had a splendid run after a butterfly with a few young dogs of about his own age.

* * * * *


The following brief note has been forwarded by the Rhinoceros of our Zoological Gardens to Cow, the Rhinoceros of the Jardin des Plantes:--

"DEAR COW,--The French papers say you're the first rhinoceros in Europe since the time of the Romans. Gammon! I've been here more than these two years. But then, as it's only London, what should Frenchmen know about it?

Yours, from the bottom of my tank, R."

* * * * *


The Chinese revolution threatens to lead to other revolutions, not only in England, but in Europe generally. As prognosticated by the _Times_, tourists are making quite a rush to the Celestial Empire. The CHUM-LI'S, CHOO-HOONS, MAR-CH-BANKS, and other Belgravian mandarins have already beat a precipitate retreat from Paris, Baden-Baden, and such common-place places, and have arrived at their respective mansions with a view to arrange passages to Pekin by the "tidal trains." Valets are busy packing and directing port-mantchoos (oh!) for the scene of the contentions of the MANTCHOO dynasty, and the youthful scions of Belgravia are already letting their tails grow in anticipation of the tour. To these latter, _Punch_ would whisper a caution: _they eat little dogs in China_. "Chinese in six lessons," "Chinese without a master," may now be seen placarded everywhere; while our old friend DR. BOWRING is busily engaged, and will shortly publish a Pekin guide book, with dialogues for every possible occasion, which will enable the reader to distinguish a Joss house from a Pagoda, and to ask for a "little more bird's nest," in the most approved accent. Those who are prevented by business or means from visiting this new fashionable resort, will doubtless become familiar with the manners and customs of Pekin through the medium of panoramas, or by becoming guests at the Feast of Lanterns and the flow of oil, as held at the Surrey Zoological.

* * * * *


MR. COBDEN would be "sorry to see this country fighting for Mohammedanism." So should we. But in fighting against NICHOLAS of Russia for ABDUL-MEDJID of Turkey, we opine that we should fight for considerably the best Christian of the two. Who was the better Samaritan? The Russian who would have betrayed the victims of Austria: or the Turk, who at the cannon's mouth protected them?

* * * * *

FASHIONS FOR OCTOBER.--Bonnets will be worn on the small of the back.

* * * * *



* * * * *


AN ENQUIRING MIND (Finsbury) requests that we will give him an historical sketch of Philosophy generally, with biographies of its principal professors, and an analysis of their corresponding or contradicting tenets. He also wants to know what is good for corns, and he particularly desires answers to both his requisitions this week.--On the first point we must refer him to any Encyclopædist, and on the second to any Chiropodist.

BISMILLAH.--Turkey is certainly in Europe, but there is also a Turkey in Asia. There are doubtless wild turkeys in America. But we suspect that some one has been hoaxing you about the four Turkeys. To your second enquiry, about "the directest way for you to become a Member of Parliment" (usually spelt Parliament), we reply that you had better commence by an educational process, which you cannot take up at too early a stage.

ROBERT BLOGGS.--We never before met with the lines you sent, commencing

_To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler, &c._

We agree with you in thinking that they are probably from some play. But perhaps some of our readers can furnish the information.

ALBINIA E. M. has no reason to be "afraid" of our "sarcastic speeches." We never make any. Besides, her handwriting is very pretty, and we dare say corresponds with her face. But in reference to her petition that we will "manage to introduce her to some nice, clever man, with dark eyes, at least £400 a year, and a turn for music," we must pause. Is she sure she is in earnest? Our young men do not like their affections to be sported with. Let her ask her own heart, write again, abstain from sealing with a fourpenny bit, and spell "intense" with an "s," not a "c."

AMOR VIRTUTIS is informed that we cannot tell him where to get skeleton keys made.

NON MI RICORDO, and numerous other correspondents are apprised that we believe the lady was born about the end of the reign of King George the Second. But her address is in the _Court Guide_, and they had better apply to her personally. We do not profess to keep a Register Office.

SAUCY LIZZY.--The best cosmetic is health. Rise early, take exercise, read _Punch_, and be asleep before dark, and you will not need "washes," which, as the _Vicar of Wakefield_ says, do no end of mischief. But if you must use anything of the kind, a little cantharides and mustard, rubbed into a paste with turpentine, laid on over night, and the face washed with sulphuric acid in the morning, will probably produce an alteration. But, Lizzy, on no account use it unless made up by a chemist.

A YOUTHFUL ASPIRER.--We happen, at this moment, to want neither "poetry" _nor_ "a boy as can black boots and run errands," but should a vacancy occur in either department, we will bear you in mind. Your "Lines to the Two Warrens" scarcely do justice either to the Blacking or the Blackwood one.

J. WHEELER BLASHBY (or some such name).--How can _we_ tell you where to get a hippopotamus? But we could tell you where to get a writing master, who would be a much better "companion for your leisure hours."

MUSIDORA.--We need hardly say that we do recognise the hand, and with pleasure. Your grace's secret is, of course, perfectly safe with us, and we should write privately, but have no right to disturb a lady's _incog._ As your grace is pleased to prefer periwinkles we must bow, but a good deal may be said for whelks. We cannot, however, concur in your opinion of the music of _Rigoletto_, which we must, with all deference, pronounce "stunning." Your enclosure shall be duly forwarded to the Marquis.

ARCHIMEDES.--Yes, logarithms and decimals mean the same thing, and to reduce decimals into the concrete formula of logarithms, it is only necessary to extract the cube root and take the middle term (of course omitting fractions) until the tangents have for their basis the sine of the complement. Any charity boy could show you the process.

S. F. (Leeds).--We are surprised at such ignorance in a place of progress like Leeds. The Letters of Junius were not written by any man, but by Lady Mary Wortley Montague, who conveyed them to the press through her friend John Evelyn, author of the poem of _Silver_ (on which Phillips founded his, of the _Splendid Shilling_), and she took the name of Junius as a sort of joke, because at the time of writing them she wore one of the Brutus crops introduced at the French Revolution.

JACK ROBINSON.--Rather, and before you could mention your own name. But when you send us grouse, send a leash, not a brace.

MACDONALD PAUL says, that the family of Skirwharmlie is Scotch, and its members have been worthy to rank with many of whom Scotia is most proud. Owing to the unfortunate prejudices of past ages against treason, arson, cattle stealing, and the like, the family was continually decimated by judicial interposition, but its representative keeps, or kept (for the police are very tyrannical) a marine store shop near Old Gravel Lane.

ROSE AND MATILDA.--Very much ashamed of both of you. To write to two officers whom you do not know, making them offers of marriage, might, under certain circumstances, be defended. But to tie your letters to the necks of two kittens, and to fling the inoffensive creatures in at the military party's windows, was contrary to all etiquette. Pray abstain from such demonstrations, if you wish us to think you ladies.

HEIR-AT-LAW.--We are afraid we cannot assist you in tracing your relative. There was, we think, a person named Smith living either in Clapham or Shoreditch during the early part of the present century, and you might search the registries of the churches there. It may aid you in identifying the party, if we add that he was in the habit of smoking a good deal on Saturday evenings. We shall be happy if our information enables you to recover your estate and title.

RUNIC.--Your lines are very pretty, and shall appear as soon as ever we can make room for them, probably in September or October, 1873. You need not wait until their appearance before sending the game.

JUVENIS.--The epigram is by MARTIAL, and runs, correctly, thus:--

_Spes primâ facie largo factotum amicus, Curiæ per contra nil desperandum gratis._

Which may be translated--but, on second thoughts, we invite our young classical friends to send us in their translations of this very terse and sparkling epigram. The name of the first and second best shall be given, as also that of the worst, if he lets us know it.

JOSHUA R.--We are not aware that the "Finding the Dead Body of Harold" has ever been made the subject of a painting, but now you have suggested it, we have no doubt that some artist will take the idea with thankfulness. We are always glad to be the vehicle for conveying such hints, and may mention that we have often wondered that neither _Gil Blas_, nor the _Vicar of Wakefield_ has supplied subjects for painters.

MURPHY.--We do not profess to be weatherwise, but we believe that it has been observed, that before rain swallows fly high, dogs are unusually brisk and active and will not eat grass, waterfowl keep on the surface of the water, fish bite greedily, toads disappear, and sheep and cattle seem remarkably calm and comfortable. We can hardly tell you "how to avert the consequences of rain," but a good deal might be done by staying within doors.

A MOTHER.--Your excuse is a common one, but it is your business to know that he is out. Respecting the demand of your youngest son for cigar money and a latch key, we think you perfectly justified in refusing either until he is eight years old. And though we consider all coercion as objectionable, we cannot blame you for fastening the street door top-bolt, which is above his reach, to prevent his going alone to Vauxhall at half-past eleven at night. But beware of severity, and talk to him of the beauty of virtue, and the social advantages of subordination.

BACKFIN.--Sturgeon abound in the Hampstead ponds, but as they belong to the Lord of the Manor, Sir T. M. Wilson, no one will fish for them. We have ourselves taken salmon, in the New River, of from sixty to eighty pounds, but the tall iron railings sadly interfere with an artistic throw of the fly. We doubt whether the fine trout you describe can be caught in Peerless Pool. From off the terrace of the Houses of Parliament, now that the session is over, anglers are seen hooking John Doreys and smelts daily, but it is stated that the fag ends of the members' cigars have given them a cabbagy flavour.

A NOVICE.--Always happy to give any information on etiquette. If you are on the top of an omnibus, and see a lady walking, to whom you are but slightly known, call out "Hi!" and kiss your hand to her in a facetious manner. If she be of superior rank, it is usual, though not necessary, to put your hat on the end of your stick and spin it round, but discretion must be your guide. True politeness is that which places every one at ease.

ADA JANE.--We suspect poor ADA JANE is in rather an awkward position. We cannot see how she is to prevent her cousin's marriage with the young nobleman to whom ADA JANE herself has taken a liking. She might, certainly, go to the intended bride's mother, represent her own feelings, and ask her to give up the cousin's brilliant match--such things are done on the stage. But we doubt whether it would do in Belgravia. Let ADA JANE catch a young nobleman for herself, there are plenty about.

HENRY E. (Walton).--How can that be? The square of the half of any chord of a circle is equal to the product of the sagittæ of the opposite arcs, that is, the segments of the diameter bisecting the chord, or the versed sines of half the opposite arcs. From this the Jews argue, and we agree with Colonel Sibthorp in thinking they argue rightly, that no man can, by self-measurement, get a decent fit from a tailor.

W. W. and F. F.--Your account of your ascent of Primrose Hill is very exciting, but the feat has been performed before. To be sure, we observe that, like some other gentlemen who just now write to the papers about their "Ascents of Mont Blanc," you failed in reaching the top; but even this remarkable feature in the performance scarcely entitles you to publicity.

AFFECTIONATE EMMA.--Your "Lines to My Little Brother (aged 2¾), on his accidentally Sitting down upon some Stinging Nettles," have point and pensiveness, but scarcely sufficient interest for the general reader. Still we hope your brother is better.

CHARLEY, having been thrown over by a young lady, wishes to return everything she has ever sent him, but finds a difficulty, from the fact that, her papa having been a pastrycook, her presents chiefly consisted of jam tarts, Albert rock, and the like, which CHARLEY has eaten long ago. The dilemma is new and delicate, but if CHARLEY'S conscience is tender, he had better estimate the price of the articles, and enclose it to the old Pattypan, from whom Miss had clearly no right to take them. But, as has been classically said, _Jams ate is_.

BELLICOSUS JOCOSUS.--You may obtain a commission in the army, by leaving your card at Lord Hardinge's any day before four o'clock, and by calling for an answer next day. You may give the servant one shilling. This applies to the line only. To become a guardsman, call at the Junior United Service Club any evening between six and nine, walk boldly into the dining-room, and state your wish to any party who may be dining together. The rest of the process you will find very simple.

A BRIDE.--Do not distress yourself. Very likely he loves you sincerely, and his winking at the bridesmaid might be mere accident--the whisper was probably to tell her how pretty you looked--and the pressure of her hand gratitude for her ready acknowledgment of it. Even the note may be explained; it was the address to which she is to forward some present for you. Never worry yourself about trifles--you have married him, and she is cut out. Go on your tour rejoicing.

JEUNE PHILOSOPHE.--Matter is, no doubt, as you contend, an integral part of cognate consciousness; but do not push this law to an absurdity. If homogeneous self-antipathies come into conflict with inchoate rationalism, where will you draw the line between casuality and causality? Hadn't you better shut up?

ANXIOUS JEMIMA.--There is no rule as to the number of clergymen requisite at a wedding. One able-bodied clerk in orders can do all that is necessary. The "assisting" system is a ridiculous custom, introduced by the Puseyites, by way of assimilating the ceremony to that of Rome. At the same time, we admit that a clergyman has a hard duty to perform in managing _some_ couples, and it is probably in these cases that he calls in extra hands. Look at the announcements with that idea in your mind.

SIGHT-SEER.--You may walk into Buckingham Palace whenever you please, and without any ticket. But when you enter the rooms in which any of the Royal Family are sitting, you should put out your cigar, and politeness, if not loyalty, dictates your making some complimentary remark on the elegance of the building. If you have apples or other fruit in your pocket, you may offer them to the younger Princes and Princesses; but we believe there is an objection to their R. H. accepting slices of cocoa-nut, or toffy.

WILLIAM P.--We think the young lady was quite justified in slamming the door in your face, and in throwing the geranium pots at you from the two-pair window; indeed, we do not see how any person calling herself a lady could have acted otherwise.

PUZZLED.--We have so repeatedly explained that _R. S. V. P._, on a note of invitation, means "Write and Say Vether you'll be Present," that we are tired of answering the inquiry.

THEATRICUS (Ebury Street).--We shall be happy to read all your thirty-four plays, and, having done so, to recommend them to such managers as they may best suit. There will be no difficulty about money, but we shall be happy to make any advance you may require while the plays are in rehearsal. One hundred guineas an act is the lowest price paid at any Metropolitan theatre.

SMACKARJEE WOPPAJEE (Calcutta).--We are much obliged. The sketch of the Ayah running round the compound after the Adjutant (bird), and the khansuma and the chuprassy pelting her with her own tabeejes and banjoobunds, has been handed to one of our artists, but we fear the nutcut will make but a queer jummakur of it. So you have got your juwaub, eh? Never mind, there are other young ladies in India. Ask again.

QUERY.--You are wrong. Sardanápalus is accented on the middle syllable; Zante is a dissyllable; Chobham is pronounced Cobham; theátre is accented on the _a_; Phäeton is sounded fee-á-ton; and Mr. Disraeli as Mr. De Hisreelly. Attend to these niceties if you would be supposed to have lived in good society.

A YOUNG HOUSEKEEPER.--In September pickle garlic, parsnips, and spinach, and pour vinegar into each of your marmalade pots, to prevent fermentation. Smear the frames of your looking-glasses and pictures with tar and treacle; and be careful that the pantry doors and windows are left open at nights, as the autumn air of the garden is cold for the cats. If you have beer in the house, drink it.

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The French have their SAINT FIACRE, who must be the patron saint of hackney coaches; why shouldn't the English calendar boast, in the like manner, of its "SAINT CABBIE?" The sufferings of that much injured creature have been more than sufficient lately to elevate him to the honours of canonisation; and the weakness, the uncomplaining resignation, with which he has borne those sufferings, surely entitle him to some public mark of our gratitude? Has he fallen from his high elevation of eightpence--or, rather, a shilling--down to sixpence, fallen almost without a murmur--and is no popular testimonial to be given him by way of ointment to that fall? Has he not endured the taunts of vulgar minds without a retort? Has he not sat quietly under the sarcasms of little boys, and never once used his whip to drive them away? Has he not been hunted from stand to stand, worse than a wild beast, by the policemen? And has he not been compelled, which was adding insult to injury, to carry himself and cab to the station-house (without being paid, mind you, for the additional distance,) as often as the vindictive object was to fine him? These are broad daylight truths which we require no turning on of the gas to recognise--these are trials and triumphs of temper which are so many proofs of martyrdom, scarcely to be surpassed by any you will find in "Fox's Book Of Martyrs." We propose, therefore, that some statue be erected in honour of SAINT CABBIE; and we think Scotland Yard, which has been the scene where he has been made to bleed so often for his injured cause, would be the fittest spot for the erection. Designs for the statue should be thrown open to public competition and sent in, for selection, to the Police Commissioners. For ourselves, we are anxious to contribute our small mite to the worthy object, and beg, therefore, to suggest the following appropriate design:--

Let a wild horse--the wildest that can be found on the Green Yard--be harnessed to the craziest cab that can be picked off a nocturnal cab stand, and on the top of that cab let poor Cabbie be fastened _à la Mazeppa_. An aureol, made of dirty straw, should shine round his head; his whip should be lying by his side, broken in two, and suspended round his neck should be his badge of suffering, on which should be marked the fatal word "6_d._" On the box should be seated a Member of Parliament (the conventional long ears of an M.P. might be left out on this occasion), with the New Cab Act in his hand, driving the poor Cabman to desperation. The motto on the panel might be "FOR WHEEL AND WOE."

The above design, we are sure, would work up into a very magnificent statue.

In the meantime we hope CARDINAL WISEMAN will exercise all his influence with the POPE, or whoever may be the great almanac-maker; at Rome, to have SAINT CABBIE introduced by the side of SAINT FIACRE in the Romish Calendar.

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His Holiness--says the _Journal de Bruxelles_--has sent to the young bridegroom, the DUKE OF BRABANT, "a fragment of the wood of the manger which formed the cradle of our Saviour." The POPE has a constant supply of relics on hand to be bestowed on fitting persons and fitting occasions. Enthrone Liberty in the Capitol, and the POPE, no doubt, would send _her_ a relic; nothing less than "the Kiss of JUDAS?"

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The fiddles are once more at him. Again is SHAKSPEARE to be bow-strung. VERDI--we learn from the _Post_--is putting _King Lear_ and _Hamlet_ to cat gut. It is, moreover, whispered that _Hamlet_ is destined for the Princess's; _Hamlet_ to be sung by MR. CHARLES KEAN, who is expected to make a great hit in the solo of "To be or not to be," in which he will accompany himself on the Jews'-harp.

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A grand review of the Medical Staff of the Metropolis was held yesterday by SURGEON-GENERAL _Punch_; the officers and men of the various parishes presenting themselves in professional rank and file.

The colours of the corps have become rather faded in consequence of exposure to foul air and exhalations. They are red, blue, and green, in correspondence with night-lamps and shop-window bottles; and are emblazoned with the names of various localities in which the force, performing services of danger, has triumphed over cholera, typhus, and other foes; as "Fig Tree Court," "Puddle Dock," "Twister's Alley," "Paradise Row," "Mount Pleasant," "Slumson's Rents," "Grimes's Mews," &c.

The troops went through the exercise of prescribing, compounding, mixing, and the other evolutions of a sham fight with disease; executing their operations with great rapidity and precision. The mortar practice was much admired.

The appearance of the officers and men was better than could have been expected, considering the generally small amount of their pay.

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* * * * *


The _Morning Herald_ has a beautiful leader upon the QUEEN'S visit to Dublin; a very beautiful bit of work, indeed. The _Herald_ praises with manly devotion the name of woman, and the name of mother. _But_--

"But when to both these there is added the title of our QUEEN! she may not only as in the days of RALEIGH, step on our cloaks, but our---

What do you think? Guess. Breasts? No. Guess again. Hearts? Oh dear no--

"but our _coats_!"

If the loyalty of the _Herald_ continues--regardless of expense--to rise in this manner, the next climax may be thus--

"Not only on our coats, _but_ our WAISTCOATS!"

There, we trust, the loyalty of the _Herald_ will, if only for the sake of appearances, stop.

* * * * *


SCOTLAND--it is said by Scotch patriots--is shamefully snubbed and slighted by sister England. There are two Dukes to be made Knights of the Thistle: and the _Edinburgh Evening Post_ very pertinently asks, Why should they not be created at Holyrood, on the soil whereto the thistle is indigenous? Why not? Honest SANCHO says, "Let every tub stand on its own bottom." And in like manner, why not every Scotch knight sit on his own Thistle?

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Now that Parliament stands prorogued, and the game of all parties consists of partridges and grouse, the journals naturally supply the place of political news with wonderful shots, and other marvellous items of sporting intelligence: as, for instance, the following paragraph which the _Morning Post_ quotes from the _North British Daily Mail_:--

"NEW MODE OF CATCHING WILD DUCK.--A farmer in Bute, some time ago, having sown his crop, set up a couple of harrows in a field to dry, back to back, _i.e._ with the iron spikes outward. On making a round of his field shortly afterwards, to his astonishment he found a wild duck spitted on one of his harrows. Whether the creature in its flight in the dark had encountered the spike of the harrow, or been dashed against it by a gust of wind, no one can tell; but the truth of the story may be relied upon, as our informant, the farmer himself, is a most respectable man, and an elder of the Church."

Both respectable men and elders of the Church are capable now and then of indulging in a little toxophilite recreation; archery: shooting with the old English weapon of ROBIN HOOD. The elder sometimes comes, or becomes, the ancient of the Church militant or old soldier, over us. The above narrative may, perhaps, be regarded as a shaft of waggery aimed at the bull's eye of faith. A correspondent, however, who is farther North than even the _North British Daily Mail_, assures us that it tells the truth, though not the whole truth. That a bird was spitted on one of the harrows in the manner described, is a positive fact. But the additional circumstance should have been mentioned, that a couch-fire having been made between the harrows, for the twofold purpose of burning the weeds, and drying the implements the more effectually, the creature was found not only spitted but roasted. It further remains to be stated, that the bird which was so silly as to spit itself, or get spitted, in its blundering flight, was not a duck, but a goose; which thus became its own cook. Last of all the coincidence deserves to be recorded, that the feathered simpleton, which, previously to the stupid act, had just been feeding, probably in an adjoining garden, was discovered, with some presentiment of its destiny, to have stuffed itself with sage and onions.

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Hence away, loathed Melancholy! Friends around again we see: Banish care, and let's be jolly, Eating muffins, drinking tea.

Round the social board we'll cluster, (That which names from tea I mean), And wash down the festive "buster" With deep draughts of Black and Green.

What care we for Beer-kings' prices? Or the bitters of the vat? ADAM'S pale ale never rises, There's no strychnine, boys, in _that_!

What to us the size of bottles? Pint or quart, who cares a jot? While we to tea confine our throttles, Ours will always be a Pot.

(Only mind lest "Fine Young Hyson" Be a synonyme for "sloe:" And beware the aqueous poison Which from filthy Thames doth flow.)

Jovial boys, come pass the Sally Lunn, nor let the crumpet stand: Round the jocund kettle rally, And silence for its song demand.

Water from its dumpy level Shall elevate each thirsty soul: And if dull care approach our revel, We'll drown it in the sugar bowl.

Thus we'll pass each festive season, From all indigestion free: And enjoy the feast of reason, Coupled with the flow of tea.

* * * * *


WOMEN--they so like matches of any sort--have taken to walking-matches. A MRS. DUNN, of Hartshill, is walking 1,000 miles in 1,000 hours. Another lady, one MISS MEW, of Cateaton Street, has also offered to do the same distance in the same time with this additional difficulty--she offers to walk in walnut-shells. Friends who know her best back her at long odds.

* * * * *


Lighting accidentally on an Australian paper, we were struck by an advertisement of a steamer for sale at Sydney, which really seems worth attention. It professes to be so complete in every department that, if it should happen to go to pieces, there are ample arrangements on board for building another vessel as a substitute. There is "a double set of machinery;" and, in fact, there appears to be everything in duplicate, so that, if the vessel should unhappily go down, there is a counterpart on board to supply the defect.

We do not quite understand the mode by which this desirable state of things has been effected, but we have long ceased to be surprised at anything, and should not be astonished if we were to see the announcement of a ship with a double set of officers, and even a double supply of passengers, so that if anything happened to either there would be sufficient substitutes at hand. Considering that the announcement comes from a land in which the gold mania is at its height, we cannot wonder at the duplicity of the speculation, since double-dealing is thought nothing remarkable where all are thinking of nothing but getting gold.

* * * * *


"DEAR MR. PUNCH,--The Chinese language will no doubt be added to the already long list of acquirements necessary to a governess. The advertisements are even now frightful to read. When, and how am I to learn such words as will soon be expected of me? How am I to afford a journey to China in order to get the right pronunciation? I am told everything is to be taught through the medium of the Chinese: our only chance seems to be to get the Pekin twang as fast as possible.

"Yours truly, JULIA."

* * * * *


We wish we were on visiting terms with the family, the heads of which have put into a Manchester contemporary the subjoined advertisement:--

TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS.--WANTED, in a family, a respectable YOUNG PERSON, as Seamstress and Upper Nurse, and to make herself useful. It is expected that a comfortable home, and the opportunity of improvement, will be considered equivalent to her services for the first twelve months.--Address, M., 27, at the Printers'.

Were we in the habit of friendly intercourse with these nice people, they would sometimes--often, we should hope--ask us to dinner. And what a dinner it would be! Moreover, if we stopped to sleep, what luxurious accommodation would be provided for us in a house where the comforts of home are considered equivalent to the services of a Seamstress or Upper Nurse! O the turtle! O the venison! O the superior descriptions of French and Rhine wine! O the profundity of bliss in sinking to slumber in an abyss of down! But O the victuals! O the dinner!--in the first place--if dinner can be depended upon in an establishment wherein the cook most likely gets no wages.

* * * * *


One J. J. DAW--alias, we presume, JACK JACK-DAW--has been up at Guildhall to profess himself a convert to the Jewish faith. "He is not insane," says the medical authority; "but is a vegetarian." The truth is, the cause of the poor man's conversion is simply this: he has lived upon roots only, and they have got into his head and taking great interest there, have become Hebrew ones.

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(_From our own Correspondent._)

[Illustration: T]

The Chinese Revolution progresses in a peculiar manner. Heads are not falling, as was the case in France, but tails are with marvellous rapidity in this Celestial Reign of Terror, the ROBESPIERRES of which are sending mandarins by thousands to the scaffold, to be deprived of those appendages. The execution of one of these dignitaries took place yesterday, in conformity with the following sentence:--

"DING DONG, Brother of the Moon, and Chief Justice to the Planets, having sat in judgment with great patience for the greater part of an hour upon KU LONG, accused of narrow-mindedness and villainous detestable obstinacy, in adhering pertinaciously to obsolete usages and fashions, considers the said charge against the prisoner fully established, and hereby pronounces him to stand convicted of rascality, perversity, and pig-tailed obstructiveness, which are evil principles, proceeding from the suggestions of demons and imps; seeing that these bad dispositions form the source whence the pigtail springs, and whereby that horrible and ugly excrescence is nourished, it would be desirable to eradicate them, in order that the absurd and ludicrous tail might fall off in consequence. But as there are some objects which are not possible, in the nature of things, and this is one of them, it is best not to attempt to do what would prove impracticable; and therefore the case requires the decree to be different.

For which reason, the sentence upon KU LONG is declared to be that he shall, with as much expedition as the necessary preparations admit of, be conducted by the officers of justice to a scaffold, and having been placed thereon in a convenient chair, shall have his pigtail severed from his head, both as a punishment to himself, and a warning to others, to intimidate and deter them from making hogs of themselves by wearing tails, like those of swine, but not in the manner the pig wears his tail in, but the reverse--which makes it more preposterous. Respect this; and chop KU LONG'S tail off as soon as you can."

* * * * *


Some of our contemporaries appear to be labouring under a political jaundice, by which distemper they are caused to see everything through a blue or buff medium. The _Standard_ supplies a case in point, out of the _Yorkshire Gazette_; in the subjoined portion of an account of some local festivities:--

... "Before late in the day not less than 1500 had congregated together, and were engaged in all kinds of sports and games, and many were the waltzes and polkas, &c., which were gracefully performed by the lovers of the dance. THE EARL AND COUNTESS OF MULGRAVE, with their children and the HONOURABLE E. PHIPPS, the rejected candidate of Whitby, joined the party.

"We would advise our Conservative friends to watch the influence acquired by this new mode of treating."

This is the way in which one party looks at another, that other being a simple merrymaking! Motley is the only wear for a writer whose ideas are so party-coloured. Cannot the superior classes cultivate kindly feelings with their neighbours without being accused of inferior motives? Such mean imputations ought not to emanate from the forces who march under the banner of COLONEL SIBTHORP, but with whom the Member for Lincoln will be ashamed to march through Coventry, or at least, through thick and thin of this kind. The COLONEL, who insists on the right of treating his constituents jovially, would repudiate with scorn the charge of corruption, brought against him for dancing amongst them around a Maypole; he would be highly indignant at being suspected of trying to turn voters round by spinning their daughters in a waltz; of insidious designs in tripping down the middle and up again, and, in doing hands across, of an underhand manoeuvre: he would be disgusted to find himself thought capable of any trick below the double shuffle.

The "new mode of treating" might, indeed, be advantageously "watched by our Conservative friends"--and imitated. To treat the people, by mixing with them in courteous intercourse, would be wise of the aristocracy. But sorrily will the great folks be encouraged to relax their exclusiveness, either socially, or as proprietors of parks and picture galleries, by representing them as doing so merely in a spirit of baseness.

* * * * *


Did you ever hear of a clerical SERGEANT KITE? Here you have apparently that non-commissioned officer--no offence to the probably Tractarian author of the advertisement following, taken from that highly religious paper, _The Guardian_:--

CURATE WANTED, for a small country village in the diocese of Lichfield. Incumbent resident; daily prayers; weekly Communion; day, night, and Sunday schools; plenty of work of all kinds. Salary £90, with a house and garden. The Curate must be a sound Churchman, with his heart in his work, and willing to obey orders. He must have good health, be able to conduct a choral service, and to preach (if necessary) three or four times a week. Direct P., under cover to MR. MASTERS, 33, Aldersgate Street, London.

This is a roll on the modern drum ecclesiastic--SERGEANT KITE beating up for recruits in the noble army of martyrs. For the services above enumerated, many and arduous as they are, appear to be services of danger, rather. The heart which the Curate is expected to have in the work would be soon worn out in it. It is to be feared that the good health he is required to enjoy would not endure very long. In an extremely brief space of time he would pray, preach, teach, and chant himself to death. At least the sound Churchman would speedily get out of condition; grow as phthisical and hectic as any hero of a "religious" novel. With a salary of £90 a year, it may be anticipated that he would go fast to the dogs, and make such an end as a Curate might have made under NERO.

The Incumbent, however, in want of a Curate, may perhaps be also in want of bread, or so poorly off in that respect, as to be unable to offer the assistant for whom he advertises more than a share of his crust. But then he ought to have mentioned this circumstance, that broken meat might have been sent to him, and that steps might have been taken to enable him to participate in the bounty of the Society for Supplying Clergymen with Old Clothes.

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[Illustration: W]

Within the sound of the pleasant bells of St. Barnabas, and within stone's throw of--_Punch_ does not know how many--churches, chapels, literary and scientific lecture-rooms, schools, and other institutions, mainly intended for the exorcising of ignorance, a Ghost has just dared to show itself, and hundreds of fools have attended its levee.

Pond Street is the locality--the name is suggestive of stagnation and greenness--and here has been seen a terrible apparition, "A Tall Man with a Deathlike Face and Snowy Garments Reaching to his Feet." Allowing for the poetry which broke out in snow, the description serves wonderfully for an Irish labourer who, having been desperately beaten in one of the religious ceremonies of his nation, gets out of bed in the night-gown lent him by the hospital. But we will believe the Ghost to be veritable, and to have a mission. Let us see what it is.

First, a sturdy young "excavator" goes up-stairs into the ghostly chamber, and being in his cups, is the easier victim to the saucer eyes, which flame on him so hideously that he falls down in a fit.

Secondly, another "excavator" (if these poor spade men have been disturbing the Ghost's earthly tenement in its grave, justice would have sent the remonstrating spectre to the surveyor's office, or the contractor's counting-house) goes up-stairs, only to fall down in a fit like his predecessor.

Thirdly, an older labourer comes home, and being informed of the affair, proceeds to enquire into it. Stricken down in horror, his fits last for hours.

The neighbourhood, now clustered in agitation round the haunted house, clamours for the Police. Three gallant and well-grown officers, uniformed, and belted, and braceleted, and bludgeoned, march fearlessly into the house, prepared to say "Come, cut it," or "Be off out of that," to the grimmest phantom on the walk. In a few minutes the lettered heroes rush out of the dwelling, their horror untold; but a policeman, paid a guinea a week (less deductions), must have seen something remarkable when he declares, that "untold gold" should not induce him to stay in the place. And these legal authorities actually counsel the householders to leave the dreadful house as soon as possible.

The mission, you see, for which a supernatural visitor is sent from the world of spirits, prospers. Three labourers go into fits, and three policemen are frightened out of their duty. Then doors bang all night, and groans are heard, and a mob blocks up the street until five in the morning. And _Mr. Punch_, who, as may often be seen in the streets, is ready to tackle any ghost with that unhesitating club of his, goes the next afternoon to Pond Street, and finds the assembly again in full force, but not very reverent, and discussing the ghost's nature with that freedom of epithet characteristic of street conversationists. _Mr. Punch_ was very much shocked to hear the roar of laughter which greeted a proposition, made by a gentleman in his shirt-sleeves and with a short pipe, to the effect that if any one would "stand" (_Mr. Punch_ believes he reports the right word) a vessel of malt liquor, he would go into the house (which appears to have resembled that of SAUL), and inflict upon the Ghost--as to whose future destiny the speaker's expressions showed that he had made up his mind--a species of castigation which certainly should be reserved for extreme cases. And _Mr. Punch_ further reports that all along the King's Road, and near the Hospital, and even towards theatrical Brompton, many of whose inhabitants have rejoiced to see "the Ghost walk," the popular invitation was "Come on; let's go and see that blessed Ghost." Clearly, therefore, the supernatural visitor is fulfilling the important mission for which only can we suppose he has been sent from another world.

When the clergy of the neighbourhood heard of the affair, they were greatly moved. One of them, a young Barnabasian, threw down the sweetest handful of charming artificial flowers, with which he was making an altar-wreath for Sunday, rushed into the crowd, and affectionately, but earnestly, reproved his humbler brethren for putting faith in such vulgar and impious folly. He entered the haunted house, walked all over it, and throwing up every window in turn, addressed a few words of gentle ridicule from each: and he ended by leading away the whole assembly to his church, where he gave them some sound, shrewd counsel, which will probably spoil a Ghost's market in that quarter for some time. Others of the clergy, roused by the spectacle in Pond Street, have been equally active; and perhaps after all, this was the Ghost's real mission. In this case "it is an honest ghost, that let _Punch_ tell ye."

The Roman Catholic priests of the vicinity, however, look at the matter in another light, and regard the "Deathlike face" as the editor of the _Tablet_ does the Salette miracle, where the Virgin astonished the weak mind of the pig-boy and girl, and sent a very proper message to the French people not to swear. They say that the Ghost is that of somebody who, not having paid up the priest's "dues," will haunt the neighbourhood until somebody else pays them for him. The landlord of the house, who seems to have most reason to complain of the apparition, intends to pay these "dues," and charge them in the rent, unless the next tenant likes to take the Ghost with the fixtures.

This is, _Punch_ joyfully admits, an enlightened age, but its lights will, sometimes, burn blue.

* * * * *


Doctors, diplomatic doctors, mixers of the paper-pill. Fuming, fussing, drafts discussing, o'er a dying nation, Protocol-prescription-mongers, slow to cure, but strong to kill, Spreading words, like blister-ointment, to allay an irritation.

CLARENDON, M.D., prescribeth sedatives and cooling potion; _Le Docteur_ DROUYN DE L'HUYS to stimulants inclineth; _Hofartzt_ BRUCK of _vis naturæ medicatrix_ hath a notion; _Medicus_ AUPICK, looking wise, doth nothing, but defineth.

Wrangle, jangle, argol-bargol, still the Doctors diplomatic But differ to agree again, and but agree to differ, While the poor old Turk, their patient, groweth more and more asthmatic, And his eye gets dim and dimmer, and his limbs wax stiff and stiffer.

While behind the patient's curtain, with cautious step, yet certain, The AZRAEL who that poor old Turk hath threatened many a year-- A Calmuc skull, with vulture claw, and waist like spider girt in-- To choke death's rattle, and do battle for the body, doth appear.

The Doctors argue with him, and he patiently doth listen; He treateth them to reasons, and they treat him to replies; But the old Turk's eyeballs glaze, and the Calmuc eyeholes glisten;-- And while the Doctors differ the presumptuous patient dies!

* * * * *


It is said that "the authorities" are making extensive preparations for the reception of LOUIS NAPOLEON at Boulogne. As this is not his first visit, and as it is usual on occasions of great public ceremonials, to refer to "precedents," we may expect to find the "authorities" searching their annals in order to discover how LOUIS NAPOLEON was formerly received. It is not necessary to go very far back in making the inquiry, as it is as recent as 1840 that LOUIS NAPOLEON was "received" by the authorities of the place. On that occasion he was met by the National Guard, who, with great valour, fired a salute of loaded muskets on the present Emperor and his handful of almost defenceless friends. No other carriage being in readiness, a bathing-machine was provided for the reception of the Prince, who was conveyed, amid a detachment of soldiers, to the prison in the upper town. The Imperial eagle, instead of being displayed on banners, was present in person, and was removed by the "authorities" to the _abattoir_.

Having reached this result of an inquiry into precedents, we wait patiently for the official programme of the _fêtes_ which will take place in honour of the Emperor's visit to Boulogne. It is quite clear from the events of the last four years that the watering place alluded to was, in 1840, wholly unacquainted with the real sentiments of the French nation. We must suppose that, in 1853, it comes much nearer the mark.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "_Fresh, Marm!!! Why Trouts feeds on Insex, and the very flies fancies they're alive. See how they hovers about 'em, just as if they was now a-swimming in the River._" [VERDICT--Rayther Stale.]]

* * * * *


As the Autumn advances, certain promotions always take place, which we never notice at any other period of the year. We beg to record the following amongst those which have recently occurred:--

MR. JONES, the veteran ballad-singer between the acts at the Pavilion Theatre, promoted into SIGNOR JONESI, "the celebrated tenor from HER MAJESTY'S Theatre," who is now delighting the gay _habitués_ of the different Libraries at Ramsgate, Margate, &c.

MISS ROWE, whose favourite song of "_Will you buy my Oysters, Sir?_" has been sung no less than 300 times at the Grecian Saloon, promoted into "MADLLE. ROEWE, the celebrated _cantatrice_, from the Nobilities' Concerts," who is nightly encored tumultuously at the different "Fairy Scenes" that at this time of the year generally enliven Gravesend about tea-time, and make of it quite a Fairy Home.

MR. O'MULLIGAN, the celebrated Owl in _Der Freischütz_, at the Surrey, into HERR MEULIN, "the popular Shakspearian Clown from Astley's," who is now tumbling his way through the provinces to the especial Shakspearian delight of the visitors of MR. FLICK'S "unrivalled troupe, and quadruple equestrian company."

MR. RODGERS, the forty-third pupil of MRS. SEARLE, and principal waterer of the stage at Covent Garden, promoted at Brighton into "MONSIEUR ROGER, the admired teacher of dancing and calisthenics at ALMACKS'."

MR. NIGGERS, acknowledged to be the greatest villain that ever appeared at the City of London and QUEEN'S Theatres, promoted, for a six months' engagement at Leamington, into "MR. STANLEY SMITH, the leading light comedian of the Lyceum Theatre, under the tasteful management of MADAME VESTRIS."

MR. BROWN, the rich grocer of Finsbury Square, promoted, for the short time he is travelling in France and Italy, into _Milor_ BROWN.

ENSIGN HARRISON, who has just received his commission in the "Bucks Invincibles," promoted, during his stay at Baden-Baden, to the Captaincy of a crack regiment in HER MAJESTY'S line.

MRS. SUTHERLAND, the stock-broker's wife, of Dalston, who is at present stopping at Ems with her seven unmarried daughters, promoted by the landlord and waiters of the Hotel, where she is stopping, into LADY SUTHERLAND, and the promotion gazetted accordingly in all the _Journaux_ and _Zeitungen_ of the place. N.B. The promotion is not in the least denied by MRS. SUTHERLAND, until she is presented with 'the small amount' of Her Ladyship's bill, when she is very indignant "at the idea of being taken for a Lady."

There are several other promotions that generally take place during the Autumn by persons who are travelling. Shopmen aspire to the rank of gentlemen; young gentlemen give themselves the air and pretensions of noblemen; and ladies do not mind to what high rank they may be promoted, knowing well enough they must sink down again to the plain Mrs., the moment they return to Baker Street. But it is otherwise with the gentlemen, who, it is notorious, are more easily led away by the vanities of this world than the ladies; thus, you will meet with swarms of _Rentiers_ in the shape of young gentlemen who have scarcely got sufficient to pay the expenses of their journey home; with innumerable _Hommes de Lettres_, who have never had anything to do with them, beyond writing a letter occasionally, signed "A Father of a Family," or "A Constant Reader," to the Editor of the _Times_; with railways-full of _artistes_, who, if the truth were known, are only hair-cutters, or else the drawing-masters of some suburban girl's-school; and with no small quantity of _Banquiers_, whom, if you could see them only in their counting-houses at home, you would find, probably, behind the trellis-work of a suspicious Betting-Shop, or else secreted in a dark back-parlour, with some six other _Banquiers_, at the head of a "Mutual Loan and Investment Office"--for the benefit, of course, of the "Poor Man" and not at all of themselves.

Beware, especially at the sea-side, and on your travels, of all AUTUMNAL PROMOTIONS.

* * * * *


"MON CHER HIP.,--I have been reading the account of your glorious reception at Paris. Don't you allow your simple head to be turned by the homage you have been receiving. Look at me, and profit by the ridiculous lesson.

"But a short time ago I was as great a favourite as you now are. I was run after worse than a Nepaulese Ambassador--though what little lustre there was about me was all my own--not a single diamond shone in my ears! and my nose (at present so snubbed) was unconscious of the smallest precious stone! No valuable Cachemire was coiled round my head, that, in a moment of admiration, I could unroll and lay at the feet of my fair worshippers. What little merit I possessed consisted in my native ugliness; and though I flatter myself I am as ugly now as I was then, still no one runs after me now.

"As it was with me so it will be with you. My word for it, your nose will be similarly put out of joint by M. DUPIN, or some other monstrosity. I was the rage, the fashionable lion of the day. Thousands of ladies tore their dresses, and fought with their parasols, to get a passing peep at me. They called me 'dear,' 'duck,' 'pet,' and other fond terms of female endearment; and much they care about me at present! Casts were made of me in sponge-cake, and adorned the pastrycooks' windows. You saw my portrait in the frontispiece of every polka. No periodical was complete without my biography, whilst my bulky proportions were multiplied in a thousand different shapes, either in snuff-boxes, ink-stands, salt-cellars, butter-boats, or else figured on ladies' brooches. And where, I ask, am I now? I hide myself in the mud of my bath, with shame and indignation, when I think of the base ingratitude of the public.

"I cannot believe you are any uglier than I was. I will not pay you so egregious a compliment. I will say you possess the same bountiful share of recommendations. In that case I beseech you, _mon cher_ animal, not to allow your brain to be affected by the popular incense that at present is being burnt under your admired nostrils. It is ever the fickle taste of Fashion to forget to-morrow the idols it is worshipping to-day. Believe me, and I speak as one who is both a hippopotamus and a brother, you will be as little run after, as little cared about this time next year, as I now am. At present you are _un charmant hippopotame_, the _fêted_ curiosity of the moment; wait another twelvemonth, and they will say of you, as they do of me, that you are nothing better than a great pig, or, worse still, they will call you probably, in their insulting vernacular, '_un gros cochon_'. Ponder, be wise, and don't grow too conceited.

"Such is the affectionate advice of

"_Mon cher Hip_, your old _camarade du Nil_,

"THE HIPPOPOTAMUS (_of the Zoological Gardens_).

"P.S. Will you believe it, the fashionable world is now running, 'like mad,' after two little monkeys they call _Aztecs_? The ladies actually kiss them! It makes one sick merely to think of it."

* * * * *


The _Times_, in describing the late accident on the Great Northern Railway, assures us, first, that the LORD MAYOR escaped with a trifling injury, but on the next day informs us that his Lordship continues "to swallow with difficulty." As his Lordship was on his way to the Cutlers' Feast, and as his Lordship's tenure of office ceases on the 9th November, _Punch_ does not see how the _Times_ can reconcile its first with its second statement.

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[Illustration: S]

Since each _gobe-mouche_ is speaking of Nanking or Peking, And as each critic, wit, or professional diner, Explains that you can't choose but see that the Mantchews Must soon be entirely driven from China, And that a high price on our Pekoe and Hyson Must be the infallible end of the clatter, _Mr. Punch_, who's a strong _goût_ for Souchong and Congou, Determines to go and see what is the matter, It boots not to say _how_ he goes; for to-day Young and old, grave and gay, so affect locomotion, That the press every hour produces a shower, Of "Rough Notes of a Slide on the Great Frozen Ocean," Or "A Midsummer's Ramble from Stamford to Stambol;" Or "The Steppes of the Cossacks, by one who has walked in 'em;" And I'm sure that whate'er _Mr. Punch's_ plans were, If _these_ tourists could prosper, _he_ wouldn't be baulked in 'em. Like the witches, perchance, he might choose to advance, And so order his coachman to bring out his brougham; Or ask Phoebus to lead forth that spirited steed, Which is furnished, in turn, by each Muse, with a groom; But, however, we'll fancy him safely in Quansi, Or Quantong, where, taking his place 'mid the great, he, Like any philandering son of a mandarin, Sits enjoying his opium _cum dignitate_. Rich and stately pagodas he finds on the road, as He goes through the land, for the most part erected, When the smallest house-tax on Gaul, Briton, or Saxon, Would have stood not the least chance of being collected. Wide canals, dykes, and sluices he sees, too, whose uses Were applied both to traffic, to drainage, and tillage, When a hard rain had undone both Paris and London, To the mud they were made of restoring each village. And they show him the pages of China's first sages, Which were printed for sale in the towns of the Tartar; When, with us, scarce a spark of wit gleamed in one clerk, And DE MONTFORT "his mark" set to our Magna Charta. They declare, too, that banking quite flourished in Nanking, And that printed bank-notes were in vogue at the hour When our yeomen and reeves exchanged bannocks for beeves, And seldom bought less than a sheep'sworth of flour. And he learns their silk factories furnished phylacteries, Robes, handkerchiefs, tapestry too, in the jolly days When our sires wore a quaint but light coat of blue paint, With a few streaks of red upon high days and holidays; And that long, long 'ere BACON and BUNGAY were taken Unawares by the sudden blow up of their crucible, Each Chinese fire-eater had found "vile saltpetre" To the purpose of killing "tall fellows" reducible. Then the more he enquires concerning their sires, The greater the reason he sees to anticipate That much of the mystery shrouding the history Of Europe, the records of China will dissipate; For as old HOANG TI built the wall, strong and high, To check the fierce Huns as it now checks the Tartars, Not long after old HANNIBAL conquered at Cannæ, And then wasted his time in his snug winter quarters; And as if China's sons had not driven those Huns Into Europe by many a subsequent battle, a Longer respite, I ween, for old Rome there had been, Nor Europe so early had bowed to an ATTILA. It is clear that a stranger and far greater danger Threatened Rome when on Carthage her wrath she was wreaking; And that Cato the Censor had shown greater sense, or Discernment, by crying "_Delenda est_ Peking!" But alas! all these stories of China's old glories, _Mr. Punch_ plainly sees it is vain to recall, Since the course of the nation in civilisation Has for ages been typified best by its wall. No more, like his sires, the Chinese aspires In science and art to be making some new step; But the national skill, like a soldier on drill, Keeps performing a kind of perpetual goose-step. For the vast population, the _hand_ cultivation Of the still fertile country no longer suffices; Though to drain swamps they toil, and to carry up soil To the rocky hill sides, no unfrequent device is. And, on seeing their dainties, poor _Punch_ fit to faint is, As he cries, "Nought but famine gives such things a price!" "Rats and mice, and such _small_ deer," snakes and puppies are all dear. As helping to eke out their pittance of rice. Now whilst thus his quick wit is on their antiquities Busy as that of a LAYARD or BONOMI; Or, like that of M'CULLOCH, of pig, sheep, and bullock, Rice and tea, is discussing the social economy, There springs up a great riot near, and the patriot Army comes marching along in its pride; Crying out as they go, "We are hostile to Fô!" They fling down the josses on every side, And smash, in their scrimmages, all Buddha's images, Whilst a new-fangled creed by their chiefs is propounded, Which they call Christianity; though, when _Punch_ comes to scan it, he Finds it is but CONFUCIUS his creed "worse confounded." Now in hamlet or city, all quarter or pity To their long hated rulers the natives refuse; "Peacock's plumes" and "Red buttons" are nought but lost muttons. Whilst impatient his badges of serfdom to lose, Each Chinese without fail parts his head from his tail, And henceforth minds his _toupées_ instead of his _queues_. _Mr. Punch_--whilst applauding their courage, and lauding Their natural wish to recover their freedom-- Still thinks that society may with propriety Expect him a brief "screed o' doctrine" to read 'em. So he summons their leader, and says, "You indeed err, If you think that this triumph your labour will terminate; When the Mantchews have vanished, there still must be banished Many faults which for ages you've suffered to germinate. Your own gross inhumanity, cunning, and vanity, Which still are so great that I cannot ignore 'em, Helped the Mantchews, who knew you right well, to subdue you, As the Mongols and Khalkas had oft done before 'em. You have broken your chains of to-day with small pains; But hereafter, if courage and honesty you lack, you Will be conquered once more--like your fathers of yore, By the might of some yet to come KUBLAI or HULAKHU; For the hordes of the North are still ripe to burst forth. As oft in their tents the rude minstrel or rhymer Tunes his harp in the praise of those glorious days, When their sires fought bravely for GENGIS or TIMUR. To conclude. If you'd thrive, you must earnestly strive To rub out of men's minds the stern dictum of TENNYSON, That 'in Europe one day beats a year in Cathay,' And thereto _Punch_ heartily gives you his benison."

* * * * *


There is a certain arrangement which Railway Directors would do well to adopt in the construction of their time-tables. It is one very generally prevalent among that class of tradesmen whom Railway Companies, for the most part, resemble, generally, in their manner of doing business, considered with reference to fairness and honesty. At present, the hours of arrival and departure are given in the tables--together with a simple disclaimer of the obligation to keep them. This is like giving an I.O.U., under protest of non-liability for the amount; a coarse and clumsy mode of shirking responsibility, and, what is worse, an ineffectual one, being impracticable in law. A far preferable device would be that of printing the hours in large letters with the qualification of "somewhere about" prefixed in very small. By this expedient the appearance of contradicting an engagement would be presented without the reality, and the comfort of security would attend the advantage of swindling.

* * * * *


We hear a great deal about the merits of some rival reaping-machines, but we know of nothing that can equal in the force of rivalry those wonderful reaping-machines--a barrister's tongue, and a physician's finger and thumb; which are the means used by both in reaping their tremendous harvests.

* * * * *


We believe there is a species of long broom, called "a Turk's Head." Now we should say, that the EMPEROR OF RUSSIA would soon make a clean sweep of the Mohammedan Church, Empire and all, if the Sultan would but only put the "Turk's Head" in his hands.

* * * * *


* * * * *


QUEEN DOWAGER CHRISTINA--who has brightened our darkened land with the lustre of her presence--is sedulously studying all our London institutions, in order to do her best to take back and naturalise copies thereof in Spain. She has already visited the Bank of England, and exhibited the most interesting astonishment on learning that the dividends were regularly paid to the public creditor. At first she received the intelligence laughingly, as a bit of heavy _badinage_, the best joke that the dull English could get up for her. However, the Governor of the Bank of England, having gravely assured HER MAJESTY that the Bank regularly paid the public creditor--he moreover produced the books in testimony of the pleasing fact--CHRISTINA, as an ex-queen and a lady, with a frank smile and a graceful curtsey, avowed her belief in the singular custom.

CHRISTINA, though still handsome and by no means old, is nevertheless addicted to serious meditation. It is said that, in token of her contempt of all worldly fopperies, she has worked more than one flag for fast-sailing vessels, trading to the coast of Africa, and landing--(LUCIFER willing and able)--their black merchandise at the Havannah. The flag has at once been typical of the profits of trade, and the final nothingness of all commercial things; _i. e._--a Death's Head and Cross-Bones embroidered in white silk upon black satin; and duly blessed by HER MAJESTY'S confessor. It is said that HER MAJESTY, in admiration of _Uncle Tom_, offered a very handsome testimonial to MRS. BEECHER STOWE; namely, a little black boy, wonderfully accomplished, as page. This story, however, wants confirmation.

We keep the most interesting intelligence for the last. HER MAJESTY has paid a visit to the cemeteries of Norwood, Kensal Green, and Highgate; and--she is an excellent artist--was so much pleased with the last, that she made a sketch of the burial-grounds with her own royal hand, and sent it off by express to Madrid, accompanied by an autograph letter to her queenly daughter, recommending the sketch to be followed (with all allowance for limited space) in the new cemetery (_when_ granted) to the Protestant English.

* * * * *



Ride! Who rides In a 'bus that taketh twelve insides? Ah! who is this lady fine That falls on this lap of mine? A lady is she, As big as three. I prefer her room to her company.

Smoke! Who smokes To the great annoyance of other folks? Ah! who is this snob so fine? A gent, Sirs! a gent! He comes with the noxious scent Of tobacco, beer, and wine: Far better that he On the roof should be. I prefer his room to his company.

* * * * *


The Americans have made another magnificent discovery of the use of cotton. Cotton makes the best cordage for ships. It runs freer, and ties tighter knots. (The knots hitherto caused by cotton all _Uncle Tom's_ can bear witness to.) Cotton, moreover, makes the best sails: for the _Sovereign of the Seas_, Yankee craft, has sails as well as rigging of the fabric. What a slave-clipper might be rigged by the appropriate cotton! What a thing of life (and death) to walk the middle-passage; to fly in and out of African bays and creeks! But one ceremony would be needed to make such a craft perfect. She ought to be christened by the QUEEN DOWAGER OF SPAIN. As HER MAJESTY is about the richest slaveholder, the very largest dealer in human flesh, it would be very appropriate that she should give a name to the kidnapping craft. We would suggest as a name _The Christina_. The slaver rigged with cotton, and the Dowager Queen rigged with the spoils of slavery, would be worthy of one another.

* * * * *


An impudent fellow says: "Show me all the dresses a woman has worn in the course of her life, and I will write her Biography from them."

* * * * *


* * * * *


[Illustration: T]

The Advertisements that are sent to some of our contemporaries, must be altered by them. Here, for instance, is a notification, extracted from the _Lincoln, Rutland, and Stamford Mercury_, by which unprincipled journal it has evidently been corrupted in the grossest manner:--

THE REVEREND RALPH WILLIAM TOLLEMACHE having obtained the exclusive right of Shooting, Sporting, &c., over the whole of the Manor of CLIPSHAM (except Addah Wood), and Lands belonging to J. M. PAGET, Esquire, in the Lordship of PICKWORTH, in the county of Rutland, hopes that all qualified Persons will refrain from trespassing upon the said Lands; as also upon Lands in the Lordship of SOUTH WITHAM, over which he has the right of Shooting, &c., including Lands belonging to the Blue Bull Farm in the Parish of CASTLE BYTHAM and the Hamlet of LOBTHORPE, in the county of Lincoln; and in the Parish of THISTLETON, in the county of Rutland; also on the Blue Point Farm in the Parish of WYMONDHAM, in the county of Leicester.

All Poachers, &c., will be proceeded against _with the utmost rigour of the law_; and MR. TOLLEMACHE _hereby gives notice_, that he will pay to any Person who will give such information as will lead to the _conviction_ of any Person or Persons, for any breach whatsoever of the Game Laws upon any of the aforementioned Lands, the sum of Ten Shillings upon _each such conviction_.

_South Witham_, August 22, 1853.

In the above announcement should be made the following corrections:--For "Shooting, Sporting, &c.," read "Preaching, Praying, &c.;" for "Manor," read "Parish;" for "Persons," read "Parsons;" for "County of Lincoln," read "Diocess of Lincoln," &c. &c.

For "All Poachers, &c., will be proceeded against with the utmost rigour of the law," read "All Preachers will be proceeded against with the utmost rigour of the Gospel"--by "Poachers," understanding to be meant unauthorised fanatics and disseminators of false doctrine. Understand, also, that the hope expressed by MR. TOLLEMACHE, "that all qualified Parsons will refrain from trespassing," &c., means that he does not wish other clergymen to interfere with his people. Lastly, for "Conviction," read "Conversion;" for "for," "from;" and for "Game," "Divine." This is a quaint way of expressing himself on the part of the REVEREND RALPH WILLIAM LIONEL TOLLEMACHE; but JOHN BUNYAN was quaint; so was JOHN WESLEY: so was ROWLAND HILL--why not MR. TOLLEMACHE?

It is too bad to represent a Minister as addicted to the sports of the Field, when, in fact, he devotes himself to the labours of the Vineyard; as beating stubble and cover with retrievers of the canine species, instead of perambulating the highways and by-ways with Scripture Readers; and in place of converting criminals to rectitude, as converting poachers into criminals.

The spiritual manor of the REVEREND MR. TOLLEMACHE includes several districts; but, anxious as he is to do the work of them himself, it is not fair to call him a pluralist. His mild wish that his brethren will refrain from trespassing on his ground, assures us that he has no difficulty in forgiving all his neighbours their trespasses.

* * * * *



An eminent Railway Director, having early business of importance, ordered himself to be called at 6. He was not roused till 6.35. His footman said he was very sorry; he had overslept himself. But he protested he had made every effort to insure his getting up soon enough.

The Railway Director rang for his hot water. It was lukewarm. The kettle had not been got to boil. However, the housemaid vowed she had made every effort to insure its boiling.

The Director of Railways sat down to breakfast. He had to wait five minutes for his egg: and then it was but half done. The egg had not been thought of till just that moment, and then had to be sent out for. Nevertheless the cook had, she declared, made every effort to insure breakfast betimes.

Having swallowed his coffee, which was filthy, notwithstanding that the servant had made every effort to insure its goodness, and devoured his heavy roll, to insure whose lightness every effort had been made by the baker; the Railway Director called for his boots, which did not shine, although every effort had been made to polish them. He then took a cab, and arrived at his destination about a quarter of an hour later than the time that should have been occupied by the journey; still, the driver averred stoutly that he had made every effort to get his horse to go.

A large party of friends and colleagues, including several capitalists, most of whom were great epicures and gluttons, and also dyspeptic and gouty subjects, whose stomachs and tempers were alike impatient, had assembled at the house of the Railway Director to dine at 7.30. The dinner was not announced till 8.15, albeit Messrs. BUBB and GRUBB, with all the resources of MAGOG'S Coffee-House at command, had made every effort to insure punctuality.

Hereupon the Railway Director, losing control over his feelings, indignantly demanded what was the meaning of all this? adding, with an oath, that he supposed the world to be in a conspiracy against him. To which one of his guests, a little punchy man, who was wiser than the rest, replied, "You are quite right; but the reason why the world has conspired against you is, because you and your association conspire against the world to deceive and defraud it; for you fix certain hours in your time-tables, thereby engaging to keep them, and, not keeping them, pretend that you have only contracted to make every effort to insure punctuality in keeping them. And this is all the reply you have to make to the complaints of those whom you have choused. And so, the world has combined to pay you in your own coin, in order that you may feel how disagreeable it is to have people, from whom you expect punctuality, not showing it; but instead of practising it, putting you off with the excuse that they have made every effort to insure it."


Railway Companies are servants of the public; but if the Director of any Railway Company were to be treated by his own domestics and tradesfolk with the same neglect and inattention that he and his fellows treat the public with, and were to have agreements and bargains made with himself violated with the like impudence, he would be mightily incensed and exasperated. And, instead of assuaging, it would only aggravate his wrath to tell him that every effort had been made to discharge those obligations to the fulfilment of which there had been paid small regard, if any.

* * * * *


(_Refined from the original_ Sea-Songs, _for the use of the Yacht Clubs._)

The Wife wishes to go upon the Continent.

ADELINA has flirted--not once, she declares, Since you placed on her finger the ring that she wears; Since at gloomy ST. GEORGE'S your bride she became, And you gave her an Opera-box marked with her name.

When I sailed in that yacht a whole fortnight with you, Did I say I was bored (if I did it was true), With my ALFRED for hours at _ecarté_ I played, And his meerschaum I lit, and his coffee I made.

When, the night we'd a box at ST. JULLIEN'S last _bal_, And--goodness knows why--you deserted the _salle_, I gave you a smile when you chose to appear, Nor asked whom you knew on that horrid top tier.

Why won't you, dear AL, by mamma be advised? A wife who don't pout, AL, deserves to be prized-- So to Constance and Rome ADELINA you'll take, Or a nice piece of work that young person will make.

* * * * *


"MR. PUNCH,--I should be very much obliged if you would put a stop to a species of annoyance which I am continually subject to. I allude to a system of 'Notes and Queries,' which is becoming daily more and more impertinently annoying. These questions are put to me every morning through the medium of the newspapers, which I am obliged to read, 'just to be in the world.' I am a poor student, Sir, and have enough to do to answer questions of a very different description to the following, viz., 'Do you want luxuriant whiskers?' 'Have you been to ---- emporium?' 'Do you bruise your oats?' &c. &c. And then if I take a walk, there is scarcely a street in which I am not assailed by a pictorial Barmaid ejaculating 'Sherry, Sir?' Do, _Mr. Punch_, allow me, through your columns, to answer these impertinent questions once for all. I have _not_ been and never will go to ---- emporium. My AMELIA doesn't care about whiskers, and therefore _I_ don't; and as for bruising oats, and drinking sherry, 'this my answer:'--I don't keep horses, and when I want (and can pay for) wine I'll ask for it.

"I am, _Mr. Punch_, yours &c., FIZ.'

* * * * *

"Non Tali Auxilio."

The head of the Chinese rebellion is extremely indignant with the conduct of the Comet who has lately been rushing about his dominions. He has dispatched a near relation of the Moon's to arrest him in his flight, and, wherever he may find him, instantly to cut off his tail.

* * * * *


At the recent Meeting of the British Association, PROFESSOR GLIMM, of Finsterberg, favoured Section A with the outlines of his plan for the better arrangement of the signs of the zodiac, which, as he truly remarked, were in a very unsatisfactory state, and not at all in accordance with the spirit of the age. "What occasion have we," he asked, "for Libra, the Balance, when we have already the scales of the Pisces?" He therefore proposes to remove Libra from its control over the harvest month, and to substitute for it Virga, which, as every school-boy knows, is the Latin for a threshing machine in common use. As Aquarius comes under the provisions of the New Cab Act, which declares that no water-man shall be allowed on the stand, he is to retire on a pension, and his berth is to be held over for FATHER MATHEW.

The weapons of Sagittarius, and his mode of conducting the chase, have become quite obsolete, and can only excite ridicule in an age which has made so many improvements in fire-arms. He is therefore to share the honourable retirement of Aquarius, and his duties and emoluments are to be divided amongst a troop of shooting stars. These last have petitioned that Canis Venaticus (the hunting dog) may be allowed to attend them, but their request cannot be complied with until it has been ascertained that this celestial pointer will refrain from worrying Taurus and Aries, and barking at the heels of Virgo. PROFESSOR GLIMM has also persuaded some distinguished members of the Peace Society to arbitrate between the Gemini, who have not been on visiting terms for many years. By the intervention of these gentlemen, it is hoped these discreditable squabbles will be stopped, and Castor and Pollux will be once more seen in company.

* * * * *


The Englishman in Paris lives one of two lives: a life of duty or a life of pleasure. In the former case he wanders drearily through the Louvre and the Luxembourg; he makes painful pilgrimages to churches, museums, and galleries, in the hope of picking up a knowledge of Art. He devotes this day to St. Denis, the next to Versailles, the third to St. Cloud. He fills his catalogue and guide-books with annotations, and perhaps spends a cheerful evening over a diary, in which desperate efforts are made to distinguish the styles of RUBENS and TITIAN, and the eras of Notre Dame and the Sainte Chapelle. In the latter case he frequents the Opéra Comique, the theatres, and the public balls: he breakfasts in the Palais Royal, and dines at PHILIPPE'S, and makes a regular promenade in the Champs Elysées every afternoon. The well-balanced mind of your correspondent seizes the advantages of both these systems. He devotes his morning to the cultivation of his intellect, and the rest of the day to the gratification of his tastes.

Behold him, then, after a conscientious study of the pictures in the Louvre, prepared to refresh himself by an airing in the Elysian fields. What a panorama of superb points of view! The Rue de la Paix, the Place and Column Vendôme, the Attic Madeleine, the endless arcades of the Rue de Rivoli, the imperial facade of the Tuileries, its classic gardens, the noble opening of the Place de la Concorde, with its obelisk and fountains, and the avenue ending with the sublime Arch of the Star. Where else can such a group of beauties be found? No wonder the poor Parisians find London dull and ugly! But the less we talk about the appearance of our dingy city the better; we must forget Trafalgar Square and its monuments, and console ourselves with our pavement, our drainage, and our comfortable firesides.

The sun shines cheerfully, the air is pure, and the philosopher enters the Champs Elysées in a state of serene enjoyment, proposing to study the manners of the great nation. He observes an ancient man by the wayside in tattered garments, who plays soft tunes on a bass trombone. No one pays the least attention to this mild minstrelsy. It is a perfect image of Wisdom talking in the streets, and no man regarding her. Another poor creature seated on the ground, grinds a feeble tootling organ amid similar neglect. The French are evidently not a musical people. The observer passes on to a temple of Punch, at whose exhibition (in reverence to the august original in England) he is about to assist, when he is suddenly aroused to a sense of a cruel disappointment. He might just as well be in Hyde Park. It is the drive by the Serpentine over again. Why, there's OVERALLS, of the Blues. There's SWELLINGS SWELLINGS; you never can go anywhere without seeing him. That was BOB HILTON, driving the high-stepping grey horse. There goes THREADPAPER of the Foreign Office, with his infant moustache (what the deuce does _he_ want with a moustache, I should like to know?) There's old GRATINGS, who is such a bore at the Club; there's CHARLEY MARTINGALE of the Plungers, with HOOKER (known by his friends as the Bravo) in his wonderful tight trousers. But who isn't here? Two men behind are talking about the Metropolitan Handicap and GRUMBLER'S chance of the Derby. Really, really, this is too bad. The ancient poet asks, "What exile from his fatherland can leave _himself_ behind?" The question now is what man, by departure from his country, can hope to be free from his countrymen? It is intolerable. How is it possible to take notes of Parisian manners when you are seized upon by SWELLINGS SWELLINGS and catechised about the prospects of the Haymarket Opera? You get rid of him by informing him, in confidence, that it has been taken by MR. JOHN BRIGHT for a series of Bal Masqués and Ballet entertainments, when up come the BRAVO and MARTINGALE, who want to know when PYTCHLEY'S stud is to be sold. You profess a sulky ignorance of the subject, and try to get away, when MARTINGALE enters upon a sketch of French character, which he holds very low, chiefly on grounds of a sporting nature. Ever see such dogs?--ever see such horses?--ever see such riding and driving?--ever see such grooms and coachmen? You should go to one of their steeple-chases and look at them tumbling about. The last time, at La Marche, white and red cap came pounding along fifty miles an hour, and pulled up short at the brook to inquire for the _bridge_.


"_Ou est le pont, Messieurs? Mon Dieu, je vais perdre! De grace, ou est le pont?_" and another man got with his horse on to the top of a bank, where he stopped for a quarter-of-an-hour without being able to get off again, until at last the crowd flicked the unfortunate animal with their pocket-handkerchiefs into a state of madness, when he jumped down, only it was on the wrong side, and his rider gave up the adventure. MARTINGALE was also very severe on the cavalry, whom he described as tailors mounted on bad cart-horses, and unable to stand for a moment before British heavies.

HOOKER endorsed the criticisms of his friend, and called attention to the cavaliers who pranced up and down the drive. Certainly it was rather a ludicrous contrast, both for men and cattle, with our exhibition in Rotten Row. The horses were mostly weedy, leggy, tucked up brutes, all mane and tail, and worth about two pound ten each. One young fellow, a tremendous dandy, galloped up and down on a gray Arab-looking pony that an English gentleman would have put his little boy of twelve upon. The styles of riding were various. There were the _haute école_ men, who rode very long, and showed all their saddle in front of them, and the Anglo-maniacs, who rode very short, and showed all their saddle behind them. Some gentlemen seemed disposed to tie their legs together under their horse's belly; others projected them on each side of his chest like the cat-heads of a man-of-war. They all rode on the curb, with a grasp of iron, holding the snaffle in the other hand, perpetually nagging and spurring and hustling the wretched animals about, till they did not know what to be at. HOOKER'S honest Yorkshire heart swelled with bitterness all the time. "They oughtn't to be trusted out with a horse," he said. "It's a shame, by JOVE! They drive like a butcher, and ride like a chummy on a moke" (HOOKER meant to say, a sweep on a donkey; but he always prefers idiomatic expressions, which add great vigour to his discourse). "However, I won't be unjust to the Mossoos. They can cook a good dinner, and no mistake. Come to-night, old fellow, and dine with us in the Rue Montorgueil. There's HAYCOCK of the 190th coming, and we shall have some of CLICQUOT'S Champagne."

Good. We will be there.


* * * * *


A Composer, whom we cannot do less than call a Musical Pump, so full is his head of crotchets and water--has published three watery sheets of music for the Pianoforte, respectively entitled "The Morning Mist," "The Rainbow," and "The Waterfall." Why should he stop here? why not thoroughly drain the subject? why not fathom it in all its depths, until he has not left a drop of water that can be sounded, or out of which any sound can be got, by any other composer? In our liberality, we beg to suggest a few subjects for him.

THE SHOWER OF RAIN--dedicated to the Lessee of Vauxhall, with an illuminated frontispiece, showing a view of the "Ten Thousand additional Lamps," in water colours.

THE UMBRELLA GALOP, and PARASOL POLKA, dedicated to the fair frequenters of the Horticultural and Botanical Gardens--with a fine running accompaniment.

THE DELUGE--humbly inscribed to LORD MAIDSTONE.

THE MACKINTOSH MARCH--with a view of Chobham Camp--and a beautiful waterproof wrapper.

THE BUCKET OF WATER--A composition for the milk-pail.

THE OVERFLOW--with a splendid engraving of the Surrey Zoological Gardens, showing the overflow caused by a little Poole. "Exceedingly playful."--_Musical Review._

THE CATS AND DOGS' SCHOTTISHE, as danced at all the Scottish Fêtes in Holland Park, Cremorne, &c.

And when the subject of rain-water is fairly pumped out, there are all the other atmospheric changes, of which our climate offers such a tempting variety, and some of which must surely contain a few of the elements of success. We scarcely know which are the most ridiculous--the titles that are given now-a-days to new shirts, or the subjects that are chosen, as the sources of inspiration, by our musical composers.

* * * * *


The _Field_ newspaper prides itself in giving "No Reports of Prize Fights." So conscientious is the paper in this particular, that it has announced its determination--in the event of the decimal coinage being adopted--to turn away every farthing, rather than derive a profit from a single _mil_.

* * * * *

CAUSE AND EFFECT.--It is said that a cause is always followed by effect, but this is not the case at all events at law, where a cause is too frequently followed by "No Effects."

* * * * *


Not a knell gave out any funeral note, As his corpse to the shingles we hurried; And below water-mark we had bare leave got That our countryman's bones should be buried.

We buried him, dog-like, on that mean site, The tide on the point of turning, At the wretched Spaniards' bigot spite With contempt intensely burning.

No use in coffin enclosing his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud that bound him! For he lay where he scarce would remain long at rest, With the ocean washing round him.

None at all were the prayers we read; And we felt more of rage than sorrow, As we thought on the brutes who insult us when dead, And don't pay us alive what they borrow

We thought as we hollowed his shelly bed, And smoothed down his pebbly pillow, That the crabs and the lobsters would creep o'er his head, And we with our fleets on the billow!

Lightly they'll talk of our spirit as gone! Our guns might to atoms have brayed them, Yet we've let the rascals in this way go on, Treating those very Britons who made them.

But half of our shameful job was done, When the waves roared the hour of retiring, And we knew we the distance should have to run, To divert a rabble admiring.

Sharply and quickly we laid him down, 'Mid the jeers of the monks, young and hoary, And we said, unless Spain is compelled to atone, All a humbug is Old England's glory!

* * * * *


Our latest advices inform of us of an extensive inundation of the Rhine. It is impossible to get into a steamer without having "with you MR. SERGEANT SOMEBODY," or finding a Judge "sitting in error" by taking possession of the camp-stool we have for an instant quitted. Every town in Switzerland has its proportion of British Lawyers. Peru the other day could boast of two justices besides its own; and many a legal luminary has been exploring the summits of the Jura, as an agreeable change from his habitual contemplation of the _summun jus_. Equity draftsmen instead of drawing conveyances have been glad to get conveyances to draw them; and the common lawyer has forgotten every other motion but locomotion, which, at this season of the year, is almost a motion of course. The diligences nearly all over the Continent are so unusually loaded, that there is scarcely a vacant corner to be found in any one of them, but we cannot be surprised that when so many lawyers are travelling by them they should be rather heavily charged.

* * * * *


In SWIFT'S time a Chaplain was a mere clerical domestic; and some Curates appear to be little better now. Did ever any one hear of an ordained valet?--somebody wants to hear of such a servant, however, to judge herefrom:--

Curacy, with Title for Holy Orders, in the Diocese of Canterbury. Remuneration--board and lodging, and £20 per annum. For further particulars apply to MR. CLERC SMITH, Secretary to the Church of England Club, 36, Southampton Street, Strand.

The above is taken from the _Times_. What is the Curate expected to undertake for £20 a year and his victuals? The cure of Soles--in the sense of scraping them, perhaps--with the additional duty of polishing upper leathers. To answer the bell that rings for prayers, peradventure--and also that which rings for hot water. We should like to know whether the employer of such a Curate returns him in his Assessed Tax Paper, with a farther entry on his account under the head of Hair Powder.

* * * * *

POLITICAL CAPITAL.--The only capital most Irish Members have, and even that is at a terrible discount.

* * * * *


Reflective Cabman. "_Vell, it all 'us was so! The genteeler the Party, the wosser the Fare!_"]

* * * * *


That a city can exist without Smoke, we beg to refer our readers for the proof of such a possibility to MR. BURFORD'S Panorama in Leicester Square. There they will be able to admire, in all its beauty and undefiled cleanliness, the lovely City of Mexico. You are standing on the top of the Grand Cathedral, and, look in all directions as you will, you cannot see the smallest wreath of smoke curling about the place. Now, we should like to see the curl taken out of London in a similar manner. It may not look, perhaps, so grand, so showy and glittering as Mexico, but still it may, in its new aspect, appear sufficiently tempting to induce Mr. BURFORD to select it as the subject of some future Panorama. The probability is, we should not know it again as the same city, in which we are now, like so many living chimneys, inhaling and exhaling smoke all day long. The new Zealander, when he does view the ruins of our sooty metropolis from London Bridge, would be able to see them at all events to greater advantage then than he would if he were to take his private view from one of the parapets to-morrow. For our own selves, we are most anxious to see how London would look without smoke--for, in the name of darkness, it looks ugly enough with it.

* * * * *


MR. ALBERT SMITH alters his song of "_Galignani's Messenger_" to the current events of the day. MR. WYLD will have to follow his example, and keep a staff of colourmen constantly at work on his Model. Poland is gone! Turkey threatened! and in the _Times_ of Saturday, we find--

"Last week of Hindostan!"


"Mont Blanc will close this Evening!"

* * * * *


(_From "The Nation._")

Another insult, hot and hissing, has been flung in the scar-seamed face of Ireland from the Saxon! And the Crystal Palace--or, rather, the Vitreous Dungeon for Ireland's liberties--was the appointed scene of the atrocity. Among the more sublimating objects was the venerable form of O'CONNELL (in something harder than wax!) surrounded by a crowd of his own finest peasantry.

"That's O'CONNELL," said the QUEEN.

"And very like him," said PRINCE ALBERT. And with all respect for his Royal Highness--(for, as we are slaves, we have learned to treat the Saxon with respect!) with all respect we ask, how he should presume to know it was like the deified lineaments of the sublime Liberator?--"And very like him!" said the Queen's husband; but--patience is the badge of all our tribe, and we'll let _that_ pass.

But the withering insult is now to be recorded; if it do not, as we write it, turn our steel pen red-hot, and singe the paper into flames!

The DUKE OF WELLINGTON--the second Duke--the son of O'CONNELL'S "stunted corporal"--yes, Dux Secundus--presumed to "buy O'CONNELL and the peasantry!"

Think of that, oh countrymen! The DUKE OF WELLINGTON dared to put his hand into his pocket, and to take out so much tax-wrung, Saxon gold, and--counting it piece by piece--he laid it down as the price of O'CONNELL!

What did he mean by that cowardly, atrocious, ready-money transaction? Why, this: by purchasing O'CONNELL he intended to fling this burning libel in the face of Ireland--he wished to show it as his decided opinion that O'CONNELL _could be bought!!!_

But the day of reckoning with the Saxon _will_ come. Meantime, if we hug our chain, it is only to count and _pay for_ the links!

* * * * *


Law is looking up at Manchester--to judge from a paragraph in the _Morning Herald_; to wit--

"MANCHESTER LIBERALISM.--The following announcement has been posted on the walls of the Manchester Law Library:--'An experienced clerk, who writes a good hand, is wanted by a respectable solicitor in Manchester. Salary 7_s._ per week, with perquisites in the shape of cast-off clothes. Apply to the librarian.'"

Dull literalism would denounce the respectable solicitor who proposes to pay an experienced clerk principally in cast-off clothes, as a screw. Many a plodding fellow will expatiate on the unreasonableness on the part of a legal gentleman who remunerates a clerk on this scale, of being astonished that the said clerk should go seedy, or stretch forth his hand and commit acts contrary to ordinances and statutes in such case made and provided. It will occur to the stolid mind that the offer of a stipend of old clothes is not likely to attract any clerk of experience, beyond that of a Jew salesman. But the true man of figures, he who understands the language of Fancy, revelling in metaphor, perceives at once that the proposition which seems so stingy is, in fact, very liberal. He discerns that by cast-off clothes is meant a share in the business, consisting in those suits, which though considerably profitable, are not of sufficient importance to be attended to by the head of the establishment. It is pleasing to find the language of poetry thus obtaining, in a profession of which the phraseology has hitherto been so very unimaginative.

* * * * *


There is no washing, after all, like gold-washing. It is the kind of washing that pays the best, and the only one that a gentleman can, with credit, put his hands to.

* * * * *

[Illustration: A BIT OF HIS MIND.


* * * * *


In adopting the decimal coinage, it would be desirable to alter as little as possible the existing nomenclature of the QUEEN'S cash. The idea of the decimal may be expressed by the slightest variation of a term in vernacular use to denote a certain piece of money. By the change of a letter in the word "Tanner," the sixpence might, nominally, be retained to the great bulk of the people; whilst, by the conversion alluded to, namely, into "Tenner," the new elements of its constitution would be at the same time signified. The novel word "Mil," should be rejected; and for it might be substituted the similarly sounding but more familiar name of "Bill," the adoption of which may be recommended on the ground of analogy, as the shilling has been already long stamped with the popular diminutive of "Bob." If the somewhat fanciful expression "Mil," or "Mill," is employed, the principle of its derivation should be consistently carried out. The words "Winder," "Bender," "Twister," "Topper," and "Stunner," might be borrowed to designate money, which itself should change its present correct appellation for the more sportive and appropriate title of Blunt. The mutation of "Florin" into "Floorer" would be obviously called for, and the crown piece might be neatly styled a "Punisher," as being the well-known amount of the fine for inebriety.

On all the coins emanating from the pugilistic mint, it would be requisite that the Lion and the Unicorn should be fighting; and whilst V. R. figured on one side of them, P. R. should be stamped on the other, that it might in every respect be characterised by the true ring.

* * * * *


The reader, who minds his _Punch_, of course remembers what _Punch_ prophesied in 1847 on the Irish potato rot. From that very decay, _Punch_ predicted regeneration.

"The butcher, the baker, The candle-stick maker, All jumped out of a rotten potato."

So runs the childish doggrel; but _Punch_ heard in that shambling verse a musical promise; and hearing, foretold the coming time when, from the very blight that smote the people of Ireland through Ireland's potatos, there should be peace and plenty for Ireland regenerate. And is it not so? Answer with one of your wildest roars, oh, Lion of Judah! Is it not so--reply and tenderly, cooingly, oh Dove of Galway!

* * * * *


Was a smarter old feller than I be e'er seen In these bright brass buttons--this new quoat of green? Why is it I'm rigged out so fine as this here? Why for sarvin' one master for full thirty year.

But wherefore should I be so proud o' my clothes, And strut in 'em so, stickin' up my old nose? Do I think the prize-suit such an honour to wear? Shoo! it baint for the raiment alone as I care.

'Tisn't that--the mere valley and worth of the coat-- 'Tis the honour the present is meant to denote, The respect I be held in, the height of esteem, Which is far above all I could possible dream.

Why, what dost thee think, man? these things is no less Than a passpoort for wearers, a privileged dress, I puts on this quoat on my back--that was all-- And they lets me walk in to the grand County Ball.

There was MEASTER DISRAELI, the friend o' the land, He comes and he catches me hold by the hand, "Come along," a sez, "JOHN;" up the room then we stumps, Which occasioned some noise, as I didn't wear pumps.

To a Lord and a Lady of rank and degree, 'Mongst a whole kit of other fine folks he led me, And he says to 'em, s'ee, "I the honour ha' got O 'troducin' my friend to yer, MEASTER JOHN TROTT.

"He's a noble, is JOHN, though he isn't a Peer,-- I wun't say as how he's the noblest that's here; But an honest man JOHN is, and all on you know, In course, what the poet calls him as is so.

"Look at this horny palm! how became it like that, So that on it he uses to slice bacon fat? Why by thirty years' toil--and for whom, d'ye suppose? For a wife and five children?--not only for those--

"My lady, to earn his own bread warn't enow, He yarned your meat as well, by the damp of his brow; And your silks, and your satins, and jewels besides, And the coaches you keeps, and the hosses you rides.

"Arter that, I be certain that you won't deny MEASTER TROTT your fair hand for a dance by and by." "Such a trifle," she said, "I of course can't withhold." "But for dancin'" I sez, "I'm afeard I'm too old."

"Oh! we won't 'tempt the Poker, nor Valsa dew Tong, And I'm sure we shall get very nicely along," Said my lady; when straightways the music did play, And to "_Pop goes the Weasel_" we capered away.

Her ladyship flew, amost, over the ground, Which I could do nothin' but hammer and pound; But nobody laughed, for in course they thought how Arkard they'd look suppose they was tryin' to plough.

When the dancin' was done unto supper we went, And I feasted away to my full heart's content, On cake, chicken, lobster, sweets, aught I could find, The fust time I ever ate all I'd a mind.

'Tis the bein' acknowledged, you see, like that 'ere, Is what makes me feel proudish this clothin' to wear, I should say "Dash the buttons!" if that warn't the case, And consider the quoat but a badge o' disgrace.

* * * * *


We have often wished that we could suggest anything that would afford some scope for the unemployed ability of the artists of our almost extinct English Opera. Here, in an advertisement out of the _Times_, appears to be something like an opening for one of them--if the foreign predilections of our superior classes have not starved them all:--

ORGAN.--WANTED, a respectable man to act as TURNKEY in a County Prison. One who understands music, can play the Organ, and sing bass would be preferred. For further particulars apply, post paid, to T. T. S., Post-office, Bath.

The popular air of "_Still so gently o'er me stealing_," will immediately suggest itself as one of the first airs that would be called for from the musical turnkey, having been transposed so as to be sung in the bass, which "would be preferred." Any one who had personated the gaoler in the vernacular version of _Fidelio_ would, however, be the man for the situation; and it is pleasing to imagine such a respectable vocalist leading the Prison Chorus at the head of real convicts. A pretty idea, too, is that of a Nightingale within four stone walls, beguiling the tedium of confinement with his "jug-jug." Of course the harmonious turnkey would enchant his incarcerated audience by his performance of the Witch music of MATTHEW LOCKE. That he should also be an organist is a good notion; phrenologists will admit it to be judicious to play the organ of tune against that of acquisitiveness or theft, and all other human organs out of tune and discordant with man's better nature. Talking of the organ, SEBASTIAN BACH would have been just the very turnkey in request, for he was a master of that noble instrument; and the kind of piece which he most delighted in performing thereon was a QUOD-_libet_.

It is to be hoped that the cultivation of music will be introduced at Newgate; and then, perhaps, we shall at last witness a genuine representation of the _Beggar's Opera_.

* * * * *


[Illustration: W]

When, Sir, you selected me from the crowd of eminent persons who solicited the honour of furnishing you with their impressions of the French metropolis, you were good enough to attribute to me an uncommon impartiality and serenity of mind. "That impartiality," you observed with your usual force and felicity of language, "will preserve your communications from the onesidedness that usually deforms a traveller's views of foreign country." My modesty, Sir, (almost amounting to bashfulness) is well known to you, but I will venture to say that you were correct in your estimate. I feel myself equally free from the sturdy prepossessions nourished by MR. DOWLAS of Mecklenburgh Square and the rose-coloured delusions which captivate young THREADPAPER of the Foreign Office. The former gentleman marches through this city in company with MRS. D. and the girls, armed with a guide-book and a pocket map, and finds all barren. The latter wishes to introduce absolute government into England, supported by an army of five hundred thousand men and a censorship of the press. THREADPAPER is of tender years; his moustache is downy, indeed hardly visible without a glass; he will grown wiser with time, but MR. DOWLAS, I very much fear, is beyond all cure.

D., you old humbug! what do you mean by uttering your shallow vulgar criticism on the greatest nation of Continental Europe? You know nothing of their history, except that they were beaten at the battle of Waterloo; you can't speak a word of their language; you can't read one of their newspapers; you are supremely ignorant of their character and institutions, and yet you treat them as a mob of hairdressers, dancing masters, and cooks (and not good cooks either), and exult in the time-honoured conviction that one Englishman can thrash two Frenchmen. DOWLAS, attend to me, I am going to talk about taste--a word that ought to excite shame and anguish in your mind. For a quarter of a century you have been smothering the world with printed fabrics of fantastic and horrible ugliness. Millions upon millions of yards of these abominations have found their way into every nook and corner of the world. Remote tribes of wandering Tartars and the squaws of painted Choktaws have clad their bodies and depraved their souls with your outrageous patterns. Bales marked with the well-known D. (oh, how could you, MR. DOWLAS, Sir?) have carried their baleful influence into the innocent populations of the Peaceful Ocean. The least hideous of these productions are those you have stolen (and spoiled) from the French, and if there is any improvement in your patterns of late years, it is entirely to be attributed to your piracy of French designs.

The fact is, that France has become the Mistress of Arts to the world. If England lives in a fever of industry, _she_ lives in a fever of invention. Every novelty we have is due to her restless creative spirit. In arts, in letters, in philosophy, she scatters abroad new ideas with unsparing profusion; other nations, following with unequal steps, treasure up what falls, and claim it as their own. This exuberance of fancy is only the result of the universal artistic feeling which seems to animate her citizens. You cannot go anywhere in Paris without being conscious of this. Every shop window is a picture. Look at that pastrycook's. A few pieces of china and half-a-dozen bon-bon boxes form a composition that is really charming. Is there any one from Marlborough House could do it as well? Only think of the tons of three-cornered tarts and Bath buns that form the decoration of a London confectioner's. And yet this pretty arrangement is due to the intuitive taste of the little scrubby ignorant daughter of the people who serves in the shop. I will not draw your attention to the quiet becoming style of her dress, because you have often confessed to me in private your admiration of Parisian toilettes, though in the presence of MRS. D. you loudly affect to prefer the dowdy manner adopted by that lady in common with the most part of her countrywomen. I will, therefore, make no further mention of ladies' costume, only protesting that, in my opinion, all Frenchwomen in their degree dress to perfection, and that an ugly bonnet is no certain proof of wisdom or goodness as is generally supposed.

Turn to the houses, and compare their gay ornate appearance with the dismal monotonous streets of London. Every one has its separate character. The portal is of sculptured stone, always decent and often of beautiful design. A little bit of carved cornice, a simple moulding round the windows gives individuality and interest to the upper part without any of the astounding architectural eccentricities of Regent Street. Enter, and you will find the furniture of even the humbler occupants varied, characteristic, and pretty. Where ornament is attempted, it is well chosen and sparingly introduced. A beautiful cabinet, a few small pictures, a group or two in bronze, some exquisite china--quite a contrast to the overwhelming magnificence of English upholstery. I know, DOWLAS, you gave a _carte blanche_ to JOBKINS and SON for your house in Mecklenburgh Square. Well, well--if the subject is a painful one we will not pursue it; though I must say that I think six copies of the peacocky young woman in fetters, called for some inscrutable reason the Greek Slave, rather too much for two drawing-rooms (couldn't you send up a pair to the best bed-room, and one to the butler's pantry?) and I may also take this opportunity of informing JOBKINS, JUNIOR, who does the "tasty" business of his firm, that merely multiplying expensive tables and chairs, and daubing everything over with gold, though it may satisfactorily swell the bill, shows a miserable want of fancy and cleverness in a decorator.

I quite admit the solidity and conscientiousness of English workmanship. We buy a frightful table in Bond Street, and, behold, it will last for ever. The drawers in DOWLAS'S house are as delightful to open and shut as they are horrible to look at. English boots will outlast French boots, and English gloves French gloves. Whatever may have been the case years ago, it is a great mistake to suppose that these articles are better now in Paris than in London. The great difference is shortly this[5]--our artists are tradesmen and their tradesmen are artists. In all articles of simple usefulness we have an unquestionable superiority, but where something more than convenience or durability is required our designers seem quite helpless. A certain funeral car will occur to many as an example of this truth, and, perhaps, by malicious persons, will be taken to shew how much or how little is to be expected from Government Schools of Art.

The Tourist is aware that no one can walk about Paris without seeing abundant evidences of the coarsest moral and social feeling, and claims an infinitely higher position for his own countrymen and countrywomen in this respect. He also recollects that he has already ridiculed the dress of Frenchmen, and sees that this may be supposed inconsistent with a sweeping panegyric on French taste. But this is an exception that proves the rule. A Frenchman's _theory_ of dress is wrong. He always wants to be conspicuous and picturesque. Hence, nothing is too singular and showy for him. He gets himself up, as if for the stage, with velvet and fur and beard and moustache, and exhausts the resources of his inventive mind for new and still more _piquant_ combinations. When he turns his attentions to the chase, the result is something worth seeing, and no mistake, as will be more plainly seen by a picture of a party of sporting gentlemen going out shooting. But these comicalities are eschewed by the genuine "swells," who adopt our sober English notions of masculine costume, and, indeed, dress exactly like Englishmen. The advice of _Polonius_ to _Laertes_ will literally apply to the matter at the present day:--

"Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. But _not expressed in fancy_--rich, not gaudy-- For the apparel oft proclaims the man. And they in France _of the best rank and station_ Are most select and generous, chief in that--"

The most august confirmation has been given to this view. I state with becoming reverence and awe that his I----L M----Y, with that regard for detail which characterises his great mind, has sent a special envoy to London, and had all his liveries made in Saville Row, with which unspeakably solemn allusion I close this communication.

[Footnote 5:] This is not intended to apply to our painters, who may well be compared with those of any country, but to the designers for manufactures.


* * * * *


The Greenwich Steamboats have recently been employed in the important, but somewhat dangerous, service of destroying the various piers, at which they call for passengers. These absurd and useless structures--which are usually composed of three or four superannuated barges, loosely connected by a twopenny cord; several flights of stairs, leading up into the air and down again, on to the next pier and back again, or, indeed, anywhere but into the boats; a hut which combines the accommodation of a watch-box with the cleanliness of a pigstye, and a series of gangways which are intended to accommodate themselves to the rising and falling of the tide, but which invariably stick fast at the wrong end, and either carry the unfortunate traveller some 20 feet above the wharf, or threaten to precipitate him down a sort of Montagne Russe into the water;--these agglomerations of tar, dirt, touchwood, and rope-yarn, have so long encumbered and disfigured the bank of the river that the Directors of the Greenwich steamboats have come to the resolution which their boats have been carrying out.

The plan, on which the work of demolition is carried on, is as follows: The captain drives the boat stem on to the pier, without giving any order to reverse the engines, and the immediate consequence is a most satisfactory collision. It is not true, however, that the French, in despair at ever being able to effect a landing in London over these piers, have bribed the Directors to destroy these bulwarks of the river. Nor are the Directors following the example of the Scotch Baronet, who has just pulled down a pier on his estate, because the boats stopped at it on Sunday. The cases are quite different, for the Scotch piers are only private, or representative, and can be removed at pleasure, whereas the London piers have persevered in their career of uselessness for many ages, and can only be got rid of by violent measures.

* * * * *


I'm sick of the sickle, MOLLY dear, and stooping so long and so low; And it's little grief it gives me, to give the ould bother the go! And when another harvest comes, by the Saints! I'd like to see The money or anything else that 'ud make a Raping-Machine of me!

I've raped in Scotland and England, and I've raped in the Lothians three, And I dar' say it's twenty year since first I crossed the Irish Sea; I've raped yer wheat, and yer barley, and oats and beans, sez Pat: But as for Profit--it's sorrow the raping that ever I raped of that!

So, good luck to you, MISTHER MAC CORMACK, and Yer Reverence, MISTHER BELL, And good luck to you, MISTHER HUSSEY--I wish yer Honours well; The shearer's footing on the fields ye've fairly cut away; But it's not been worth the standing on, bedad, this many a day.

And now the Horse takes the raping in hand, and pulls the huge machines That go clicking and snicking across the fields of wheat, oats, barley, and beans; Ye've got machines for sowing, and thrashing, and raping, between and betwixt, And, troth, it's my private opinion ye'll have a machine for eating it next!

But we'll throw the sickle aside, MOLLY, and go and try our luck On the banks of the far Australian strames, where the otter is billed like a duck: For there's mate, and drink, and clothes, MOLLY, and riches and rank to be won. At the Anti--what d'ye call the place, on t'other side of the sun?

And there'll be no land-agents, nor middlemen, nor Jews, But ye'll see me stoning lumps of gould at the beggarly Kangaroos; And there's nayther shooting of bailiffs, nor any such wicked fun, In land that lies beneath our feet, on t'other side of the sun.

And no more masses to pay for!--good day to ye, FATHER O'BLADD, The last Confession from me, faiks, and the very last penny ye've had; It's little Yer Reverence leaves behind when ye clear away our sin, As the prophet sez, ye purge our dross, and take precious care of the tin.

Ye've a bandage on yer wrist, MOLLY; that wrist with gems I'll deck, And a string of nuggets, like millstones, I'll hang about yer neck, And we'll live in a snug retirement where our nearest neighbour'll be The EMPEROR OF CHINA, who will sometimes look in to tea!

Och! the world we're leaving, MOLLY, is a world of grief and care, For even the pigs and potatoes are not the angels that once they were; But the world we're going to, MOLLY, is where the giants of ould Buried--for want of a better bank--their stocking-legs crammed with gould!

It's a world of wonders, MOLLY, a world without a peer; For what it has, and what it wants, we've nothing like it here: But of all its wondrous things, it seems the strangest thing to me That there the labouring man's the man gets first to the top o' the tree.

* * * * *


A _spirituelle_ young lady writes up from Ramsgate to say:--"In the morning, my dear, we have a delivery of letters by the Post. In the afternoon we have another delivery--the delivery of husbands, brothers, _cousins_, or beloved acquaintances, as the case may be, by the steam-packet. In this manner, darling, we have a _mail_-delivery twice a-day. It would ill-become _me_ to say _which_ one I like best."

* * * * *


Table-rapping with Genuine Spirits every evening at the SHADES Harmonic Free and Easy, in Scamp's Alley. A Medium in the Bar--but "goes" of whiskey, brandy, rum, or gin unlimited.

* * * * *


It is complained that there are no examinations at the Inns of Court in town, whilst it is forgotten that thousands of applicants for admission are daily plucked at the hotels all over the country.

* * * * *

PURITANS IN REQUEST.--The metropolis would be much more pleasant if the Commissioners of Sewers had a proper number of disscenters among them.

* * * * *

[Illustration: DIVISION OF LABOUR.

_Sportsman (in Standing Beans)._ "WHERE TO, NOW, JACK?"


* * * * *


"For Heaven's sake, gentlemen, _don't_ nail the poor man's ears to the pump!"

Such was the benevolent exclamation of TYGER ROCHE (an Irish fire-eater of the last century) when he beheld a certain attorney within the walls of Dublin Jail. And the prayer was sufficient; for no sooner was it uttered, than the hapless lawyer was in the clutches of invoked persecutors, and hammer and nails hotly sought for.

Our friend the _Spectator_, oddly enough, is, for once, very like TYGER ROCHE. He says--

"It is evident that a serious disturbance in Europe might be very inconvenient to the minor German Powers; and that fact has _perhaps_ suggested _the rough guess_, that a Prince bound up with German interests by family relations, has used his position near the British Sovereign for the purpose of inducing England to assist in hushing up the quarrel, with scanty regard to the justice of the case; _in short, that_ PRINCE ALBERT has induced England to abandon her pledge and her ally!"

The _Spectator_ having made "the rough guess," reasons on it in his own logical way, and concludes with these convincing words--

"_We do not believe_ that PRINCE ALBERT has so far forgotten his happy and exalted duty, of which he has shown so just an appreciation, by officious meddling with affairs which are not his."

That the _Spectator_, the Esquimaux of the Press--for somehow he always appears to _Punch_ in a suit of sealskin, with a very blue nose, prepared, if necessary, to harpoon the whale that shall supply his midnight oil--that the cold _Spectator_ should suggest such a charge against PRINCE ALBERT merely to express a disbelief is, at least, a very unnecessary trouble.

"Don't nail the poor man's ears to the pump!" cries TYGER ROCHE.

"Don't believe PRINCE ALBERT an ally of NICHOLAS!" cries the _Spectator_.

* * * * *

A SERIOUS QUESTION TO COLONEL SIBTHORP.--Is the ghost of Pond Street, Chelsea, the ghost of Protection?

* * * * *


I went to the sign of the Cat and Fiddle, Whereat they did me grossly diddle: I went to the Commercial Inn, Where they well nigh stripped me to the skin: I went to the Manchester Business House, And equally there I found them chouse. I went to the Coffee-House and Tavern, Which turned out a regular robbers' cavern: I went to the Family Hotel, And they pillaged and plundered me there as well: I went to the Recreative ditto, My Stars and Garters!--wasn't I bit--oh!

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* * * * *


The humbug of the Holy Eye-water at Salette has been recently exposed very efficiently; but we are told the BISHOP OF GRENOBLE has adopted it, because, to use a legal expression, it "runs with the surplice." We can but express our astonishment that such eye-water should be necessary to make a Bishop ('s) see.

* * * * *


"MR. PUNCH,--The periodical review of the uses and abuses of English Hotels having commenced, I beg leave to state that there is a small, unpretending hostelry at Matlock Baths, where the luncheon (price 2_s._) supplied is invariably made up of bits of loins of mutton, and leavings of ribs of beef, all--in honour of the locality--duly petrified. Last week I managed to chip off and swallow a bit of a joint, and I verily believe have been troubled with the stone ever since. (Price 2s.!)

"Yours, VIATOR."

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[Illustration: T]

The _Times_, in a letter from Grenoble, states that the Trappists in the neighbourhood of La Salette are busy in the manufacture of a beverage which, from the writer's description, seems to be about identical with that which is produced by MESSRS. SEAGER & EVANS. We congratulate the worthy monks upon taking to honest gin-spinning, which is a much more laudable occupation than weaving toils to entangle simpletons. We should think this order must be rather numerous in the district in question, as surely all those must have been regular Trappists, who were concerned in getting up the enormous hoax which has given it celebrity.

It seems that they have entrapped some gulls of the LUCAS tribe, who were not up to Trap: but we should have considered even that common marine fowl, the Booby, too old a bird to be capable of being caught by chaff so extremely palpable.

* * * * *



One's existence down here is divided between donkey-riding and novel-reading--pretty exercises for the mind and body! It would be difficult to say which were the slowest--the donkeys or the novels. It's very strange, but how extremely rare it is you come across a donkey or a novel that's in the least moving!

Youth writes its hopes upon the sand, and Age advances, like the sea, and washes them all out.

We raffle, and raffle our best affections away, like shillings at the Library, and Man looks coldly on, and smilingly says, "Better luck, Miss, next time."

I am sure that the sand, with which Time has filled his hour-glass, must have been picked up at a watering-place, for nowhere else does the time run on so slowly, or the hours succeed one another with such provoking similarity.

It is very curious that the sea, which brings the colour back to our cheeks, generally takes it from our ribbons!

It is the same with dispositions as with bonnets; it is not every one that can stand the sea-side.

Scandal is a rank weed which is generally found in great profusion near the sea-coast.

A watering-place is a harbour of refuge, that we, poor weak vessels, after having been tossed about for nine months in the year, are obliged, during the other three, to put into for repairs.

I am frequently reminded, when I see a party about to start in a pleasure boat, of the effect of a London season. Every one is so gay and blooming, so full of health and spirits at the starting, but how pale, dejected, dragged, drenched, and fairly sickened they look, if you chance to see them returning at the end of it!

* * * * *


"One of the Royal servants brought with him to the train a sod of shamrock which had been dug up in the grounds attached to the Viceregal Lodge. A porcelain pot received the plant, which, as it had been obtained at the special request of HER MAJESTY, is probably destined to be transplanted to some of the Royal grounds, and cultivated as a memento of a visit which will be long memorable in Ireland."--_Dublin Daily Express._

Erin mavourneen, torn up from thy green, Lonely, withered, and drooped for a while, Though planted in porcelain, and nursed by a Queen, I was sick at the roots for my own pleasant isle;

Where the winds came so gently to kiss me and love me, There was tenderness e'en in the breath of the north; Where the kind clouds would fling their soft shadows above me, When the hot sun of summer came scorchingly forth.

I pined for those tender grey eyes, whose black lashes Veil a tear and a smile alike ready to start; I longed for the mirth, whose unquenchable flashes Hold a struggle with gloom in the Irishman's heart.

White hands were about me, but not my own people's, Kind hearts, too, but not the kind hearts I had known; The bells that I heard rang in Sassenach steeples, And wanted the music I loved in my own.

An' I fancied they scorned me, the poor plant of Erin, Them roses so gaudy, them thistles so tall; An' I thought as they tossed their proud heads, it was sneerin' At my poor lowly leaflets, wid no flower at all.

But by little and little I felt that about me The soil gathered cheery, and kindly, and warm; And the illigant flowers that I thought meant to flout me When I larnt what they said, sure they meant me no harm.

The hands I thought cold I found true in their tending, The hearts I thought hard, sure, were soft at the core; So I opened my leaves with less fear of offending, And the longer I knew I loved England the more.

For my Queen is a mistress that's gentle and tender, And oft my poor leaflet her bosom adorns; She says I've my sweetness, if roses their splendour, An' if I've no blossoms, why, sure I've no thorns.

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* * * * *


The following "Pastoral" has been published by an obscure individual, who pretends to adopt a certain episcopal style.

To the Inhabitants of Chelsea, Brompton, Fulham, Kensington, and the Neighbourhood, Health and Good Digestion.

Respectable and Intelligent,--From the Apparition of GILES SCROGGINS of tuneful memory, to that of the Head of the Woolly Quadruped which manifested itself to WILLIAM WHITE, there was no want of spectral appearances sufficient to convince the enlightened British Public of the existence of Ghosts. Not to mention the unfortunate MISS BAILEY, who, after suspension by the cincture of her own stocking, revisited an unprincipled CAPTAIN SMITH, nor to say more than is necessary of the Ghost of Cock Lane, it may suffice to cite the instance of the Hammersmith Ghost which, as is well known, appeared to, and terrified a great many people. And now lately, in this very place, which is not far from that, there has appeared a Ghost, which has frightened multitudes; as countless thousands among you are able to testify.

But the incredulous--insensible to the force of table rappings, disbelieving the prodigies of clairvoyance, and deriding the wonderful visions of the Crystal--who, in short, ascribe all the supernatural events of the day, which are very numerous, to imagination or fraud, will doubtless, after a short time, by the lapse whereof the recollection of the fact shall have been weakened, dispute or deny the truth of the Chelsea Ghost, and attribute the authentic narrative thereof to the incredible WALKER.

Lest, therefore, the memory of this so wonderful Apparition should perish, and in order that, on the contrary, its fame may endure for ages, we have decreed to erect a Spirituous Establishment, in the immediate vicinity of the house wherein it took place, namely, in Pond Street, Chelsea, to be called and known by the name and sign of the Ghost and Goblet, which all are invited to frequent, and partake of the refreshment of spirits.

Beneath the edifice to be reared under these auspices, there will be provided a subterranean retreat, bearing the name of The Shades, in further allusion to the miracle which it is intended to commemorate.

A confraternity of the Ghost and Goblet has already been formed for the purpose of celebrating with an appropriate banquet the approaching Festival of Michaelmas. Additional Members may be enrolled at 6_d._ per week each.

The following indulgences are promised to those who repair to the Hostelry of the Ghost and Goblet with the usual dispositions:--

Unlimited indulgence in Roast Goose, on the aforesaid Festival of Michaelmas, which will also be the Anniversary of the Foundation, on condition of eating with the goose an optional quantity of mashed turnip, in order to signify the demolition of that Lantern to which profane scepticism would refer supernatural appearances.

Indulgence in brandy, gin, rum, Hollands, and whiskey; in superior ale, porter, and stout; and in genuine foreign wines and liqueurs--to any extent, on condition of ringing the bell, or calling the waiter, and repeating the proper order for the liquor as often as may be requisite.

Indulgence in tea and shrimps.

Indulgence in tobacco for any term of hours; the hostelry remaining open.

Indulgence of the same duration in the amusement afforded by a good dry skittle ground.

Indulgence above stairs in the exercise of dancing; on condition of executing the proper movements to the tune of "_Pop goes the Weasel_," or whatsoever other measure may be prescribed by popularity.

Indulgence in the delights of harmony in the Shades below: on condition of expressing a desire for refreshment.

To secure the full benefit of these Indulgences it will be only necessary, further, to pay for them; and that this may the more conveniently be done they will be supplied on the most liberal scale of charges.

In addition to the Skittle Ground, there will be provided a Bowling Green, surrounded with a Ghost's Walk, adorned with Winking Statues, Bleeding Pictures, and other objects of like nature calculated to edify the faithful in such matters. In conclusion, Respectable and Intelligent, as touching liquor, we profess ourselves ever ready to supply you


* * * * *

[Illustration: Two of the most Extraordinary Occurrences of the Day--The Appearances at Salette and Chelsea.]

* * * * *


The wonders of steam at Manchester and other great manufacturing towns are quite eclipsed by the triumph at which mechanical science has arrived in an obscure locality. Witness this advertisement, extracted from the _Cambridge Chronicle_ of the 10th instant:

WANTED in a Clergyman's family in the country, a FOOTMAN, _which_ must also have a knowledge of Gardening. For particulars address X.Y., Post Office, Caxton.

The Footman _which_ is wanted in a Clergyman's family, is, of course, a Machine; as the neuter pronoun, by the tenet of MURRAY, held of course by every clergyman, is to be applied to animals and inanimate things; and no known animal is capable of a Footman's place. The Footman thus wanted might have been supposed to be a trivet, but for the requisition that it shall have a knowledge of gardening. This proves that it must be an Engine--and in part a Garden Engine--endowed with intellectual faculties. That it is advertised for is sufficient evidence that it exists.

Necessity is the mother of invention; and the dearth of labour, combined with the insolence, unthrift, and dishonesty of servants, has compelled some clever mechanist to devise the sort of Footman which is wanted by the clergyman; and has been long in general request.

How such a domestic could have been constructed; how it was possible to make a lackey that should not only clean boots and wait at table, but dig, and prune, and plant, and exercise intelligence, moreover, in these horticultural operations, it is difficult to conceive. Imagination staggers at the idea of a Steam Flunkey. The MR. SMEE, who resolves thought into electrical action, may suppose that galvanism might have served to vivify the apparatus, and cause the fibres of its artificial brain to quiver with those vibrations which constitute perception, memory, and understanding. But if mind consists in vibrations, the abilities of a SHAKSPERE are no great shakes; therefore we cannot accept such a theory of the constitution of the Footman which is wanted in a Clergyman's family.

The mysterious agency concerned in Table Turning, belief in which has in some minds survived its refutation by FARADAY, we should rather consider to be the animating principle of this FRANKENSTEIN'S Androides or ANDREWOIDES, artificial Andrew or automatic John Thomas.

The female domestics in the family of the clergyman are, of course, of a nature similar to that of the manservant which is wanted there, since no housemaid or cook could stay in a house where a Footman was kept referred to by the neuter pronoun, which, and consequently where the Footman was an Inanimate Thing.

* * * * *


Once upon a time, a lot of murphies--_id est_ potatoes--were put in a pot together. "Now, boys"--said one of the praties--"as we'll all be in hot water--all of a bilin'--wobble as we may, for the credit of ould Ireland--don't let us _split_ on one another."

* * * * *


The _savans_ at Hull have lately been giving some very interesting results of the trial of the strength of "stays." Surely this department should have been left to a female committee, for the true strength of "stays" can only be ascertained by experiments in very tight lacing.

* * * * *


Gold has been discovered in Scotland. This discovery may work perhaps a miracle. It may have the effect of sending all the Scotchmen, who for years have left their native country, "bock again."

* * * * *

ANOTHER "HEIGHT OF IMPUDENCE."--Naming a Railway Engine "Safety."

* * * * *


[Illustration: A]

An opulent Bill-sticker has, we understand, made offers to the leader of the Chinese insurgent forces to rent of him, in the event of his being made Emperor, the renowned wall of China. The sum offered has not transpired, but it is said to be something extremely munificent. It is the billsticker's intention, as soon as he obtains an imperial grant, to form a company of persons who spend large sums of money every year in advertisements, and to cover the entire length of the wall with their bills and posters, a larger price being, of course, charged for those which will be posted inside than for those outside the wall, where comparatively but few people will be able to see them. The bills will be in English, or specially translated into Chinese, at the option of the advertisers. In the event of China being thrown open to English commerce--and there is, at present, every opening of such a fact--it will be at once seen what "a desirable medium for advertisements" this national posting-station will be. So favourably is the scheme entertained by some of our leading advertisers, that already have 12,000 miles of that part of the wall, which runs through the most densely populated districts of the Empire, been bespoken at an enormous rental. The company will be announced in a few days, and it is expected that the shares will be quoted on the 'Change at a heavy premium the very first day. MR. BERNAL OSBORN has been heard to say, "that next to a celebrated Marquis's property, it will be the largest hoarding in the world," and there is no doubt it will be. All our puffing tailors, pill-merchants, quack medicine-sellers, and Cambridge Sherry dealers, are actively on the look-out. Professor Liebig's testimonial in favour of Bitter Beer is already printed in all the Chinese dialects, only waiting to be pasted up. We shall keep our eye upon the wall.

* * * * *



"There is no doubt that the prodigious expenses of hotels are--as I overheard certain _gentlemen_ say--in a great measure owing to us _confounded women._ We cause so many rooms to have to be kept up on our account. Why can't we--as they further asked, with a _stronger_ expression--be content with a decent coffee-room, instead of requiring a separate sitting apartment? Why? I asked myself the same question, and being unable to answer it, I thought the next time I was out with Charles I would go into the coffee-room and not be _confounded._ So the other day when he took me to one of those inns which a letter I read in the _Times_ calls a "Hotel of recreation", I insisted on our dining in the public room. There were some gentlemen sitting there that we have since met in society, when they behaved in such a way that I couldn't think what they meant, until at last I found that we were looked upon as improper people because I had been seen at dinner in the coffee-room of a tavern! When I discovered this I felt _confounded_ indeed. It seems that I have committed an offence against society, everybody is so cool to me, and really, if it were not for the contempt I feel for such slaves of custom and prejudice, and the support I derive from the knowledge that I have pleased my husband, and saved us both money, I should be dreadfully grieved. But his approbation, and that of my own conscience, are quite enough for me; however, as that is not quite the case, I am afraid, with all women, the consequence is that they won't brave the world, and go in the coffee-room. I must confess, _Mr. Punch_, that before we take all the credit for what is called in novels the 'Self Sacrifice of Woman' which is given us, we might as well immolate a little of our conventionality on the altar of domestic happiness. I am sure that Judy is of the same mind as your equally constant admirer,

"_Belgravia, Sept., 1853._" "FIDES."

* * * * *


We are glad to see that the needlewomen have at last struck, and we wish another class of the overworked and underpaid would follow their example, the working clergy. Such a course would not be uncanonical. A bishop, to be sure, is required to be "no striker," nor has he occasion to be one with his thousands a year; but the case is very different with the curate who has only twenty pounds.

* * * * *


From Russian steppe, from Persian sand, From pine-fringed Norway fiord, From Elbe's and Eyder's peopled strand I've skimmed the sea--I've swept the land-- Way for your lord!

Come deck my board--prepare my bed, And let the trump of doom Peal out a march, that as I tread Above the dying and the dead All may make room!

From far I snuff the odour sweet That I do love the best; And wheresoe'er I set my feet, Courtiers and liegemen flock to greet Their King confest.

Well have you done your loyal part, My subjects and my slaves-- In town and country, port and mart, All's ready--after my own heart-- All--to the graves!

What is my feast? These babes forpined;-- Men ere their prime made old;-- These sots, with strong drink bleared and blind-- These herds of unsexed woman-kind Foul-mouthed and bold--

These bodies, stunted, shrivelled, seared With the malaria's breath; In foetid dens and workshops reared; From reeking sewers, drains uncleared, Drinking in death.

What is my court? These cellars piled With filth of many a year-- These rooms with rotting damps defiled-- These alleys where the sun ne'er smiled, Darkling and drear!

These streets along the river's bank, Below the rise of tide; These hovels, set in stifling rank, Sapped by the earth-damps green and dank-- These cess-pools wide.

These yards, whose heaps of dust and bone Breathe poison all around; These styes, whose swinish tenants grown Half human, with their masters own A common ground.

What are my perfumes? Stink and stench From slaughter-house and sewer; The oozing gas from opened trench, The effluvia of the pools that drench Court-yards impure.

What is my music? Hard-wrung groans From strong men stricken down: Women's and children's feebler moans, And the slow death-bell's muffled tones In every town.

Who are my lieges? Those that rule In Vestry and at Board; The Town-hall's glib and giddy fool, The mob's most abject slave and tool Though called its lord.

He who with prate of Vested Rights Old forms of wrong defends; Who for pound-foolishness still fights, Wisdom, save penny-wisdom, slights;-- These are my friends.

* * * * *


We don't wonder that some of our Manchester friends should be content to see the Russian forces holding the Principalities. Those who object to the idleness of a military life must naturally admire an army of occupation.

* * * * *



* * * * *


"The Steppes of Russia are long dreary tracts, extremely tedious and very difficult to get over, requiring the greatest patience so as not to lose yourself in the midst of their interminable flatness; and, on my word, the same thing may be said of the diplomatic steps of the same country."--_Aberdeen._

"Meeting one's constituents is sometimes as disagreeable as meeting a bill; but still it must be done, for the form of the thing, if it is only to save one's political credit."--_Disraeli._

"The fault is not so much in bribing, as in being found out."--_W. B._

"The only balls England should fight her battles with should be balls of cotton; the only shot, shot-silks'"--_Bright._

"There are two kinds of M. P.'s; those who confine themselves to merely representing the people, and those who think it their duty also to represent their wrongs and grievances."--_Roebuck._

"If I had my way I would very soon make the Russians leave the Danubian provinces. I should say to them very plainly, "_Sortez, Messieurs, voilà la Porte_;" and, if they didn't, I would soon make them."--_Palmerston._

"I wouldn't dine with a Custom House officer, not even if he was to invite me, for I should be afraid he would always stop the bottle and never pass the wine."--_B. Oliveira._

"Dentists stop vacancies in teeth by filling them up with gold, and really I know of no better plan for filling up a vacancy in Parliament."--_Coppock._

"What's the use of my having a seat, if you will not allow me to sit down upon it?"--_Rothschild._

"The EMPEROR NAPOLEON distinguished himself, it is true, in taking a few capitals; but let me ask what capital can stand in the way of LOUIS NAPOLEON without his immediately taking it? Such an Emperor is worth a fortune--aye, several fortunes--to France."--_Malmesbury._

"The fact of the House sitting till so late an hour in the morning may, perhaps, account for there being so few rising men in Parliament."--_Brotherton._

"Peace is the only commodity that, in a commercial country like England, one can never pay too dearly for, but then you should purchase it always in the cheapest market, and sell it in the dearest. But selling it is out of the question, for it is my advice to keep the peace, and not to sell it."--_Cobden._

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[Illustration: S]

Some of _Mr. Punch's_ contemporaries have been circulating, together with other small change, an account of a plant, newly discovered in California by a Viennese. This plant, they say, "is about a foot in height, and fades away in May, revealing to the astonished botanist a ball of natural soap, contained within its stalk, and superior to the best brown Windsor." They have forgotten, however, to add some particulars, which _Mr. Punch_, in his zeal for the public service, has taken pains to collect. He has ascertained that, out of one hundred and twenty-nine persons who have read this paragraph, thirty-two have observed, "that the properties of the plant are evidently soap-orific;" twenty-eight have opined "that, when Nature planted it in California she must have had an eye to the gold-washing;" sixty have pronounced authoritatively, "that the discoverer of the plant ought at once to be made a Companion of the Bath;" eight have expressed their surprise "that it should have been discovered by a German, who could have had but little previous knowledge of the article which it is said to produce;" whilst the remaining person, an eminent boiler in the City, who prides himself upon his French accent, remarked that, "they might say it had been discovered by a German naturalist, but that, for his part, he should always think it had been found out by a French _savon_." _Mr. Punch_ has further ascertained that, in the Californian dialect of the language of flowers, this plant signifies "I wash my hands of you!" and is employed by ladies to intimate their rejection of an unwelcome suit.

* * * * *


The lovers of the marvellous will be sorry to hear that the Chelsea Ghost is a spirit raised by the penny-a-liners in the hope of raising their own spirits by a few extra pence during the present dull season. We felt quite sure that directly the police went in search of the apparition, it would not appear to any summons that might be served upon it; and when we were told that SERGEANT SOMEBODY had walked through the ghost, we were convinced the real fact must have been that if there was a ghost at all, the police, instead of walking through it, would have walked into it. We felt perfectly satisfied that the spectre must vanish before the inspector, and we are happy, for the sake of common sense, to find publicity given to the fact, that the Chelsea Ghost lives only in the imagination of the unhappy paragraph-mongers, who have been tempted to idealise a spirit for the purpose of realising an extra glass of grog or some "other compound."

* * * * *

TOAST FOR TAVERN LANDLORDS.--The Cricketer, who always runs up a score by his innings.

* * * * *


[Illustration: W]

With that spirit of zealous self-sacrifice which becomes his office, your Correspondent has visited the great masqued ball at the Opera, that terminates the festivities of the Carnival. He was accompanied by the rising diplomatist GEORGE ERNEST CLARENCE PROTOCOL, whose filmy white choker, pink shirt, opal studs, and shining boots were truly an honour to his country. At one o'clock his Brougham whirled us rapidly to the theatre. The streets were alive with people. A masqued ball is a fête for those who can't go as well as for those who can. Riotous groups in costume were exchanging badinage with the crowd and each other as they converged to the great point of attraction. Flaring gas-lights illuminated the street down which we turned out of the Boulevard, and showed to advantage two bearded and cloaked warriors on horseback, who looked as if they might be part of the entertainment. More flaring gas-lights, like a butcher's shop on Saturday night; more picturesque mounted swordsmen--the Brougham pulls up, and we alight amid the respectful congratulations of the officials. We mount the stairs in company of masks, dominoes, and persons in ordinary evening dress, and pass into the Salle.

The effect is bewildering, overwhelming. The theatre is open to the uttermost back wall, and, even so, barely holds the multitude of dancers. The orchestra is probably the noisiest in the world, but is nothing to the astounding din of the people. No words can describe the combination of the two. As for the spectacle, several thousand lunatics, in the violent stage, capering and gesticulating under a strong paroxysm of their malady, will present a faint picture of it. The madmen are all costumed, and resent the appearance of a black coat in their terrific orgies. Probably it reminds them of the medical gentlemen from whom they have escaped. There is a sprinkling of Greeks, knights, nobles of LOUIS THE THIRTEENTH, shepherdesses, court ladies, and so forth; but the prevalent costume of the men is the white and red of a Pierrot; of the ladies, the chemise and trowsers of a _débardeur_. It is this division that makes the most clamour and has the greatest enjoyment of the fun. Groups of the white figures with floured faces, tall hats, and streaming ribbons loll in the boxes, and hold a "chaffing" conversation with those below, which may be witty, but, at all events, is deafening. The young ladies in the embroidered shirts, satin pantaloons, and trim hats, beneath which their hair descends in long plaited tails, contribute at least their fair share to the uproar. But, besides, there are other characters not so intelligible. One grotesque shape is composed entirely of seaweed, or what looks like it; another is in rags, with carrots and turnips on his head; a third sports a chimney pot as a head dress; a fourth is surmounted by a weathercock. There is no limit to the fantastic combinations thus arrived at, which are generally more odd than pleasant; and any enterprising individual who should make his appearance in a very dirty shirt, a crownless hat, and a pair of pumps would, probably, make rather a hit than otherwise.

It must be confessed, after the first half-hour, when the eye is more accustomed to the scene, and the ear has begun to discriminate between the various noises, the refined taste of your Correspondent (used to the assemblies of MONSIEUR JULLIEN) was very much outraged. The orchestra is simply infamous, nothing being audible but sounding brass and the jangling cymbal; the house is foully dirty and badly lighted. The company is shabbily dressed, and, apparently, includes many of the lowest ruffians of Paris. On the other hand, there is immense enjoyment and fun, and the dancing made even your travelling sage open the eyes of astonishment.

The police, of course, are everywhere, and at the ordinary public balls interfere to moderate the antics of the dancers. But at the masqued balls they let things take their course; and the consequence is, that each lady and gentleman, to the best of her or his ability, indulges in those variations on the quadrille which are collectively objectionable. They are, in musical phrase, perfectly _ad libitum_, and give scope for an exercise of fancy and agility, which would produce rather a sensation at ALMACKS. There was one couple, MOROK the Lion Tamer in red and hessians, and a _débardeur_ in yellow trowsers and a powdered peruke, who really were astounding. MOROK ended by carrying off his friend on his shoulders, to the great delight of a fat Pompier, who stood by in a bright brass helmet, exactly like a small coalscuttle.

PROTOCOL leads the way to the _foyer_, where a totally different scene presents itself. This saloon is consecrated to persons in evening dress and dominoes, no costumed characters being admitted. This is the resort of all the "swells." Of course the blond children of Albion muster strongly, and, indeed, rather eclipse the native gentlemen with their severe hauteur and stately presence. Some of the ladies are in ball dresses, and hang on the arm of cavaliers; the majority are in that mysterious envelope which recalls AUBER'S charming comic opera, and employ themselves in puzzling, or, as they say, "intriguing," whatever acquaintances they recognise. PROTOCOL is immediately attacked by a tall black domino, whose eyes sparkle with a lustre no mask can hide. She whispers something in his ear which heightens his colour, and is gone before he can demand an explanation. Now, by the shades of RADCLIFFE and SIR WALTER, there is romance in the nineteenth century! Protocol, you must practise the guitar and learn a collection of serenades "arranged to suit a voice of moderate compass." "My dear fellow," replied the diplomatist, "I thought no one in the world knew what that lovely creature (I'm sure she's lovely) told me. Just fancy if she should turn out to be as noble and rich as she is beautiful. Hey?" Ah, PROTOCOL, as you say, just fancy! Why there she is again. MACHIAVEL is off in a trice and pursues the fair who flies from him. The Contemplative One entertains himself with hearing the adventures of young TWEEDLES, who has just joined the Lancers, and is away on a fortnight's leave. The poor child was induced to present a white domino with about five pounds' worth of _sucre de pommes_, which he afterwards saw her resell to the Marchand, to his infinite disgust. "You know," complained he, "it ain't the money I care for, but it's such a howwid baw to be an object of widicule to a dem Fwenchwoman. They widicule evewy one, and wespect nothing. No wonder they're always having wevolutions and upsetting weligion, and all that sort of thing. Let's make up a supper party at the _Café Anglais_. You know my cousin SWELLINGS SWELLINGS, and there's DE FAULTRE, who was in the 20th Black Guards, but wesides in Pawis now--plays _écarte_ vewy well--twemendous luck--always turning up the king. I hope PWOTOCOL will come and bwing his fwend."

Another look at the lunatics, who are worse than ever. MOROK and the party in yellow satin trowsers excel themselves. The Cherokees shake their plumes and howl after a most horrid sort. The Pierrots redouble their "chaff," and make up in clamour what they want in wit. The Carnival is on its last legs, and does not spare them. It is still alive, and kicking. A few hours hence, and those pious persons will be repenting of their sins on cabbage and onions. Ah! as the lady with the camellias says, _Quelle belle chose que la religion!_

When Sardis revolted against CYRUS, a wise captive gave the angry monarch this advice: "Send men among them to teach them to fiddle and dance and love pleasure, and they will never more give you any trouble." I wonder if Paris would revolt now against CYRUS.

Supper at the _Maison Dorée_. A little _consommé_ with poached eggs, a _filet aux champignons_, and a salad with a bottle of Champagne. PROTOCOL'S acquaintance, it appears, was the _blanchisseuse_ of the Embassy, an exceedingly respectable person of fifty. The rising diplomatist seemed rather sore on the subject of _Le Domino Noir_, which became the principal topic of conversation in consequence. Of course, the secret she told him must have been about his washing-bill.

The present opinion of the Sage is, that pleasure, and indeed things in general, are vanity. _Bals masqués_ are noisy, dusty, and dull. People ought not to pay, but be paid, for going to them. Monastic institutions have charms for a well-constituted mind. Literary pursuits are laborious and not sufficiently remunerated. When Champagne is not good, it has disagreeable effects on your health the next day. Bring me some _Cognac_ and _Eau de Seltz_. Oh dear, I wish had cut the supper.


* * * * *


The Grand Opéra at Paris has just re-opened, after a perfect "restoration" made by order of the EMPEROR, who is more favourable to a "restoration" in affairs of the drama than in affairs of politics. The theatre has been gorgeously re-decorated and overlaid with a profusion of gold, which stands out in all the bold effrontery of gilt beneath the blaze of a thousand gaslights. Even the members of the orchestra are elaborately got up, and though not absolutely bound hand and foot at the will of the EMPEROR, they are literally taken by the throat, for they are compelled to appear in white neckcloths. Every instrumental performer must become a member of the stiff-necked fraternity if he wishes to be engaged at the Grand Opéra; and it matters little what may be his reputation, or how illustrious may be the stock to which he belongs, if he refuses to bind himself to the tie prescribed by the French Government. Such is the pliancy with which all classes now bow their necks to the ruling power, that we have not heard of one instance in which the forced application of the starched cravat has roused any artist's choler. It is, however, feared that in a very heavy and fatiguing opera the time of some of the pieces will have to be changed, in order that the orchestra may get a few bars' rest to adjust their neck-ties, which some of the tremendous _crescendo_ movements of MEYERBEER will be likely to derange. We tremble to think of the consequences of the "Blessing of the Poignards" on the cravats of the poor fiddlers.

* * * * *


It was intended to inaugurate a statue of LOUIS NAPOLEON at Lille, bearing the inscription--"To the Protector of Native Sugar." It was, however, abandoned for re-consideration. It will probably be amended as follows, and the statue inaugurated on the 2nd of December--"To the Protector of Native Sugar--_of lead_."

* * * * *


We perceive that all Military Hats are to be superseded in the British Army by a "Felt Helmet." We trust this arrangement will prevent everything but the helmet from being "felt"--on the head of the soldier.

* * * * *


The copy of an address of British residents at Boulogne lay for signature--as British residents were duly informed by the _Impartial_--at the library of MRS. MONEYDUE. We have been favoured with the various reasons--and subjoin a few--the exquisite reasons that, delighting and uplifting the British brain--induced the British residents and visitors to write themselves down the very humble and much obliged servants of the EMPEROR OF FRANCE.

MR. ALDERMAN GREENFAT signed "because he likes a strong Government. He also likes success; there is no getting on in this world without it. Has always believed that the French were only to be ruled with a rod of iron, and believed that LOUIS NAPOLEON was the very man to keep that rod in pickle."

MR. SHADRACH SHEKELS, money scrivener, signed "because he would always support legitimate government. Him as was strongest was always most legitimate. As a conscientious Jew he didn't care about France, having, of course, his serious thoughts fixed on settling down in his old age in New Jerusalem. Didn't think much of LOUIS NAPOLEON when once upon a time he come into the City of London with his bills: wouldn't look at his paper at no price. But times is changed. Would do his bill now--if not at a _very long date_--not only with pleasure, but with great interest."

CAPTAIN PLANTAGENET SIMCOX (of the Stonehenge Yeomanry), signed "because he liked PLUCK. And the EMPEROR had shown himself a clever fellow. He had proved to Europe that he had head beside pluck. Without pluck, who could have a stake in any country?"

PROFESSOR WOBBLES signed "because he considered His Imperial Majesty to be one of PLUTARCH'S men. The EMPEROR had the true heroic nose. It was a vulgar error that the world was governed by heads: no; the noses carried it. Waterloo was won by a nose. The nose is the natural sceptre. The EMPEROR was born a natural."

JOHN STRAIGHT, ESQ., (retired on his property) signed because "he thought the EMPEROR so very much improved, having sown all his wild oats. Was residing at Boulogne when LOUIS NAPOLEON landed, and was bundled like a sack of sawdust into a cart and delivered at the prison. But circumstances being changed, would now with the greatest pleasure give in his adhesion to the Saviour and Protector of France!"

MRS. DEPUTY BOTOLPH would sign "because the dear EMPEROR had asked herself and JEMIMA to the ball at the Tooleries; besides, His Majesty looked such a hero upon horseback."

MISS AGNES BOCHURCH signed "with a sense of gratitude to the dear EMPRESS, who had brought in such a darling style of dressing the hair." Miss A. B. was, when in Paris, _once_ taken for the EMPRESS.

* * * * *


One MR. RHODES, of Carlisle Street, Lambeth, is summoned before the Lambeth Street Magistrate to answer for the--what shall we call it--indiscretion (?) of boiling down putrid fat on his premises to the prejudice of the health of his neighbours, causing thereby "nausea, and even vomiting." MR. SECKER turns to the wisdom of Parliament enshrined in the Nuisance Act, but found that--

"The words relating to any dwelling-house or building being found in a filthy and unwholesome condition _applied not_, as he took it, to places where _a trade or business was carried on_, but to common lodging-houses and places of that description, and the other part of the clause _did not apply to the premises described_."

That is, if you can make a trade of a nuisance, if you can "carry on a business" by fat-melting, the evil to the public is to be allowed because of the profit to the individual. You may turn a whole parish sick, if you can turn the penny upon their "nausea and vomiting."

* * * * *


The _Morning Herald_ has recently made an approach to the principle of abolishing the anonymous in newspaper writing, and has made a sort of indirect disclosure of its editorship, by meeting the public half-way in authorising an impression that has long existed in the minds of the community. The _Herald_ of Tuesday, the 20th of September, after saying, "_we_ have been favoured with the following letter," prints a communication beginning "My dear Mamma." It is clear that to have made the avowal of its severally imputed editorship complete, the letter should have commenced with the words, "My dear Grandmamma."

* * * * *


We have heard a good deal lately about the "position taken by Turkey;" and as the attitude assumed has been undoubtedly rather warlike, we may come to the conclusion that the "position taken by Turkey" is in fact standing on her drum-sticks.

* * * * *


(_From our Own Four-Mil-a-Liner_)

[Illustration: M]

Miraculous escape--Another of those distressing accidents which too often lead to a melancholy catastrophe took place on Wednesday evening last. A party of four adventurous gentlemen, who had resolved on visiting the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, after a quiet dinner at their club, proceeded to that edifice, and, under the direction of a guide, actually penetrated the labyrinths to the lowest box on the opposite side from that at which they entered. Having achieved this feat, and feasted their eyes upon the scenery thus set before them, one of them announced his intention of attempting to get out of the theatre alone. His companions sought to dissuade him from this foolhardy exploit; but, flushed, it is supposed, with an extra half-pint of St. Estephe, the traveller, a remarkably fine young man, to whom his friends were not in the least attached, departed on the perilous enterprise. He ascended eleven staircases, descended fourteen, and, having gone backwards and forwards through twenty-two of the passages which come from nowhere and lead to nothing, in this most wonderfully constructed building, he made the appalling discovery that he had lost his way.

With the true Anglo-Saxon courage, he continued to explore undauntedly, and at one period went down deep into the bowels of the earth, where, far above his head, he could distinctly hear the trampling of feet, and where, in the darkness, he stumbled upon certain whitish objects which may have been either the skeletons of other lost travellers, or else property busts and statues. At length, overcome by terror and thirst, he rushed upwards, and continued to mount until he reached the dizzy height where the air was so intensely rarified as to smell of oranges and gingerbeer, and where, he states, he could distinctly hear the voice of MR. GUSTAVUS BROOKE recommending MISS FEATHERSTONE to go to a nunnery. His sufferings at this period were most acute, and his despairing efforts to open every door he saw were agonizing.

Retracing his steps, he explored every lonely passage, dusty avenue, and dark staircase in vain, and finally he conceived the daring resolution of setting the theatre on fire, in the hope that assistance might thus be summoned, but was prevented by the want of material. At one time he says that he heard female voices, and immediately addressed to the speaker those imploring accents to which woman never listens unmoved; but his words were flung back to him by the echoes with an injurious addition of something sounding like "Tipsy, I suppose." At last, fairly overcome, he sat down upon an extremely dirty couch, and resigned himself to his fate. How many dreadful hours thus passed he knows not, but on returning to consciousness he found himself among kind faces, and being carried over to the nearest tavern he was subjected to a course of restoratives, including alcohol and nicotine, and was finally able to walk home with some straightness. It is hoped that this will be a warning, and inasmuch as proper guides can always be obtained for a shilling, there is really no excuse for running so terrible a risk as that of trying to leave the private boxes of Drury Lane without assistance.

* * * * *


In the _Giornale di Roma_, of the 25th ultimo, appears a document called the "Act of Beatification" of FATHER JOHN of Britto, a Jesuit, who suffered martyrdom in 1693; so that, after the lapse of 160 years, HIS HOLINESS THE POPE has "beatified" the martyred Jesuit--made FATHER JOHN happy at last. The Holy See is really as dilatory in beatifying parties, or making them happy, as the High Court of Chancery. The Church of Rome treats saints as some other churchmen treat bottles of port--laying them down to acquire the right flavour, as well as _bouquet_, notwithstanding that the latter ought to have been already possessed by individuals who had died in the odour of sanctity. Miracles, we believe, are necessary to canonization; no miracles, no Saintship: no niche in the calendar. Our ultra-montane friends tell us that miracles, "the apparition of LA SALETTE" for instance, are rigidly investigated at Rome; but it must be difficult to sift those which occurred above 160 years ago, unless the witnesses are cross-examined by table-rapping, or some equivalent means of communicating with the defunct. However, the case of FATHER JOHN may teach those whom it may concern not to be disheartened by the delay of their beatification by the Roman Pontiffs, by showing them that though they may have had to wait more than a century and a half for their beatitude, they "may be happy yet."

* * * * *


Proverbial philosophy will occasionally fail, and we need go no further for an instance than the well known maxim as to the propriety of "a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together." Take six hearty coalheavers, and, putting between them a pot of porter, call upon them to take "a long pull and a strong pull," if you please; but pause before you invite them to the impracticable operation of "a pull all together."

* * * * *


There's strength in rock, to take the shock Of wave, with naked brows; There's pith in oak, to mock the stroke Of wind, with stubborn boughs; But where grew wood, and where rock stood Wind blows and sea-wave ploughs.

I am not rock, I am not oak; My roots are short and slight; With foes more grave than wind or wave It is my lot to fight. 'Gainst Time and Life I wage a strife-- My name is VESTED RIGHT!

And still I stand, all through the land, With face for every foe;-- The Vestry's lord--its law my word-- I deal my "aye" and "no:"-- On Boards of Health I glide by stealth, All new lights out to blow.

As Alderman, whene'er I can The civic roast I rule; My fingers fold all icy-cold Round Charity and School; From off the Bench, Law's sword I wrench, And make the blade my tool.

From high St. Paul's my vision falls Upon a world of slaves; That foul line rounds my kingdom's bounds With intramural graves; Yon pall of smoke, that Heaven doth choke-- 'Tis my black flag that waves!

As Kings of old, when they would hold A Progress through the land, Had hunting-seat or palace meet Still ready at command; So seats are mine, where lodgings line, Garnished and swept do stand--

'Tis where doth stream the foetid steam From the bone-boiler's vat, The knacker's yard, which penned and barred, Sends out its odours fat; The slaughter-vault, whence, ne'er at fault, Peereth the carrion rat.

In tanneries' stink, on cesspools' brink, I sit and sleep and snuff; The fever's breath brings me no death, I hold such terrors stuff; The odours flung from Smithfield dung To me smell sweet enough.

I've my own graves to take the slaves Whom 'tis my mood to kill; The parish may the cost defray, Full pits my pockets ill. I've gains allowed from shell and shroud-- Each pauper brings his bill!

When of my field an inch I yield, I yield it nothing loath; The vacant spot is straight a plot For Compensation's growth-- That vigorous weed whose fruitful seed I sow and harvest both.

While thus I rule, the good old school Rebellious spirits tames: My sway supports in camps and courts-- One shape of many names! Who dares make fight 'gainst Vested Right? Who dares gainsay my claims?

* * * * *


A Haunted House is a tenement of any number of ordinary stories, to which is added an extraordinary one, in the form of a Ghost Story.

* * * * *


* * * * *


One of our contemporaries--the _Observer_--not satisfied with registering the mere dinner-givings, _déjeûners_, migrations, and marriages of the "upper classes," has just started a new department, to which the rather alarming title of "Accidents in High Life" has been given. We are henceforth, it seems, to be treated to the details of aristocratic mishaps, and the public press is to inform us how LORD TOM NODDY tumbled into a ditch while hunting, or what slips have been made by LADY SO-AND-SO. We presume we may anticipate, under the thrilling title of "Accidents in High Life," a few such paragraphs as the following:--

"We regret to hear of a rather uncomfortable casualty having occurred to the young EARL OF SPOONBILL. His lordship, while riding in Piccadilly, had the misfortune to run over a young miscreant who was carrying a basket of oranges. The young nobleman was somewhat shaken by the concussion, which it is understood was sufficiently violent to break the legs of the unhappy wretch who was the cause of it; but, as we ran by the side of his lordship's horse, to be able to give our readers the latest particulars of his health, we did not wait to hear the fate of the degraded creature, who is, we hope, by this time expiating in a jail the offence of obstructing a thoroughfare and causing a temporary agitation to a member of a noble family. Repeated inquiries at his lordship's area-gate have satisfied us that there is no further cause for alarm. The noble earl was attended by the family apothecary, who "exhibited" a Sedlitz powder over night, and beef tea in the morning.

* * * * *


A complaint has been made against the Trustees of the British Museum, that they keep hoarded up several hundreds of duplicate coins, which might be sold or otherwise advantageously disposed of. It certainly does appear at first sight rather useless to keep several hundred pieces of money of the same sort; but perhaps the Trustees think it would not be prudent to leave themselves without one shilling or penny, as the case may be, to rub against another.

* * * * *


(_To Mr. Punch._)


"Although yours is not a medical journal, I am sure you will readily give insertion to a few lines, which may be rendered, by means of your enormous circulation, instrumental in the preservation of thousands of lives. Cases of recent occurrence have fearfully exemplified the fact--previously well enough established--of the dependence of Asiatic Cholera, in common with Typhus and other pestilences, on the inhalation of the gaseous products of putrefactive decomposition. These consist principally of sulphuretted hydrogen; indeed that gas is, there can be no doubt, the noxious agent. Now, Sir, I wish to direct public attention to an infallible preventive of Cholera, and every other disease of zymotic origin, which, in the form of an antidote against the gas that occasions them, is presented to us by Homoeopathy. You know that the cardinal doctrine of that science is that _similia similibus curantur_; like cures like. Well, Sir; there is a gaseous compound analogous to, or like, sulphuretted hydrogen: I mean seleniuretted hydrogen, also called hydro-selenic acid. The inhalation of a measure of atmospheric air, otherwise pure, containing one part in ten billions of this gas, will secure any individual whatever against both Cholera, and the whole class of affections resulting from the same cause.

"Observe, only, that in order that the remedy may be enabled to act all impediments to its operation must be carefully removed. Sulphuretted hydrogen must cease to be breathed. The drainage of the neighbourhood should be rendered efficient; all the sewers should be flushed and trapped; all the cesspools stopped; all the graveyards closed; all the knackers' yards, bone-boilers', and catgut makers' establishments and every other description of nuisance in the neighbourhood abated.

"No other subsidiary conditions are requisite, except personal ablution, wholesome food, and abstinence from intoxicating quantities of gin, and other alcoholic fluids."


* * * * *

SWEETS TO THE SWEET.--Woman is a beautiful flower, that can be told, in the dark even, by its (s)talk.

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[Illustration: S]

Seemingly everybody is getting so very polite to everybody else that it is beginning to be almost impossible for two or three persons to get together without a meeting of two being got up to present the third with a testimonial. If a steam-boat goes on a rather lengthy voyage, there is sure to be a party mustered to pass flattering resolutions expressive of confidence in the captain, although the ship may have gone several hundred miles out of its way, and there may have been a variety of other disagreeable _contretemps_.

The absurdity of testimonial-giving has reached such a height that we may expect it to go still higher before it finally topples over, and we shall not be astonished to hear that two persons riding together in a Hansom cab have formed themselves into a meeting for the purpose of presenting the driver with a new lash to his whip, or some other appropriate "testimonial." When we hear of votes of thanks having been passed in favour of the commander of a steamer across the Atlantic, we feel that the difficult navigation of the Thames would warrant the presentation of a piece of plate--say a toothpick--to the captains of the Penny _Pink_ or the Halfpenny _Bee_, or the twopenny _Citizen_. If steam-boat passengers are to come to complimentary votes, what reason can there be why omnibus passengers should not vote one of their body into the chair, and record a series of resolutions in honour of the driver for his able and impartial conduct on the driving seat, or the conductor for his uprightness on his foot-board?

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THE STRIKE OF THE DAY.--The worst of all strikes is the strike of Irish labourers--which generally consists in beating their wives.

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* * * * *


"WESTMINSTER POLICE COURT.--POLICEMAN X brought a paper of doggrel verses to the MAGISTRATE, which had been thrust into his hands, X said, by an Italian boy, who ran away immediately afterwards.

"The MAGISTRATE, after perusing the lines, looked hard at X, and said he did not think they were written by an Italian.

"X blushing, said he thought the paper read in Court last week, and which frightened so the old gentleman to whom it was addressed, was also not of Italian origin."

O SIGNOR BRODERIP you are a wickid ole man You wexis us little horgan boys whenever you can, How dare you talk of Justice, and go for to seek To pussicute us horgin boys, you senguinary Beek?

Though you set in Vestminster surrounded by your crushers Harrogint and habsolute like the Hortacrat of hall the Rushers, Yet there is a better vurld I'd have you for to know Likewise a place vere the henimies of horgin-boys will go.

O you vickid HEROD without any pity London vithout horgin boys vood be a dismal city! Sweet SAINT CICILY who first taught horgin-pipes to blow Soften the heart of this Magistrit that haggerywates us so!

Good Italian gentlemen, fatherly and kind Brings us over to London here our horgins for to grind; Sends us out vith little vite mice and guinea pigs also A popping of the Veasel and a Jumpin of JIM CROW.

And as us young horgin boys is grateful in our turn We gives to these kind gentlemen hall the money we earn, Because that they vood vop us as wery wel we know Unless we brought our hurnings back to them as loves us so.

O MR. BRODERIP! wery much I'm surprise Ven you take your valks abroad where can be your eyes? If a Beak had a heart then you'd compryend Us pore little Horgin boys was the poor man's friend.

Don't you see the shildren in the droring rooms Clapping of their little ands when they year our toons? On their mothers' bussums don't you see the babbies crow And down to us dear horgin boys lots of apence throw?

Don't you see the ousemaids (pooty POLLIES and MARIES) Ven ve bring our urdigurdis, smilin from the hairies? Then they come out vith a slice o' cole puddn or a bit o' bacon or so And give it us young horgin boys for lunch afore we go.

Have you ever seen the Hirish children sport When our velcome music-box brings sunshine in the Court? To these little paupers who can never pay Surely all good organ boys, for God's love, will play.

Has for those proud gentlemen, like a sorting B--k (Vich I von't be pussonal and therefore vil not speak) That flings their parler-vinders hup ven ve begin to play And cusses us and swears at us in such a wiolent way.

Instedd of their abewsing and calling hout Poleece Let em send out John to us vith sixpence or a shillin apiece. Then like good young horgin boys avay from there we'll go Blessing sweet SAINT CICILY that taught our pipes to blow.

* * * * *


"Who shall decide when jailors disagree?"

Extract from the Evidence taken before the last Parliamentary Committee on the Subject of Prison Discipline.


_Q. 3491._ _Chairman._ You have had considerable experience in the treatment of felons and other prisoners, and have made prison discipline the object of much consideration?

_A._ I have.

_Q. 3492._ Will you give the Committee your ideas of the mode in which prisoners should be treated.

_A._ I recommend the utmost kindness and indulgence. The criminal should excite our compassion, and we should do our utmost to alleviate his sense of the punishment which society makes it necessary to inflict. I would, on his arrival, ascertain, delicately of course, what had been his previous habits and tastes. If he could read, which I would discover by some little stratagem (such as placing a letter in his hand and asking him what _he_ made of the address, as it puzzled _me_, or some other gentle device), I would cause amusing books to be placed, during the night, in his cell, and secretly changed, so as not to put him under obligation. If he could not read, poor fellow, I, or my wife, or my daughter, should read to him whenever he chose to ring for us, and I would accord him the indulgence of a pipe, if he wished it. To civilise and lead him to the Beautiful, fresh flowers should be placed in his cell--we would, in naming it to him, call it his grot--every morning, and I would recommend the hanging his apartment with engravings from the best masters, avoiding of course any subject likely to remind him painfully of his incarceration. Music should be supplied, and I have a plan for bringing all the Italian organists where I believe most people wish they were, namely, within the walls of our gaols, to soothe the minds of our captives. The bath should be recommended to, but not forced upon him, and if he preferred a warm bath in his cell, with Eau de Cologne in the water, I should naturally order it. For his health's sake, I should advise his adhering to the regular hours of meals, but if he desired a glass of sherry and a sponge cake, or an ice and wafers, or oysters and stout, between meals it would be inhuman to refuse it. The bill of fare should be brought to him each morning, and any reasonable suggestions he might make for its alteration he should see were attended to. If, which I do not anticipate, he should, despite this treatment, be insubordinate, I would, after long, patient, and humble entreaty had been exhausted, threaten to withhold his ice, or withdraw his flowers, or, in a very bad case, I might refuse him Eau de Cologne to his bath.

_Q. 3493._ If a prisoner were very rebellious, would you whip him?

[_The Witness fainted, and was removed._


_Q. 3494._ _Chairman._ You have had considerable experience in the treatment of felons and other prisoners, and have made prison discipline the object of much consideration?

_A._ I have.

_Q. 3495._ Will you give the Committee your ideas of the mode in which prisoners should be treated?

_A._ Treated! I'd treat 'em, bless 'em. Shady side of a deuced good bamboo's the place for them. Confound them! Why, if a fellow's sent to jail, stands to reason he's a scoundrel, and if he's a scoundrel treat him as such. It's an insult to an honest man to leave a rogue with a whole bone in his skin. My way's short. Thrash a rascal whenever you happen to be near him, and have a stick handy, which I take care generally to have; but a poker will do, or a crowbar, if you're in a hurry. The object of punishment is to prevent the offence being repeated, and dash my buttons but a fellow will think twice before he commits an offence that gets him under my hands a second time. Boys? Why, boys are worse than men. A man steals, perhaps, to feed his family; but what does a blessed boy steal for? To buy tarts and gin, and go to the penny theatre. I take it out of 'em, though. First I thrash 'em till there isn't a bit of their system that can be called strictly comfortable. Next, I starve 'em till they're as weak as rats. Then I give 'em work to do which they could hardly do if they were in the strongest health, and if they drop down at it I lick 'em till they get up again, and I refresh their minds with pails of cold water into the bargain. That's the right system. Ever kill them? Well, not often. Sometimes they die out of spite, for these boys are very malicious and revengeful, and will do anything to get an officer into trouble; but I find the magistrates baffle their malignity by taking no notice, and all goes on well. As for insubordination, by Jove, they don't often try it with me, but an iron collar, and a chain to hold it to the wall, a taste of the cat o' nine tails after Morning and Evening Service, a sound kick whenever a jailor happens to pass, and food placed before the rascal, but just out of his reach, for a few days, do wonders.

_Q. 3496._ If a prisoner were very rebellious, would you whip him?

_Witness, (in a dreadful rage)._ Whip him, Sir! No, Sir! Whipping's too good for him, Sir! I'd--I'd--I'd--skin him alive, Sir--that's what I'd do with him, Sir.

[_The witness, in his excitement, knocked over the short-hand writer with a violent back-hander, and rushed out._

* * * * *


At Wilkesbarre, in Pennsylvania, two slave-hunters under the Fugitive Slave Law did their best and worst to recapture a mulatto, named REX. They placed handcuffs on him; but with these very handcuffs, the man--maddened by despair--beat down and marked his hunters. There is a moral in this, if America could understand it. Well will it be if emancipation be granted before slavery, with its very chains, shall knock down and mark the national slaveholders.

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GENTLE READER!--If you have a remarkably strong constitution, you may read the following; but if not, we beg of you to pass it over:--

If a cigar makes a man ill, will a cheroot make a Man-illa?

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It seems that the Royal Insignia of Hungary have lately been dug out of a hole in a very damaged condition. The Crown was cracked, and the cloak of ST. STEPHEN, which, if it had been "made to measure" for the Saint himself, must have been rather the worse for wear, was so injured by damp that if ST. STEPHEN'S mantle should fall on anybody else the result could only be rheumatism. The garment cannot, however, have been worth much, for if it was the cloak that the Hungarian royalty used to wear, it had long ago become transparent, and might have been seen through very easily. We have not heard how the rubbish came to be discovered; but as the cloak was very seedy it may have sprung up, as anything of a seedy nature is apt to do when buried in the ground, and thus given a clue to its own discovery. Who got the Crown into the mess in which it was found is not a question very difficult of solution; but it is clear that those who imputed its abstraction to M. KOSSUTH, were as much in the dark as many of the acts and deeds of the Austrian Government. When a Crown is dragged in the dirt and degraded, the probability is, that he whom the cap fits is the one whose head it ought to rest upon.

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[Illustration: S]

Several correspondents of the _Times_ have been writing themselves into a great rage lately, about what they are pleased to call the "Iniquity of our present Hotel system." They complain, with a warmth of expression which is really very seasonable, that go where you will throughout the kingdom, you'll not find an Inn which is not inn-convenient--to your person, certainly, if not to your purse. Everywhere, they say, you'll be charged a good price for bad accommodation: and the larger the establishment, the smaller is your chance of escaping imposition. If you order a light dinner, you may be sure, nevertheless, you'll have to pay a heavy price for it. If wine be your beverage, you'll be charged three and sixpence for a glass and a half of Cape, served in a vinegar-cruet and called "a pint of Sherry:" or, if you drink beer, you will get a jug of what it were a bitter raillery to call bitter ale, and which, however nasty, you'll be charged a nice sum for. So that, in either case, the process of selling these liquids may be said invariably to include the purchaser. Your candles, too, they say, which figure so highly as "wax" in the bill, will prove in the candlestick to be as bad a composition as the fourpence in the pound of a fraudulent bankrupt: and whether lit or not, there's still the burning shame that you're to pay just the same for them. For "attendance," too, you are charged about as much as for a lawyer's: half-a-crown a day being no uncommon item for the luxury of sometimes looking at a waiter. And if you want a horse, you'll find there's not one in the stable but what's made a heavy charger.

Another of their complaints is, that in the fitting up of our hotels there is as much bad taste as in the wines you cannot drink there. For, while the second-class houses are barely half-furnished, those which are anomalously styled "first-rate" are as much over-done as the victims who frequent them, all the rooms being crammed to every corner with a lot of ugly furniture, for which nevertheless you've to pay pretty handsomely.

In short, the British Innkeeper, as these writers represent him, figures as a sort of human apteryx, who supports himself entirely by the length of his bill.

Now, the correctness of these charges we admit as readily as we dispute the landlords'. At the same time, we think there is an evident excuse for them; for the writers, in their vehemence, seem entirely to have overlooked the fact, that inasmuch as every innkeeper is bound to keep open house, he is obviously obliged to take as many people in as possible.

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* * * * *



"I want to ask you one little question. It is about 'defacing the coin.' I wish to ask whether my brother SEPTIMUS is liable to be taken up? The foolish boy has several waistcoats, the buttons of which are made of coins. He has one for every-day use made with fourpenny pieces. He has another, the buttons of which are made with half-sovereigns. That is for Sunday wear, whilst he has another for very grand occasions that is buttoned together with two-sovereign pieces. He is with these absurd fancies quite a 'Man made of Money', and I know a young lady who calls him a 'walking change for a ten-pound note.' It is very conceited of him to be sure, and I am only afraid he will be taken up some day--especially if he has on at the time his great driving coat that has a long row of half-crowns running down in front, and a couple of crown-pieces over the pockets behind. Now I wish you to tell me, dear _Punch_, supposing he is taken up, can they send him to prison, and cut his hair off, and make him eat gruel for defacing the coin? I am more frightened than I can tell you about him.

"Poor fellow! It would be terrible to see two big policemen lay their large hands on him, when he was out walking with his little sister, and tear him away from my side, because he happened to be wearing his grand pink shirt with the studs made out of the tiniest threepenny pieces. This talk about 'defacing the coin' is all rubbish, for it strikes me that if I give ten shillings for half-a-sovereign, I have a right to do what I like with it--to throw it in the fire even, if I choose; but I am fairly tired out of my life with such stuff!

I remain, my dearest _Punch_, Your great friend and admirer, CLARA (at No. 10).

"P.S. Supposing again I choose to wear a lucky coin round my neck that was given to me by JULIUS before he went to sea, I should like to know what they would do with me? I declare _I would die sooner_ than they should take it from me!"

* * * * *

PUBLICANS AND PARSONS.--Cathedral Chapters are compiled from leaves taken out of Hotel-keepers' Books.

* * * * *

HOW TO BREATHE THE "FREE AIR" OF AUSTRIA.--Keep your mouth shut!

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M. HALÉVY, weary of compelling his orchestra to imitate the tinkling of Bayadères' armlets, or the solemn tramp of an army of elephants, has, in his opera of the _Nabob_, now performing at the Opéra Comique, introduced a novel musical effect, upon which _Mr. Punch_, in anticipation of its speedy transmission to England, feels bound to offer a word of comment. In the third act of the opera, the libretto of which, be it remarked, is from the pen of M. SCRIBE, a chaise, containing two of the principal characters, is upset at the door of a tobacconist's shop in Wales. Of course, the occupants of the chaise are assisted into the shop, where they sing a duet with, as the French papers say, "A funny accompaniment of coughing and sneezing." At this we are told the whole house _"éclata de rire_", and that "_les brouhahas les plus vives accueillirent ce joli morçeau_". If _Mr. Punch_ were not entirely free from all petty national jealousy, he might, perhaps, insinuate that M. HALÉVY has taken his idea from the brilliant sternutations which the immortal tenor GRIMALDI was wont to embroider, as the _Morning Post_ would say, upon his grand scena of "_Tippetywitchet_." But he contents himself with M. HALÉVY'S indirect tribute of praise to that great _artiste_, and rejoices in the conviction that the _belle fioriture_ of _il povero Guiseppe_, now that they have received the stamp of French approval, will come into general acceptation with us.

He expects that during the ensuing winter great pains will be taken to perforate the roofs and walls of our theatres, as managers will feel that no singer can succeed properly in an air unless she stands in a draught.

He expects also that his contemporaries will criticise the _début_ of a new tenor after the following fashion--

"SIGNOR INFREDDATURA, who made his first appearance last night in the comic opera of _Il Catarro_, has all the qualifications of a great singer; viz. a fine person, a sweet and powerful voice, expressive and appropriate action, and _a bad cold_. He took all his sternutations with the greatest ease, and in correct time, and in his grand aria of '_Ah! tu traditrice_,' the audience knew not whether to admire most, the great power with which he gave the _Ahchew_--sustaining the '_Ah_' for some seconds, and then suddenly pouring forth the '_Chew_' in a volume of sound that DUPREZ might have envied--or the playful irony which he threw into his new and _spirituel_ reading of the _treechay_. He was, however, but badly seconded by MADAME TESTACHIARA, who was so nervous as to have no control over her organ whatever, so that the two pinches of snuff which the prompter administered to her before she came on exploded at the wrong time, and thus impaired the general effect of an otherwise fine performance."

One advantage _Mr. Punch_ perceives, will certainly result from the vigorous prosecution of M. HALÉVY'S idea. It is that, whereas our climate has hitherto been the bane, it will henceforth prove the antidote of foreign singers. They will flock here in crowds to perfect their education, nor will they be deterred from coming by a fear of overstocking the market, as they will always feel sure that there is plenty of rheum for them in England. And even MR. SIMS REEVES, when afflicted by the recurrence of his apparently hereditary cold, need no longer disappoint the audience by withdrawing from them altogether, and may favour them with "My lodging is on the cold ground" (a song which will naturally afford great scope for a display of the new ornaments), or with "We'll sound the gay Catarrh."

* * * * *


A poor applewoman is not allowed to loiter on the pavement. The lithographic artist, who draws the reddest salmon and setting suns on the flagstones, is instantly told by the policeman to "walk his chalks." The broken-down tradesman, with his white neckcloth, and black gloves with the fingers peeping out of the tips, is not allowed to lean against a door-post, and offer, in a melancholy attitude, his lucifer-matches for sale. The same rigour is exercised towards the hundred-bladed Jew boy, the barefooted girl with her bunch of violets, and the grinning Italian with his organ. Not one of them is allowed to monopolise the pavement, but is immediately commanded by the ferocious policeman to "move on." But there is a class of persons who are permitted to remain still, where a child who is crying her apples "three a penny" is not allowed even to loiter. This class of persons is not the most reputable class to come in contact with, nor the pleasantest even to look at. It is the betting class. Pass a betting-shop when you will, you are sure to find an immense crowd collected outside it.

There is no knowing what they talk about--and we have not the slightest wish to increase our knowledge--but there they will stand for hours, running in and out of the shop, in the most feverish state, exchanging memoranda in half-whispers, and dotting down incomprehensible figures in little clasp-books, which they hold up close to their breasts, for fear any one should see what they are inscribing in them. They seem dreadfully afraid lest any one should peep over their shoulders, and discover the wonderful "odds" they are pencilling down. We have no particular love or partiality for this numerous class of HER MAJESTY'S subjects. We do not like them, with their slangy stable coats, their sporting hats knowingly cocked on one side, and their suspicious looks that seem to say of every one on whom their sharp, calculating glances fall, "Well, I wonder how green you are, and I wonder what harvest I shall get out of your greenness." We do not like this betting _genus_, with its whips and switchy canes, and thick-ruled trowsers, into which a small five-barred gate seems to have been compressed, and its sensual thick-lipped mouths, that are invariably playing with a flower or a piece of straw, or caressing the end of a pencil.

Now, this class of persons blocks up our public pavements. Attempt to pass by the Haymarket, or Jermyn Street, or the purlieus of Leicester Square, about four or five o'clock, and you will find that the arteries of circulation are tied up by those thick coagulated knots of betting men. The thoroughfare is quite impassable, and you are compelled to go into the mud of the road to avoid being soiled by the refuse of the pavement. We wish the police would, until the entire system is abolished, sweep away the offensive nuisance, for we do not see why betting men should be allowed to carry on their trade on the flagstones any more than applewomen, or even your openly-professed beggar. The police might be worse engaged than in making them "move on." In this instance we would have them not pay the slightest respect to their "betters."

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[Illustration: A]

A paragraph with the above startling heading has been going the round of the newspapers. It seems that the bones of the great violinist have been turned into bones of contention, by the priests who have refused to bury them. Several lawsuits have taken place, and there has been one appeal to the Court of Nice, which treated the matter as a Nice question. This court refused the request of PAGANINI'S executors, who were anxious to get the bones buried; but rather than submit to the decree, without making any further bones about the matter, they appealed to Genoa, which it seems is somewhat over nice, for it superseded Nice in its decision. A further appeal has, however, been made to Turin, which reversed the judgment of Genoa, and a reference to the Holy See is now spoken of. "There the matter rests," say the papers, but where the bones will ultimately rest remains a problem.

* * * * *


LORD JOHN RUSSELL, in his recent speech at Greenock, alluded to the "absence of party" as a thing scarcely to be hoped, but greatly to be desired. The word "party" is so vague in its ordinary sense, that we should be glad to know the "party" to which LORD JOHN alludes. He may either mean "that party" over the way, on the other side of the House, or that "other party," or that "Irish party," or that "troublesome little party" that is always asking inconvenient questions, or some "party" that some other "party" is always egging on to annoy the Government. The only "party" to which we are quite sure his Lordship did not refer is the "Protectionist party," for it would have been absurd to express a wish for the absence of what has already ceased to be, and it would be even worse than crushing a butterfly on a wheel, to call for the annihilation of a nonentity.

* * * * *


THE QUEEN has suggested to the Irish the propriety of mending their own clothes. Hitherto, when we have sent steel to Ireland, it has been in the shape of swords and bayonets. QUEEN VICTORIA, however, a right royal housewife, presents sister HIBERNIA with a packet of needles.

* * * * *

[Illustration: TRUE FEELING.

"_My dearest Brother, confide in me. You are ill?_"

"_Ill, Jemima! Broken-hearted--dying! For six months I've sought her--all my money gone in advertisements and inquiries; but she is lost to me for ever!_"


"_Yes! The Woman who Starched that Collar!_"]

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Some of our daily contemporaries have published an advertisement, headed, "THE TIMES _versus_ ENGLISH HOTELS," and consisting of six resolutions passed at a meeting of the principal Hotel-keepers of Town and Country, held at the London Coffee House, Ludgate Hill, on the 15th instant.

What end the public-house-keepers proposed to themselves in publishing those resolutions, it is not very easy to conceive. A mere resolution that a newspaper, in criticising hotel prices, has abused the liberty of the Press, will not persuade any reader of the paper to think so. The worst thing that has been, or could have been done to the landlords by a newspaper, was the publication of their bills: do they resolve this to be exceeding the bounds of just criticism?

Unnecessary wax-lights, at 2_s._ a pair; port and sherry fifty per cent. above market price; swipes calling itself ale, at 1s. per pot; these and all such items, if obviously extortionate, cannot be exhibited in any other light by the simple resolution of the extortioners, even if that be framed and glazed.

There is just one use which we may imagine these ostensible resolutions to serve. Perhaps they are put forward by way of blind to the real ones which were formed at this assembly of publicans. The following, probably, are those which the gentlemen actually concurred in:--

Resolved, unanimously--

I. That an agitation has been raised against hotel charges by the Press, which, if unchecked, will perhaps result in the reduction of them, by terrifying some of us into diminishing our prices, and necessitating the rest to follow their example.

II. That it is our interest to resist the attempt thus being made to compel us, by intimidation, to moderate our bills.

III. That such resistance can be effectually maintained only by a firm combination amongst ourselves, based upon a determination to stand by each other, in the endeavour to perpetuate those exactions which we now levy on the British Public; but that by hanging closely together, we may defy the Press, hold the public at our mercy, and safely despise and disregard popular opinion.

IV. But that, in order to preserve this happy state of independence, it is indispensably necessary to exclude most rigorously from the Hotel-keeping business the pernicious principle of competition.

V. That every effect and exertion should therefore be made to induce the Magistrates in town and country to persevere in their existing excellent system of restricting tavern-licenses to certain parties; thereby restraining that competition which would soon oblige us to adjust our prices in conformity with the clamour of common sense.

VI. That a subscription be entered into in order to raise funds for the further propitiation of the said Magistrates in our favour, by bribing them additionally to persist in refusing licenses to any other individuals than ourselves.

* * * * *


At the Westminster Police Office, in the course of an organ-grinding nuisance case, there was read, according to the reports, a threatening letter; which, as the following copy of it will show, was of a very dangerous character. It was stated to have been addressed to "an aged invalid gentleman;" who, we presume, had disobliged the writers by growling at them and sending them away:--

"SIGNOR RUSSELL,--You are one very great vicked ole man. You are one very rechted miserable man. Why you wil hart the pore horgan man that trys to get a honnest living, for you have plenty yourself money? Why you stop the poor horgan man to get a little money? You are a very ole feeble man, and cannot life much longer. When you die where will your guilty sole go to? You have no charity for the poor horgan man; what charity will God have for you in the next world? What mercy will he have for you? He will be as hard to you in the next world as you are to the poor man in this. You will go to purgatory and stop for ever and ever, if you do not repent of your vickidnys, you brown breeched, blue coated, brite button ole scarecrow; now, in conclusion, three or four of us true sons of Italy have sworn by the HOLY VIRGIN to make of you rite over upon the top of your own dore-steps one fritefullest tomartyr.


The report further states that opposite the names were three daggers; but from the theological views apparent on the face of the document, we imagine that the daggers were merely the sort of index which his Eminence CARDINAL WISEMAN is in the habit of prefixing to his signature.

MR. BRODERIP, we are told, read this letter, "which created much laughter." Of that convulsive affection, however, happily nobody died; so that the communication was simply dangerous--not actually fatal to the hearers. To the original recipient, however, it seems to have been productive of consequences seriously alarming, as it, "had put him into such a state of bodily fear that he was nearly dead."

We have read of people who saw their own ghosts; which rather frightened them. SIGNOR RUSSELL, perhaps, was in some degree terrified by his own phantom, raised by the Italian organ-grinders--the apparition of himself in brown breeches, blue coat, and brass buttons. However, besides being thus exhibited as an "old scarecrow" to his own eyes, he had cause for apprehension in one of the mysterious menaces addressed to him. The threat of perpetual Purgatory, a Protestant old gentleman might despise; but that of martyrdom by being made the frightfullest tomartyr upon the top of his own door steps, is a substantial horror. It is suggestive of an idea dreadful enough to make him tremble over his bit of fish, and shudder in the enjoyment of his mutton-chop--the idea of being pounded and crushed into a pulp, and ground by Popish organ-grinders to the consistence of tomartyr sauce.

* * * * *


The Russians have been hitherto supposed to belong to the Greek Church; but there now appears to be some doubt of this. It was lately stated, in the foreign correspondence of some of our contemporaries, that after a recent review of his troops by Prince Gortschakoff, the General issued an order of the day, in which he told the army of occupation that they were called upon to annihilate Paganism, concluding his address with "Long live the CZAR! Long live the God of the RUSSIANS!" If PRINCE GORTSCHAKOFF is to be taken as a correct exponent of Muscovite divinity, the religion of the Russians must be identical with that of the YEZIDI, inasmuch as the latter, also, are worshippers of the old gentleman denominated NICHOLAS.

* * * * *


A sporting "gent," who has courageously entered the "lists" at several betting-houses, has lately purchased an elaborate work on "Ethnology," in consequence of his having heard that it will give him much information on the subject of "races."

* * * * *

A NEW MOTTO FOR RUSSIA.--Bear and Overbear.

* * * * *


Our beautiful fashions go on improving! Like Buckingham Palace, they are constantly being altered, and never altered for the better. What the human _façade_ will be ultimately, there's no knowing. Everything has been tried in the shape of flowers, feathers, ornaments on the top, and, in some instances, paint, that could possibly disfigure it. Let these disfigurements only continue, and they may have the effect of converting the human head into a kind of MEDUSA'S, that will turn into stone all who look at it. One of the latest absurdities is the way in which ladies wear their bonnets--if it can be called wearing at all, when it is falling, like a Capuchin's hood, right down their backs. It thus forms a capital receptacle for collecting any refuse or rubbish that may be dropt, or thrown, into it. We know one lady who found her bonnet, when she got home, perfectly filled with dust. It was quite a dust-bin in a small way--and the luncheon, which was on the table at the time, had to be sent away, as everything was spoilt by the dusty shower that the lady had unconsciously shaken down upon it.

There was another lady--whose husband is not so rich as he should be, and who grumbles fearfully, poor fellow, at every new bonnet he has to pay for--who discovered her _chapeau_ to be as full as it could hold of orange-peel. Some malicious little boys must have amused themselves in walking behind her and pitching into it every piece of orange-peel they found lying about. It was an amusing game of pitch-in-the-hole to them. The consequence has been that the lady, who is extremely particular, especially when she takes a new fancy like a new bonnet into her head, has been compelled to throw away her old bonnet, and to have a new one. The poor husband, who is really to be pitied (husbands generally are), has been obliged, in order to pay for the additional expense, to walk instead of riding, to give up smoking, and to cut off his luncheons--all of which expenses came out of his own pocket and not out of the housekeeping. The last time he was seen he was so thin that it was almost a microscopical effort to see him. But this absurd fashion, coupled with the other absurdity of long dresses, has the one good effect in keeping our streets clean, for the low bonnets carry off all the superfluous dust, and the long dresses carry away all the superfluous mud.


It would be difficult to say which fashion, in point of cleanliness, ranks the lowest. A classical friend of ours humorously declares that he thinks the bonnets will soon be the lower of the two, and that the ladies, for convenience' sake, will shortly be wearing them, tied on to the end of their dresses. It will be relieving them, he funnily says, of a great _draw-back_, and will have the further advantage of keeping their dear heads cool. This classical friend also says that the ladies, as viewed at present with their bonnets hanging behind them, look like female anthropophagi, or "monsters whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders." However, we have only one hope that the fashion, which seems to be dropping lower and lower every day, will gradually drop off altogether, and then the marital cry will be "_Il n'y a plus de_ Bonnets!" and Cranbourne Street will be ruined. But after all, the eccentricities in the way of dress do not lie exclusively on the side of the ladies.

We must not throw every absurdity on their backs. The gentlemen come in, also, for a large share of the ridiculous. Look at an elegant young gent of the present day! His hat you must confess is faultless. It combines every quality within its lovely chimney-pot form. It has not only beauty of shape, but utility of purpose. The brim is admirable. A lady-bird can about settle on it, and that is all. There is just sufficient width to enable you to lift the hat with, and what more do you want? As for keeping the sun off, it is not needed for that purpose, for when is the sun ever seen in England? and as for keeping the rain off, as it is a well-known fact that no Englishman ever ventures out of doors without his umbrella, it cannot be needed for that purpose any more than for the sun. Then look at the shirt-collar! It is a high linen wall, behind which the face is securely protected from the sharp, cutting winds that are continually flying about our climate, like so many aërial guillotines. One's head would infallibly be chopped off, cleaner than any head of asparagus, if it were not for some such protection; and besides, we should not find fault with our young men if they do try to hide as much as they can of their beautiful features. You may be sure they only do it out of charity to the ladies! The small ribbon that fences in this high wall of collar is, likewise, most beautiful. It is almost an invisible fence that is planted evidently more for ornament than use. The wall would look cold and naked--a kind of workhouse wall--without it. We may say that every part of the dress bespeaks a degree of taste that would win the admiration even of a savage. In fact, get a savage--a greater savage, if you can, than one who beats his wife; then select a Young Lady and a Young Gent in the present year's costumes; let the former be as fashionable as you like--let the latter be as green as you can find him: then put them before your savage--turn them gently round for five minutes, and then ask him his candid opinion. We will wager our next week's receipts--no small wager, by the way--that he will be puzzled to say--


* * * * *


At the _déjeûner_ given the other day to MR. G. V. BROOKE, it was stated by the manager of Drury Lane that after the morning performance, which took place last week, the public-houses in the neighbourhood of the theatre were crowded with people, who, after seeing _Othello_, were refreshing themselves for the purpose of seeing _The Stranger_ in the evening. We admit that two tragedies in one day must be rather warm work for the audience, as well as for the actors, and we do not wonder at "refreshment" being found necessary to enable the public to go through with the day's labours. Some plays are drier than others, and it would be a curious fact to ascertain how much more washing down _The Stranger_ would require than _Othello_. If we were to attempt a calculation, we should say, that if SHAKSPEARE took a bottle of sparkling Moselle, nothing short of a hogshead of heavy would be needed to make KOTZEBUE go down at all glibly.

* * * * *


Of course we continue to receive reports of the appearance of other ghosts. In the playhouse world, last week, it was reported that the night watchman on duty at the Princess's was startled by the ghost of _Macbeth_. Now, as the theatre does not open until the 10th the news must be premature.

* * * * *


[Illustration: U]

Under the rules issued by the Treasury Commissioners with respect to the appointment of Custom House officials, it is declared that persons nominated to be searchers must be fully acquainted with vulgar fractions. There is no objection to this kind of vulgarity as one of their qualifications, but we hope no necessity exists that they should be guilty of any other, and continue to be rude and insolent. Another rule provides that no person will be admitted to the service who shall have committed an offence against the revenue laws. What then has become of the maxim "Set a thief to catch a thief?"

* * * * *


"The Plague is at our doors!" the watchers cried amain:-- At the shrill call England raised up her head: "Arm! arm against the Plague!" the watchers cried again: England turned round upon her lazy bed, Folding her arms in dreamy drowsihead-- "Arm! arm!" the watchers cried--the watchers cried in vain!

England not stirring slept; or if perchance one stirred, 'Twas but to vent a muttered curse on those Whose warning trumpet-call through folds of slumber heard, Broke in upon the pleasure of repose, With ugly thoughts of death and dying throes-- So Echo's voice gave back the watchers' idle word.

As when a leaguering host, under the shroud of night, Hath sapped a city's wall, and creeping in, Flashes with sword and fire upon the sleepers' sight, Who springing, drunk with fear and dazed with din, Out of their beds, to grope for arms begin-- Arms that should long ere then have been girt on for fight--

So suddenly the Plague hath crept within our gate; With even such wild yell and hideous note Of fear, we start from sleep, to find the choking weight Of those blue, bony fingers on the throat;-- To meet those stony eyes that glare and gloat On victims who, fore-armed, had struggled with their fate.

We run this way and that; we cling to all that come With nostrum or defence; and as we fall We curse the watchers too, and ask, "Why were ye dumb? Why waked ye not the sleepers with your call? Why urged ye not the warriors to the wall?" Meanwhile to the Plague's breath lives helplessly succumb.

And while he stalks abroad, on his triumphant way, We fetter his allies; his arms we hide: Allies--that till he came had unmolested sway To make within our walls these breaches wide, Through which our grim and ghastly Foe did stride; Arms--that for his right hand we have furbished many a day.

And now with bended knees, and heads bowed to the ground, In sudden piety high Heaven we sue To stay the Plague that still his mightiest strength has found In what we have done ill or failed to do-- Whose weapons we keep ever sharp and new-- Some of whose champions bold we as our chiefs have crowned.

* * * * *


The Russian note is not to be judged of so much by its contents, as by its envelope--not so much by what it says, as by what it attempts to cover. If the note should prove a failure, the CZAR will have reason to regret that he did not show his usual address on the occasion.

* * * * *


No Englishman can visit the Picture Galleries at the Louvre without thinking of a building in London devoted to the same purpose, which is neither very beautiful nor very convenient; and it is rather tempting to enlarge on the despicable show the Trafalgar Square collection makes beside the principal Continental ones. The equitable temper, however, of your Correspondent leads him to suggest some reflections which will mitigate that censure. The National Gallery was not built by the luxurious sovereign of an impoverished people, or it might have been larger and more splendid. No curse cleaves to its stones. The pictures are not the fruit of rapine and confiscation, or the collection might have been more extensive and valuable. As it is, it contains less rubbish and more priceless gems than any gallery of its size in the world; and no pillaged aristocracy, no humbled province, claims a canvas there. Such considerations consoled him as he paced up the gilded saloon of APOLLO to the square chamber which holds the masterpieces of the collection. RAPHAEL, PAUL VERONESE, LEONARDO, and TITIAN appear in all their glory; but the star of the room and cynosure of neighbouring eyes, is MADAME SOULT'S MURILLO--the _Assumption of Mary_. A crowd of devout admirers cluster always round this great work and the artist who is employed in copying it. It has the effect of a tender strain from one of Mozart's masses, sweet and sensous, yet not low. Ladies cannot but be charmed to see that a saint can be so pretty, and turn with a shudder from dirty anchorites and unshaven martyrs to gaze again and again at those lovely eyes, and silky hair, and those elegant hands crossed so gracefully on her bosom.

Certainly nothing can be more delightful than to sit on the central ottoman (which by the way is a great deal more comfortable than those backless rout seats that we wot of), and, shifting one's position from time to time, study the various marvels of art that clothe the walls of this saloon. Your Correspondent, like every English gentleman, knows (or wishes to be thought to know) something about pictures, but he is not minded to gratify you with the slang that is usually thought necessary for the proper treatment of this subject. Wherefore he will make no allusions to breadth, or chiaro-scuro, or texture, or bits of colour. PAUL VERONESE'S _Marriage at Cana_ is before him, fresh and varied as a bouquet of flowers, and he wishes to enjoy it as he would digest his dinner, without giving technical reasons for the process. He turns to a group of RAPHAEL'S (I beg pardon, RAFAELLE'S), and would not for the world spoil the pleasure they give him by speculating on the Roman School and the artist's three manners, and the influence of PIETRO PERUGINO or MICHAEL ANGELO on his style, and so forth. These fine art critics are a cold-blooded set of fellows, and look at a picture as an attorney does at a lease, to see if they cannot pick a hole in it.

All this time the eyes of the enthusiast have been wandering to a corner of the chamber where an artist is copying a small _Rembrandt_. It is not the _Rembrandt_ he is regarding, but the artist. How excessively nice! The most charming young lady perched on a pair of steps, like a dear little bird in a tree. She bends over her work and draws her head back, and scans the effect on one side and the other with, really, the most irritating picturesqueness. She wears a blue robe just the colour of her eyes, with a little ermine tippet, and when an ancient dragon, who is reading a novel at the foot of the steps, in a cloak and ugly bonnet, speaks to her, she laughs and shakes her blond _chevelure_, and is so delightful altogether, that it is quite impossible to attend to the pictures. Let us go into the long gallery where the students are not so fascinating. Dirty, long-haired, and bearded men in blouses, and females in seedy crumpled black, look up as we pass by from their easels.

An English family runs past with the blue catalogues in their hands. A precious bore the whole affair is to them. They must be quick, there is no time to lose. "What a lot of pictures! Isn't that a funny man with a beard? How slippery the floor is! RUBENS, ah, really. Come, girls, we must get back to MEWREISE'S to lunch. There's the Bose Arts, and the Museum of Artillery, and the Bois de Bullown"--"You should say Bulloyne, Pa"--"to be done before dinner."

A long vista of pictures ordered, as all galleries should be, chronologically. As you enter, mystical compositions, or rather apparitions of draped angels and saints gaze at you with sleepy eyes from firmaments of gold. Their limbs are long and gaunt; their looks grimly devout, and their heads are set awry on their shoulders. Is it credible that there should be educated men in the present day who yearn after these barbarisms, and have no sympathy with the struggles made by subsequent artists to get free from their influence? And that clergymen should put up copies of the same in our churches, and almost anathematise as heathens those who prefer better drawing? This period is the very winter of art, and the next is the spring, all life and freshness and beauty. We cannot but here remember the young painters in England who have borrowed a name, if not a principle, from the times before RAPHAEL. Already their works have become the great point of attraction in the Royal Academy; already they have reaped the success of enthusiastic praise, and the still rarer and more precious success of rancorous abuse. What does our friend ORTOLAN say on this subject?

ORTOLAN has a lively sense of every sort of pleasure. He orders a dinner better than another man, and enjoys it more; he is a good sportsman, and well known as a first-rate wicket-keeper at LORD'S. But only his intimate friends are aware how he appreciates literature and art, and how solid his acquirements are in both. He is now quietly analysing the method employed by TITIAN in painting flesh when he is accosted by your Correspondent. "What do I think of Pre-Raphaelitism? I don't know what it means. Where are you to find out? There was a pamphlet certainly with that title which strongly recommended painting from Nature, but there is nothing very new in that. All artists paint from Nature, and very sick it makes one of the wonderful wigs, and satin, and armour, and plate-glass and china, and fruit and flowers and shiny dogs and deer. I don't speak of landscape painters, because the writer of that pamphlet has already proved that the moderns in this line are very superior, because better imitators than the old. One notion of his may perhaps pretend to novelty, that a painter should 'select nothing and reject nothing' in Nature. But I don't understand what he means by this. How can you avoid selecting and rejecting? I suppose some things are prettier than others, just as some women are prettier than others. He can hardly want a man to shut his eyes to what gives him pleasure. If he does he is wrong, and must know that he's wrong. If not, he must mean that when you are set down to paint the subject you have selected, you ought to paint it as it is. If that is all his discovery, what is the use of making such a fuss about it? Of course you ought, and so every industrious student does, to the best of his ability. But you must distinguish between studies and pictures. The first are merely exercises; the second are, or should be, poems. No one was more aware of this than the landscape painter whom he worships so devoutly, and who is generally thought to have pushed poetical treatment of landscapes to an extreme.

"But, perhaps, this writer does not tell us what we want to know, and we must look for Pre-Raphaelitism in the pictures themselves. Most of them are clever, and some of them show the very highest ability; but this, of course, is not the Pre-Raphaelite part of the work, and must be put out of sight. No new principle can produce _genius_, though genius may find out the new principles. What then remains? Is there a quaintness of form and manner which reminds one of the early Italian painters? I think there was a good deal, and still is some, but they happily seem to be working themselves free from a peculiarity which, to my mind, is neither more nor less than affectation. Is it an extraordinary fancy for ugly people that seems occasionally to possess them like an evil spirit? If this is the new principle, the sooner it is put down the better. There are quite enough frights in the world without stereotyping them for the delectation of all time. Or is it a toilsome elaboration of detail, which not one man out of a thousand could ever see without a glass? I confess, that even where the minute objects themselves form the subject of the picture, this painful execution is quite oppressive to me. I seem to be looking through an inverted telescope, which gives everything a hard outline that I never see in Nature myself, and never want to see; and further, while there is an atmosphere, I don't believe anybody else can see. But where this minute detail is merely accessory to the subject of the picture, there I hold the system to be wrong and false in the strongest sense. It is, of course, very catching to talk about imitating Nature exactly, but one simple test will show that for dramatic or poetical subjects it won't do. Dress up two models as carefully as you like, put them into appropriate attitudes, take a calotype of the group, copy it exactly on the canvas, call it _Hamlet and the Ghost_, and then ask yourself what notion it gives you of SHAKSPERE. Imitation of Nature is only an expedient. The end of Art is to please."

* * * * *


The new-found crown of Hungary has been brought in great state to Vienna, and with like state returned again to Hungary. The reason for this (we impart the news to the reader as private and confidential) was--BARON LIONEL ROTHSCHILD, having examined the diadem, refused to lend a single penny upon it. The real, original stones have been taken out, but we understand the Pope has, in the handsomest manner, proposed to supply other gems of far surpassing value--namely, no other than half-a-dozen of the pebbles that stoned ST. STEPHEN himself.

* * * * *


The arms of Austria are the eagle; the double-headed eagle. When, however, we think of the paper currency of the house of Hapsburgh--currency issued only to be dishonoured--the supporters of Austria are surely not eagles, but--as NOKES, the wag upon 'Change, says--_kites_.

* * * * *



"Direct Taxation may be compensated for by cheapness; but it is very painful. When we are compelled to pay a lot of money at once, we feel a pang which the disbursement of twice as much distributed over a longer period, in small additions to our expenditure, does not occasion. The latter case resembles the gradual extraction of a single hair: the former is equivalent to having a whole handful torn right out. You know that you may lose a quantity of blood by frequent leeching, which, if abstracted at once from your system, would make you faint. I am still suffering from the recent payment of my assessed taxes; and shall not lose the horrible sensation for a week. As to the Income-Tax--it has the effect of a fine: a regular punishment. Couldn't these dreadful penalties be paid by instalments? I declare I am almost determined the next time I am forced to undergo one of them, to have myself put under the influence of chloroform. I have sometimes thought of brandy instead; but I have a generous weakness, which spirituous liquors are apt to stimulate, and I am afraid that if I were to pay my Income-Tax in the state I allude to, I should fling down a few guineas over the amount as a voluntary contribution, overcome with enthusiastic devotion to my QUEEN and Country.

"Yours, a severely plucked _September 29, 1853._" "MICHAELMAS GOOSE."

"P.S. If we have war, these taxes will become quite intolerable; and chloroform will be absolutely necessary."

* * * * *



We have a bone to pick with our contemporaries. In reporting the speech of LORD PALMERSTON, at Perth, they recorded a passage in which the noble Lord suggested that those who saw and heard things that were going wrong, should communicate them to the public officer whose duty it is to put them right, which would be conferring a great favour on the man in office, as well as doing a benefit of magnitude to the country at large. They represent his Lordship as saying, in continuation:--

"There may be a great deal of chaff in that which is received--but if in a bushel of chaff he shall find a pint of good corn, that bushel of chaff would be worth winnowing, and he can turn that pint of corn to good purposes."

But why has that been omitted which followed of course, and by the omission of which the above extract is made to conclude with abruptness--to read, as it were, broken off, stumpy? What motive, but a mean one, was there for suppressing what LORD PALMERSTON must have gone on to say?--namely, that in communicating to Government information respecting things that go wrong, mixed up with chaff, the most essential services had been rendered to an applauding nation by a popular periodical--which modesty prevents _Punch_ from more distinctly alluding to.

* * * * *


The next Lord Mayor's Day is, we are told, to be celebrated with touching simplicity. Gilt gingerbread has had its day; and Bartholomew Fair being abolished, the Lord Mayor's coach will follow the gilt chanticleers-in-trowsers and other gorgeous gingerbread. MR. ALDERMAN WIRE'S liveries are very simple, but very significant. Being a lawyer, he has put characteristic facings on his profession, clothing his coachman and footmen in suits of parchment with shoulder-knots of red tape. The effect is very handsome. The worthy Sheriff's motto, _Vincit qui patitur_, is very happy, and is beautifully engrossed upon the cuffs and collars. _Vincit qui patitur._ He conquers who suffers! How often is it illustrated in law. He who wins, _pays_!

* * * * *

SCOTCH INFLICTIONS.--"Winter"--say the papers--"has already set in with severity in Scotland." What is worse; LORD ABERDEEN has, months since, set in with severity in England.

* * * * *


* * * * *


The Chinese heroes who are now cutting off each other's tails and mutilating each other's limbs, appear to realise a far larger quantity of kicks than halfpence by their warlike achievements. Even a successful general seems to make but a sorry business of it, for the renowned HIANG-YUNG, after taking a bridge and a few other important positions, was rewarded for his heroic exploits by "permission to wear a yellow riding jacket." The poor fellow seems to have been regularly jockied by his Imperial master. Military rewards are evidently cheap in China, for "peacock's-feathers," "strike-lights," and "pen-knives," are enumerated as the articles of which the EMPEROR is most lavish to his successful soldiers.

We wonder what our WELLINGTON would have said to a bunch of cock's tails after Torres Vedras, by way of having so many feathers in his cap; or a box of lucifers as a light recognition of his services at Waterloo. There must be a true relish for military glory among the Chinese generals, if they are sufficiently "pleased by a feather" to risk their lives in the hope of obtaining a bit of a peacock's tail on which to plume themselves, and are prepared to carry on "war to the knife" with a pen-knife in prospect by way of acknowledgment. If a more civilised commander were, after a brilliant achievement, to be offered a pen-knife, he would probably use it to "cut his stick," and leave the service for ever.

* * * * *


BYRON has informed us that "Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains," but how are we to describe ALBERT SMITH, who seems determined to make himself the "Monarch of Mont Blanc?" It is true that he could scarcely fix upon a higher point for the summit of his ambition. If he has chosen that particular walk in life, though it is laborious and slippery, we see no reason why he should not repeat his "terrific ascent" as often as he feels disposed. If he should continue to go "up, up, up" for another year, we shall begin to look upon the ascent of Mont Blanc as ALBERT "SMITH'S work in general."

* * * * *


[Illustration: A]

A Reform of the extortionate system of British Hotels might be commenced with an alteration of their nomenclature, consisting in a judicious allotment of nicknames. The good old English signs of the Dragon, the Lion, Red or Black, and such like, should be taken as examples of the principle on which all those places of plunder should be designated. Those time-honoured appellations are recommended not only by their antiquity but by their candour, and we would have every extravagant Inn, that is, almost every Inn in the kingdom, that does not rejoice in one of them, denoted and commonly called and known by a similar kind of title; as, The Crocodile, The Boa Constrictor, The Hyena, The Condor, The Wolf, The Ogre, in order to signify that it is the den of a ravenous monster that subsists by devouring travellers.

* * * * *


There was great consternation at the West End on the announcement being made that the rate of discount had been raised in the Back parlour--of SHADRACK AND CO.--from fifty-five to sixty per cent. Even this amount of interest was insufficient to ensure the discount of some very good paper--for though the paper itself was certainly very good, it was spoiled by some very bad names on the back of it.

* * * * *


_Young Palmerston, a sharp clever boy._ "OH, CRIKEY! WHAT A SCOTCH MULL OF A PRIME MINISTER!"


* * * * *

[Illustration: ECONOMY.

Mamma. "_My dear child! What are you doing with my best Velvet Dress?_"

Child. "_I am only cutting and contriving a Frock for my Doll!_"]

* * * * *


(_By our own Eye-Witness._)

BOULOGNE has for some weeks presented the miserable aspect of a sort of daylight Vauxhall, or the "behind the scenes" portion of a theatre at rehearsal time. The "EMPEROR" having been expected nearly a month ago, the "authorities" who had made him captive in 1840 determined to captivate him in 1853 by turning the town into a series of "bowers of bliss" by the aid of at least 1000 scaffolding poles and some millions of yards of evergreens. The "authorities," having formed themselves into a sort of committee of stage management, proceeded to get up the scenery and properties a month ago; and during that month, the equinoctial gales have been shifting the scenery and distributing the properties in a most vague and impartial manner. Several "triumphal arches" have been for the last three weeks staggering in a sort of drunken state in the middle of the principal thoroughfares. The festoons of "evergreens" have been helplessly hanging about in a condition which shows that the immortality of their greenness is a mere myth, for we never saw a collection of used-up tea-leaves looking so thoroughly "done brown" as the long lines of deceased box, dangling about in the blustering breath of BOREAS. The rain, as if mistaking them for real "tea-leaves," and hoping to get still some good out of them, has kept them in almost a perpetual soak, and the pavements have been strewed with the dying or dead asparagus in that feathery state it assumes when the asparagus has all gone, and the plants have taken it into their heads to put forth a rather graceful but unprofitable luxuriance of green-stuff.

We must give every credit to the "getting up" of the "EMPEROR'S" reception, for we certainly never saw so many "set scenes" employed in a single act, and when we remember that the act was a mere farce, the expense incurred seems still more remarkable.

The "properties" were also on the most elaborate scale, and the pasteboard eagles were equal to any owl we ever saw in the palmiest days of _Der Freischülz_. Immense "troops of auxiliaries" and "supernumeraries" in military uniforms were engaged expressly for the occasion, and as these had to be billeted on the inhabitants, there were instances of a quiet English family or two having to entertain a dragoon, while in one case the choice between a colonel, or two lieutenants, or four privates was offered to a quaker, who was residing at Boulogne for retirement.

There could be no objection to any amount of obsequiousness in which the Boulonnais themselves might indulge, but surely a "loyal address" from the English to any sovereign but their own was somewhat superfluous. Nevertheless such a document was got up and was actually signed by DOCTOR SOMEBODY, MRS. SOMEBODY, MISS SOMEBODY, MISS ANNA MARIA SOMEBODY, MASTER J. SOMEBODY, and a lot of little SOMEBODIES or NOBODIES, who we suppose had a family meeting with Papa or Mamma in the chair, to appoint a deputation to "go up" with the piece of flatulent flattery to the "EMPEROR." We can excuse the address of the _matelottes_, presented by a very venerable _matelotte_, who read to the sham NAPOLEON the very same address that she had read to the real NAPOLEON "forty years ago, in the maturity of her beauty" (what a beauty she must be in 1853 if she was full-blown in 1804); but we cannot understand what pretext there could be for a few English old women and children expressing their "loyalty" to the present "EMPEROR."

Their "Majesties" entered the lower town, having been "washed, just washed in a shower," which came on as they approached the Sous-Préfecture, and a vast crowd of umbrellas was all that could be seen by the assembled multitude. There was all the usual humbug of receiving the keys, which are never used, and would of course refuse to fit the lock, which in its turn would inevitably decline to act, and the Imperial couple were then dragged about in the rain, under the drippings from the festoons and through the theatrical arches, one of which was designed after the _Arc d'étoile_, being itself in reality an _arc de toile_--or arch of canvas. No sooner had their "Majesties" left the town than our old friend BOREAS began to puff and blow through all the streets, which he very rapidly cleared of all their "thousand additional lights," sending the paper lanterns through the air on all sides, and whisking away the evergreen festoons, which were instantly turned into skipping ropes by the delighted _gamins_. Thus, like everything else, the whole affair of the "EMPEROR'S" visit to Boulogne was speedily blown over.

* * * * *


An Outlaw bold, I quarter hold in a goodly castle free, Which I wot the Lord, of his own accord, would scarce allow to me. And I scorn to sleep in the donjon keep; but the room of state is mine, And I work the beef of the fat old thief, and I tope the old rogue's wine.

For, sooth to say, upon his prey, I banquet as I will, And hereby ye know that my Lord also doth plunder, fleece, and pill, He spoils and takes, yet no law breaks, the statute keeps within, As a man may do the traveller who doth shear to the very skin.

The lion's feed, through his own greed, the little jackal supplies, So I make my boot of another's fruit, and feast on another's prize. My eyes flash out, and for joy I shout, the wayfarer to view, He is game, I ween, that mine Host so keen and his serfs for me pursue.

In glee I skip as I think they'll strip him of all that his poke can hold, As they hack with a will and a brandished bill and hew out the victim's gold, And screw and wring with a long long string, to squeeze out more and more: It pleases me so that I laugh Ho ho! and hurl out a demon's roar;

For I know to-night that luckless wight will at my mercy lie; I shall get the good of his sumptuous food and his red port wine so high. On him I'll creep in slumber deep when he is bound for me! Do ye know me now? Do I need avow that I am the TAVERN FLEA?

* * * * *


"Would you like to wash your hands, Sir?" "We would." "This way if you please Sir." We follow, and are shown into a closet, and allowed to introduce ourselves to soap, water, and towel. We are about to depart for our dinner--for we are at the _Sun and Staylace_ at Richmond, or at the _Crozier_ at Greenwich--when we find, mounting guard at the closet-door (with all the calm determination of a sentinel) the chambermaid. She is upon duty there, for--at least--sixpence for water, soap, and towel. For, at least, sixpence; and you can see by the calm energy of the woman's countenance that she has resolved to have that tester, or like a true and acknowledged heroine of the domestic drama, to perish in the attempt. But she has never yet been known to perish, for she has always achieved her little sixpence!

* * * * *


The only legitimate strike is the strike of the iron when it is hot. A coward is generally a bully, for he who is chicken-hearted may naturally be fowl-mouthed.

* * * * *

THE MOUSTACHE!--Working-men are about to adopt the moustache. Consequently, all idlers--in self-defense--must shave.

* * * * *

[Illustration: WEIGHT AND MEASURE.

"_Quite full, Marm. Might have sqooged the Child in, but you're about a hounce and a 'arf too large._"]

* * * * *


(_From the Nation._)

"It is reported that the ever glorious JOHN MITCHELL has escaped from the blood-red hands of the sanguinary Saxon. And what has been the reward offered for his apprehension? Why '£2 or such _lesser sum_ as may be determined upon by the convicting magistrate!' Forty shillings for that heroic martyr! Oh, my countrymen, does not the brutal _Times_, every day of its atrocious existence, offer more for a strayed cur--a wandering puppy-dog? And forty shillings (or less) for the hope of Erin!"

It would seem that the Colonial Government has orders to treat Irish patriots, as at rural fairs and merry-makings the master of ceremonies treats pigs; namely--to grease well their tails, that they may the more easily slip out of hand.

* * * * *


Our theatrical readers will rejoice to know that MR. CHARLES KEAN will re-open the Princess's with an act of clemency. The play-going world lamented to learn that, MR. KEAN--in pursuance of a high, unflinching principle--had erased the QUEEN'S name from the List, for having incautiously laughed at Free MR. BRAID'S imitation of MR. KEAN. We are happy to learn, however, that HER MAJESTY'S name has been restored, intelligence to that effect having, last week, been sent from the Box-office to Balmoral.

* * * * *


There is something in Table-moving--and we imagined that FARADAY had discovered what that was. At least we thought that if he had not, the Deuce was in it; and we were right--but right in the alternative. The phenomenon, according to the demonstration of two Anglican divines, is produced by "Satanic Agency." The old broker of souls is the man in possession of mahogany. The REV. N. S. GODFREY, Incumbent of Wortley, Leeds, and the REV. E. GILLSON, Curate of Lyncombe and Widcombe, Bath, have respectively printed and published evidence of this fact. They have witnessed the change of mahogany into Satan-wood. They have seen the tables talk with their legs by knocking on the floor, and they give us dialogues which they have held, personally, with these articles of furniture; questions put and genuine answers returned, with the stamp--without which none are genuine. From these answers they conclude that the leg of the table is connected with a cloven foot.

The tables, indeed, candidly confessed to both of these clergymen that they were actuated by evil spirits, one of which described itself as a lost soul, by the name of ALFRED BROWN, but appeared, by the testimony of another, to have an _alias_. This rogue of a spirit asserted that he could move the table without the hands of the experimenters; which, when tested, however, he could not do; and it certainly seems that table-moving cannot be accomplished unless somebody else, besides the devil, has a hand in it.

That personage is familiarly denominated the Old Gentleman. His table talk justifies his title to that appellation, by showing that he is in his dotage. The demons that possess the tables contradict themselves on cross examination in a way unparalleled by the stupidest liar that ever stood in a witness box. The Baronet whose case broke down the other day was a very adept in fiction, compared to the Father of it--speaking by tables. Besides it is very silly of him--not the Baronet but the other--to disclose himself at all. If his great object is to get people to come to him, he could do nothing more likely to defeat it than to go to them, and thus convince the British Public of his existence. "The Devil is an Ass" is now something more than the title of a comedy.

The tables refused to move when the Bible was placed upon them--though one did lift its leg by trying very hard "slowly and heavily," under the burden of a New Testament. But another was equally restive beneath a slip of paper whereon was written the name of "SATAN." So it was under other names, not to be repeated here. Now, all this is grossly inconsistent on the part of one who has always been considered the very Prince of Plausibility.

However, both of the reverend gentlemen denounce all doubt touching the correctness of their reference of these things to diabolical agency, as profane scepticism; and under these circumstances we have besought the advice of our venerated Rector, the REV. DR. DRYPORT; who told us that he believed in no supernatural events whatever, the acknowledgment of which was not required by the Thirty-Nine Articles. He added that if he saw a table, moving without physical agency, stopped, independently of simple weight, by the superposition of a Bible, he should be disposed to let the volume remain where it was, and apply himself to the study of its contents. If he had reason to suppose that the devil was in the table, he should let him alone, and have nothing to say to him unless he were sure he had the power to cast him out of it.

We asked the Reverend Doctor what he thought of the following extract from the pamphlet of MR. GILLSON.

"I then asked, 'Where are SATAN'S head-quarters? Are they in England?' There was a slight movement. 'Are they in France?' A violent movement. 'Are they in Spain?' Similar agitation. 'Are they at Rome?' The table literally seemed frantic.... 'Do you know the Pope?' The table was violently agitated."

DR. DRYPORT answered that he supposed the table must have been one that had been used at Exeter Hall, and probably acted under influence from that quarter--of a mechanical nature. He should think that one of the parties touching the table was a very zealous Protestant.

We inquired if there would be any harm in our trying if tables would move by the imposition of our hands? He replied that there could be no doubt that they were moved by an imposition practised by hand, but if we had any, there was no objection to our making the experiment. We, therefore, chose twelve honest men, constituting, in fact, a British jury, and got them to lay their hands on a substantial dinner-table, which presently began to move. The following dialogue ensued:

"Where are the head-quarters of despotism? Are they in England?" There was no movement. "Are they in France?" A violent movement. "Are they in Austria?" A tremendous movement. "Are they in Russia?" The table jumped and bounced, and tumbled from side to side in such a manner that one might have imagined that a quantity of brandy and water had been spilt upon it and made it furiously drunk.

"Do you know OLD NICHOLAS?" The table capsized, went right over; completely upset.

After that, what question can there be about the "agency" concerned in Table-moving? DR. DRYPORT, however, will have it that MR. GODFREY and MR. GILLSON have not been having communication with evil spirits, and that whatever those gentlemen may say for themselves, they are no conjurors.

* * * * *

"MANCHESTER is the portico of the great Temple of Peace."--_Cobden._

* * * * *



Last night, an alarming riot took place in Printing-house Square. About five hundred hotel-keepers--represented by their signs--attacked the _Times'_ office.

The RED BULL swore "he'd toss the whole bilin of 'em for a pint. He ought to know something of rumpsteaks; and 5_s._ a head warn't too much for 'em."

The ANGEL wondered that any gentlemen who _was_ a gent _could_ object to wax-candles to go to bed with. The ANGEL abominated compo; hoping she knew what real light was.

The GOAT-IN-BOOTS said kids, other ways children, over nine, ought to be charged for as full-growd. Some little gals was women at eight.

The COCK-AND-BOTTLE was above trumpeting anything. But how could any gent expect a pint of port under three-and-six?

At least a dozen BEARS--growling their loudest--said, seeing the expense at which they sat, swore they couldn't afford a sandwich under a shilling.

The ADAM-AND-EVE never heard of such a thing as "a dressing-room." Wondered what next?

At this time the increased crowd of RED LIONS, WHITE BULLS, BLACK HORSES, began to roar and bellow, and snort and neigh and kick in the most appalling style. The hubbub becoming unendurable, the Editor--after due warning given by the publisher--threw up the window in the face of the mob, and fired a leading article over their heads. Upon this, the crowd quietly separated.

* * * * *



"I don't feel quite safe--as I have a large money-bag, full of 'lucky pieces', _every one of which is more or less disfigured, or defaced_. Some are bent, some are chipped or cut, some have holes bored through them to enable any one to wear them round his neck, and every one has something the matter with it. Now I have been all my life collecting these lucky coins--and I am sure there must be five or six pound's worth of them altogether--at all events a great deal more than I should like to have taken from me. Besides they all represent a 'charm' against fits, against the small-pox, or some calamity or other; and it would be very hard if my 'lucky pieces,' instead of bringing me good-luck, were the cause of my lasting sorrow and ruin. Do you think they could carry me to the Tower for having them in my possession, or would they send me to New South Wales? My aunt tells me they are of no kind of value; but that I will never believe, for what was once a shilling must be always a shilling, though I should not like to be dragged off to the Police-office in the event of my buying a paper of pins in order to test its value.

"Yours, FANNY."

* * * * *


"DEAR PUNCH,--As there is a great deal doing at present in the way of Removal of Nuisances, would it not be well to draw the attention of the parties entrusted with this duty to all inquiries into 'the authorship of JUNIUS,' than which a greater nuisance does not exist.


* * * * *


In a recent edict the Chinese Emperor asks indignantly, "Where is the LIEUTENANT-GENERAL WAN-TING?" For the reply we beg to refer his Imperial Majesty to our old friend Echo, who to the question,

"Where is WAN-TING?" will truly reply "Wanting."

* * * * *



Set my arm-chair to the table; hand a light and bring a tumbler, O be joyful while you're able; silence each unthankful grumbler. Parish Clerk and Undertaker is my calling and vocation; Let no peace-and-quiet-breaker throw me into consternation.

What's to be will surely happen, by no pains or care prevented; All in vain is sewers trapping; we had better be contented. Wherefore vex your souls, your spirits why should you, my friend, disquiet? He that fidgets, frets, and worrits, gets no satisfaction by it.

Since we all are born to trouble, plagues, of course, must be expected. Being only grass and stubble, what of cleanliness neglected? Live an let live, that's my motto; catgut-makers are our neighbours; Knackers we no right have got to stop from following their labours.

From the premises of JONES the nose of SMITH if somewhat reaches, Caused by boiling flesh or bones, or greaves to feed the canine species, SMITH should, like a Christian, wink; put up with such a little trifle: Hold his nostrils, if he think it needful the perfume to stifle.

Churchyards also, that employ afford so many people unto, Why not let us still enjoy, thus doing as you would be done to? Hundreds prosper and grow wealthy with 'em underneath their noses, Living hearty, fat, and healthy, nearly to the age of MOSES.

Things of that sort to the senses now and then will grow unpleasant, Whensoever that commences, take and do like me at the present, Smoke a pipe, whereby you'll smother all the nuisance and objection; Better that than any other measure to prevent infection.

Don't go poking, don't go raking, into what I need not utter, All the means from parties taking out of which their bread they butter, Best to leave alone stagnation; stir it, and we know the sequel, That of all this agitation will the strongest posy equal.

'Tis presumption to depend on such precautions and defences; Who can calculate their end on any further than expenses? From the lot that Man awaits we none of us can lift the curtain; And an increase of the rates is all we can consider certain.

Water will be rather queer sometimes; the pump a churchyard handy Well, but then there's little fear, suppose you mingle it with brandy. So, here's the present state of things--and let us have no revolutions-- Upsetting Emperors, Queens, and Kings; and our Parochial Institutions.

* * * * *


NICHOLAS and FRANCIS JOSEPH have met at Olmütz; met and affectionately fraternised. For we are told that "loud applause followed from the spectators as the Emperors publicly _kissed_ each other: and then the Court dinner followed, the two Emperors spending the evening together in undisturbed _privacy_." But this scene (_see last week's Punch_) our artist has already immortalised; he having sketched the Imperial couple--even as in an old play--"from behind the arras." The royal salute has been embalmed in the lines of the Austrian Poet Laureat, DOCTOR VON WATTZ:--

"Snakes in their little nests agree, And 'tis a pretty sight, When the Emperors of the like kid-ney, Do kiss left cheek and right."

But other, and deeper effects resulted from that Imperial smack! And such a smack! As though a red-hot poker should have kissed a barrel of gunpowder. For as cheeks were kissed--

Poland writhed and groaned afresh!--

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

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

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

And ABERDEEN, folding pacific hands, declared, "it was a sweet sight--unco' sweet--to see sick mighty Potentates in sick _awmeety_."

_Punch_--meeting his friend BARON SHEKELS at the COUNTESS OF POLKHERLEGSOFF--asked the philanthropic Hebrew _his_ private opinion of that salute. The Baron pathetically observed "it was a sight worth a Jew's eye." And so it was; even if the Jew had been JUDAS.

* * * * *


A convict, perhaps, deserves to have his head shaved; but it does not follow that his treatment should be altogether barbarous.

* * * * *




* * * * *


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


Yes, even clothes the pay must yield, No carpet bag have I; The Paper be my battle field-- I'm fleeced! my battle cry.


O, 'tis a monstrous sight to see The charge of the British Hostelry, Its plunderings over aghast we go, With glances adding each long, long row!

One's shocked as one glances; we shiver all, Though we shiver quite in vain-- They have raised such a total, we, rampant, call On the Landlord to explain.

Charge ten shillings for breakfast and bed! Dinner reckoned at eight per head! Are things raised again, though Protection's no more? For your bills are as of yore! I say, 'I'm done! Tea, two for one? Your crumpets startle my father's son! And my senses are whirled to the winds afar, By your wax-lights, Attendance, _Et Cætera!_ Mourn, ye Knaves in the Public line, Your swindles lie stark in the broad sunshine, The guests whom you sheared ere you let them go Have made all the world your extortion know! Joy to the moderate hosts of France! Custom waits upon wise finance; Joy to your honest Yankee men! Their guests are all travelling back again. There they go--the shaved ones see, Who are grumbling at British Roguery.

Take the bill--the items pare, Fill with cheap wine the bottle fair, Strike off half--'t will still be high-- When we've won the victory!

* * * * *

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

* * * * *


We thought we had heard enough of the rows with the Caffres at the Cape; but there have lately been some Caffres cutting the oddest capers at Hyde Park Corner. It seems that a noble Caffre chieftain has entered into an agreement for himself and a few of his tribe to howl, leap, brandish tomahawks, and indulge in other outlandish freaks, coming under the head of "native customs," for a year and a half, during which period the howlings, tomahawkings, &c., are to be the exclusive property of an individual who has speculated on the appetite of the British public for yells and wild antics. Things were going on pretty comfortably, with the exception of an occasional "outbreak"--which means the breaking-in by a Caffre of some other Caffre's, or somebody else's head--when the chief was seized with a generous desire to make a gratuitous exhibition of himself, and accordingly NKULOOCOOLO--as the chief calls himself--took a turn in the Park on Thursday last with four of his fellow countrymen.

The proprietor of the yells and native dances, fearful that the gilt would be taken off the gingerbread complexions of the Caffres if their faces were made familiar to the public in Hyde Park, sent a policeman to take the "chief" into custody. NKULOOCOOLO, however, who seems to take the thing coolly as well as cavalierly--or Caffrely--refused to walk in, but stood outside the door, rendering it hopeless that anybody would pay half-a-crown to "walk up," when the chief was to be seen "alive, alive" for nothing at the threshold. The proprietor endeavoured to push the chief inside, but the chief gave a counter-push, and there seemed a probability of a war-whoop being got up at the expense rather than for the benefit of the enterprising individual who had engaged the whoopers. Upon this the chief was taken into custody and charged with an assault, and with having desired the proprietor (in Caffre) to "look out"--an expression which, though not very alarming in English, seems to have had in Caffre a very frightful effect on the mind of the hearer. Perhaps, being familiar with the club exercise of the Caffres, he might have reason to fear that their "native customs" would make them rather awkward customers.

The complainant was, however, most properly told by the Magistrate that the Caffres cannot, by law, be restrained from going wherever they please, though they may have agreed to whoop and yell, but their whooping and yelling can only be enforced by civil process. If a Caffre chooses to take a walk in the Park, or anywhere else, he has a perfect right to do so, if he does not break the law by tomahawking the public, or any other "native" eccentricity. The "proprietor" seemed to feel himself rather aggrieved that he could not dispose of the Caffres in any way he pleased, but it would be rather too absurd, that the principle of slavery and absolute control over the person of a human being should be recognised for the benefit of an individual who has speculated in the attraction of savage yells and barbarian antics.

* * * * *


Every now and then we read in the papers an account of the Convocation of Prelates and Clergy, at which, by general consent, nothing seems to be done, and nobody appears to be present. If this assembly, which never assembles, and a body, which nobody troubles himself to form, is supposed to represent the Church, we must admit that the representation is--as far as sinecurism is concerned--a very faithful one. The proceedings at the last meeting consisted of a rather dull duett, between the Archbishop's commissioner and his Grace's registrar. The latter in a lengthened solo gave the whole writ of prorogation at full length, and the former chimed in at the conclusion with an announcement that the business of the day was ended. The scene of this melancholy farce is always the Jerusalem Chambers. It would perhaps give life to the scene if MR. COOK would lend from ASTLEY'S a Jerusalem pony or two by way of affording a little fit companionship to the commissioner and registrar, who must be rather sick of each other, and might be glad to welcome a little congenial society. The addition we have suggested might be sanctioned, under the plea that the Vicar of Bray would then have a representative.

* * * * *


[Illustration: T]

The present financial crisis appears to demand from _Mr. Punch_ one of those Money Articles with which he has stepped forward in other times of difficulty, and which have instantly restored stability and confidence. Regardless, therefore, of his own personal comfort, he attended the Stock Market one day during the past week.

_Mr. Punch_ was struck by the exceeding helplessness of the gentlemen in whose hands is the political thermometer, better known as the Funds. They displayed an avidity in grasping at the slightest hint, which was only equalled by the hurry with which they sprang away to do something, before they comprehended the real bearing of the information. Indeed, if these gentlemen of the Stock Exchange waited until they understood the actual tendency of the events upon which they deal, some of them might wait long enough. _Mr. Punch_ casually remarked to a friend that "ABERDEEN was out this morning," and there was a rush of fifty men eager to buy on account of the good news. Had they paused to hear _Mr. Punch_ add, "walking in Kensington Gardens," they might have spared their trouble. Subsequently, the same gentleman was heard to say, "Not so tight as it was." Away hurried the correspondents of the papers, and told everybody that the tightness of the market was disappearing. _Mr. Punch_ merely alluded to his hat, which had been a little uncomfortable until he had his hair cut. "Will open flatly," an observation _Mr. Punch_ simply applied to the Princess's Theatre, was construed into a prophecy of the state of the Market next day, and business was done accordingly. But the greatest _coup_, and one for which MR. GLADSTONE owes _Mr. Punch_ a good turn, was the latter gentleman's saying, as he left the Exchange, "Those new Stocks are the best, because they always keep up so well." The new creations, for whose non-popularity the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER has been much twitted by financiers who do not know discount from premium, immediately sprang into activity, and yet _Mr. Punch's_ remark was simply _apropos_ of his friend's wearing a rather seedy tie round his neck. He hopes that Exchequer Bill, as the RIGHT HON. WILLIAM is rather irreverently called in the City, will remember this good service next time _Mr. Punch_ hints that it is time the duty should come off paper.

While the news was favourable to Russia, the Bears were very elate, but as soon as it was known that _Punch_ had declared against ABERDEEN and for an English policy, the Bulls exulted. SHAKSPERE was quoted at random, but usually wrongly. The jobbers were scarce, owing to the Irish Brigade being out of the country. There was a rumour that a large operator had come, but it turned out to be only a fat surgical practitioner who had mistaken his way, and was, of course, exposed to the graceful jocularity of the House. A Bank Director came on and made some practical jokes, from which it was surmised that the Bank reserve was very small. Prices jumped about on every side, and so did little boys, whom the beadle chased, declaring he would have them there at no price. Some of the speculators appeared very uneasy, especially those who had a good way to go home, and thought it was going to rain. Finally, _Mr. Punch_ was informed that things closed with much firmness at four, but he believes this must apply to the gates.

Under all circumstances, _Mr. Punch_ strongly advises holders to be neither rash nor fearful, while sellers should abstain alike from temerity and timidity. All parties had better be guided by circumstances, and not attempt to lay down Medo-Persian rules for themselves. Let Prudence be their beacon, and Wisdom their chart. They will do well to watch the course of events, but not to surmise that they understand them, while at the same time taking care not to shut their eyes to contingencies. A thing may happen, or it may not, but the wise man will discern the signs of the times. By following this advice, which _Mr. Punch_ has carefully framed upon the model of what is given by all the recognised financial authorities, he has no doubt that through the shoals of the present crisis the Bark of Public Confidence may be steered into the haven of prosperity.

* * * * *


Somebody has invented an instrument which he calls a Lunarium, and which is calculated to look so very closely into the Moon's face, that the Moon's age--exact to a quarter of an hour--may be discovered. Really this seems hardly fair towards the Moon, for it ought to be remembered that

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

and no lady--at least none of our acquaintance--could stand against the force of an instrument so powerful as to detect every furrow, wrinkle, or even crease in her countenance. It is all very well for the sons of science to be continually staring Luna in the face, through the medium of powerful telescopes; but having satisfied themselves of the "Moon's Age," they might surely be satisfied without continually publishing the fact for the gratification of an impertinent curiosity.

* * * * *


One of our serious contemporaries, in recording a fashionable marriage, describes the bride as "led to the hymenæal altar." The nuptial rites were celebrated at St. George's, Hanover Square; and we are further informed that the REV. BERRY M. HUNTINGDON officiated. We did not know that the priests of Hymen were styled Reverend, nor were we aware that the divinity in question had any altar in St. George's church.

* * * * *



Some talk of ALEXANDER, and some of PERICLES, Of HECTOR, and LYSANDER, and such old Guys as these; But of all the horrid objects, the "wust" I do declare, Is the Prusso-Russo-Belgo-Gallo-British Grenadier.

* * * * *

Integrity of Foreign Powers.

The preservation of the integrity of the Ottoman Empire is no doubt a very important object; but a matter of no less consequence is the restoration of the integrity of the Kingdom of Spain, which it has lost in cheating its creditors.

* * * * *


MR. FRANCIS MAGUIRE talks of "patriots of the purest water." Pity is it that such water so seldom comes out of the Liffey.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Butcher Boy (who has had a liberal education)._ "PUR--PURVY OR TO HER MAJESTY. OH! THEN THAT'S A STATTY-ETTE OF THE QUEEN, THAT'S WOT THAT IS."

_Companion._ "LAW!"]

* * * * *


It would be a mistake for a person of taste to leave Paris without dining at PHILIPPE'S, the great artist, who dwells in the Rue Montorgueil. There is the very highest authority (an Ex-Chancellor, a Bishop or two, and my friend JOLLYBOY) for stating that this house is by far the best in the city; and so, Sir, having the interests of your paper and my country in view, I accepted the invitation of HARRY ORTOLAN, himself no bad judge, to meet a small party there. There were old MARTINGALE and SHEFFIELD HIGSON, and DE COURCY of the Embassy, a young Frenchman named MONSIEUR FRÉDÉRIC HULOT, protocol, DE FAULTER, and your Correspondent.

HULOT (a great ass) who dresses _à l'Anglais_ in a _pantalon à la gentlemens-ridéres_, and rides a grey mare with very long legs in the Champs Elysées, fastened on to MARTINGALE, and gabbled away about _le Liverpool Stipple Chase_ and MONSIEUR MASON, wanting to know how much an English horse, pure blood, would cost. He was to be showy and very quiet. MARTINGALE rather bluntly told him, he had better learn to ride, before he thought of buying a horse. DE FAULTER invited your Correspondent to come and play _écarté_ at the Cercle some evening. A very friendly nice fellow. He was in some cavalry regiment, but sold out. I forget why he left the Rag. Perhaps it was too noisy a club for him. SHEFFIELD HIGSON was holding forth, to the great disgust of DE COURCY, about the English constitution, maintaining the universal corruption of the Church and aristocracy, and looking forward to the time when MR. COBDEN should be at the head of Foreign Affairs, and MR. BRIGHT at the War Office; the revenues of the Church of England being divided _pro ratâ_ among the schools of various denominations. To confess the truth, HIGSON spoils the effect of his excellent political principles by the grossest toad-eating. He never can speak without mentioning some lord as his intimate friend. DE COURCY listened to his speculations in horror, and was quite unable to profess his own simple faith--that the House of Peers and the country gentlemen had an exclusive right to the government, and that the devil was the first Whig. He could only turn away, and mutter something about "an infernal snob." PROTOCOL was boring our host with his views on the Zollverein. Altogether we were uncomfortable together, and were all delighted when dinner was announced.

The _huîtres de Marenne_, those genuine treasures of the deep, had disappeared when ORTOLAN, filling a glass of old Grave, said, "Do you know I hate a fellow who says he doesn't like a good dinner. It's generally humbug, and when it isn't that, it's something worse. It shows a want of humanity: he might just as well not like virtue, or be indifferent about cleanliness. A good dinner is better than a bad dinner, exactly as a good man is better than a bad man; and to be without a taste, is as much a defect as to be without a heart. An ancient philosopher" (ORTOLAN is literary, and has read ATHENÆS) "has defined man as a cooking animal, with great justice. Advance in cookery accompanies advance in civilisation, and they doubtless will both reach perfection at the same time. The culinary art has a direct effect in refining mankind; in the beautiful words of the _Latin Grammar_, it is emollient to the manners; nor does it allow them to be rough." (HIGSON, who has no Latin, here sneered visibly.) "After this _potage bisque aux écrévisses_, we feel our hearts expand in universal philanthropy. Who would grovel amid lower dirt when he can nourish his essence with stuff so ambrosial?"

"Well, for my part," said honest MARTINGALE, "I don't care about your French flummery--it's all to hide the taste of the meat. Give me a steak of good English beef, you know what you're eating then. Who knows what this patty has inside it?" "You old heathen," exclaimed the epicure with pity, "eat therefore without inquiry; you should never work your intellect at the same time with your digestion, or you will spoil the operation of both. Eat in silence, for it is good, and thank the happy age and country which puts such delicate things before its sons."

MARTINGALE grumbled about fellows worshipping a certain portion of their physical constitution, but devoted himself nevertheless to the suspicious _paté_ with great success. The enthusiasm of the less prejudiced part of the guests, amongst whom is of course to be reckoned your open-minded Correspondent, was quickened by some _foie gras_, and rose to the highest pitch over a _salmi_ of woodcocks, which even Martingale admitted to be no end of good, although the best woodcocks in the world were to be shot on the governor's manors in Lincolnshire. Protocol here drank the health of the _chef_ in a glass of CLIQUOT'S champagne amid general applause.

Your Correspondent is aware of the painful effect that would be produced on your readers, condemned to drag on a miserable existence on the indigestible products of an English kitchen, if he were to enumerate and describe the dishes that completed the repast--all light, savoury, succulent, and nourishing. But why, he begs to ask, is it, that with confessedly inferior materials a French artist can make up a dinner, and a good one, where an Anglo Saxon cook only furnishes instruments of stomachic torture? The fact is certain and the answer plain. A Frenchman considers his occupation as an art and throws his soul into it. Success is his ambition and, when achieved, his pride, and he pleases himself when he pleases you. Compare his enlightened enthusiasm with the view MARIAR or SOOSAN takes of her _métier_. Think of the impenetrable stupidity, the indolent unconscientiousness, the complacent conceit, and the obstinacy which hardens the hearts towards us of that matron and that maid, and by their hands infuses death into the pot. O MARIAR! O SOOSAN! be wise in time, learn your business, and be not slothful therein; listen to a voice of warning from a foreign strand, lest the day arrive when Missus is compelled to descend into the kitchen as Missuses used to do in times gone by, and your empire over your employers be broken up once and for ever.

The generous produce of a Burgundian autumn flamed in our glasses, loosening the tongue and not blunting the wit. The effect was varied and delightful. Old MARTINGALE, who had been very hard on the Lancers of the Guard, admitted that in a campaign the French cavalry might be awkward customers. DE FAULTER ceased his allusions to the card-playing at the Cercle, and his coups at NORRIS'S. ORTOLAN showed that he could talk on other subjects than gastronomy, and DE COURCY was civil to SHEFFIELD HIGSON, who, on the other hand, abstained from enumerating his acquaintances among that aristocracy with whose utter worthlessness and degradation he was so much impressed. Your Correspondent, who is always pleasant and equable, was, if possible, more so than usual, and in the intervals of his brilliant sallies, added by acute observation to those stores of limpid wisdom, whence he periodically dispenses to your readers.

* * * * *


We see by the French papers, that an umbrella called _The Mushroom_ has been lately patented in Paris. We are not aware what new peculiarity of construction its inventor has discovered, but we think the name he has selected is a highly appropriate one, and might with exceeding fitness be applied, not to his alone, but to umbrellas generally. For as mushrooms naturally belong to that class of things which are "here to-day and gone to-morrow," we think their name may very properly be used to designate so fugitive a possession as an umbrella.

* * * * *

CRANKS AND CROTCHETS.--The introduction of crank labour into gaols has tended to corroborate the opinion, which is widely prevalent, that prison disciplinarians are apt to be what is vulgarly called "cranky."

* * * * *


[Illustration: S]

Since the practice of giving entertainments to those who entertain the public has been adopted by those who got up the recent _déjeûner_ to MR. G. V. BROOKE, it was determined by the friends of MR. STENTOR--the great interpreter of FITZBALL--to invite that gentleman to a grand Spanish onion feast, which came off at the Cinder Cellars and Dust-hole of harmony, near the New Cut, Lambeth.

The room was hung with some of the best specimens from the theatrical gallery of MARKS, and a magnificent portrait of HICKS, as _Ivanhoe_, picked out with tinfoil, and filled in with real red satin, occupied the centre of the wall over the seat of the Chairman. This masterly work of art was appropriately supported on its right by the well-known engraving of MR. G. ALMAR, as the _Knight of the Cross_; and on its left by the highly finished etching of MR. CROWTHER, as the _Fiend of the Sepulchre_. A group of Pantomime characters faced the door; and an equestrian piece representing "MISS WOOLFORD in her favourite act of _The Reaper_," formed a pendant over the chimney-piece.

The supper was of the choicest kind, and embraced all the delicacies of the season that could be procured at the figure per head, which was fixed at the moderate tariff of ninepence, in order to embrace as many lovers of art--and onions--as possible. The _pièce de résistance_ was a bit of the roast beef of old England, to which Ireland contributed her national potato, while Scotland sent her broth, and Wales was represented by a magnificent Welch rabbit. Nor was the Continent behind-hand in doing honour to the feast, for in peaceful proximity to the onion of Spain, stood the roll of France, the sausage of Germany, a flask of Lucca's luscious oil, and a few of the world-renowned sprouts of Brussels. After the cloth--and the crumbs--had been removed, the Chairman proposed the health of MR. STENTOR, who had made the voice of the drama heard in the midst of the hoots of a threepenny gallery, and who had fought more combats, assisted more defenceless females, unmasked more villains, and danced more hornpipes than any man in Europe.

When the applause had subsided, MR. STENTOR rose and modestly alluded to his own proud position. He expressed the highest reverence for his art, and declared that he felt almost awe-stricken when he trod the same boards that had been indented by the honoured heels of HICKS, and looked upon the same sky-borders that had been shaken by the screams of CARTLITCH. He, MR. STENTOR, had had the honour of acting in the same company with those great men, and he must say that he felt his bosom swell when he remembered that the great CROWTHER had hung upon it when, as the tortured _Khan_, he lamented his "lost child;" and when he, MR. STENTOR, remembered that that "child" was no other than the illustrious HICKS, he, MR. STENTOR, felt that he had indeed, in the words of the immortal AMHERST (J. H.), been "in goodly company." He, MR. STENTOR, would not hope to equal these great men, nor would he ask that the mantle of any of them should fall upon him; but if either of them should have an old coat to spare, he did humbly ask that he might be allowed to aspire to wear it.

MR. STENTOR'S speech was received with the most enthusiastic clatter of pint pots, which lasted for several minutes.

The Chairman then pronounced a most impressive eulogium on WIDDICOMB, which was received in solemn silence.

This was responded to by a SHAKSPERIAN jester and clown to the ring, the friend and adviser of WIDDICOMB, who, among other advice, advised him to sit still and say nothing.

The Chairman, in the course of the evening, observed that "the drama could never be in a decline while it had the support of such lungs as those of his friend STENTOR."

After the health of MR. BIDDLES, of the Bower Saloon, who acknowledged the compliment with a neat nod, the party broke up at a late hour.

* * * * *


"A Medical Breakfast has come to be almost a part of the regular proceedings of the British Association--and the last meeting at Hull offered no exception."--_Athenæum._

We understand that the bill of fare included Senna Tea, Cream of Tartar, Sugar of Lead, Butter of Antimony, Saffron Cake, Rhubarb Tart, and Antimony Wine. Spatulæ were laid for forty.--_Punch._

* * * * *


A Duet.


_Both._ {Europe's little Farm we'll keep {And our little girls and boys, {Like little pigs or sheep, {Serve, dare they make a noise!

_Nich._ The trials I'll conduct;

_Fran._ The gaols I'll construct.

_Nich._ {In curbing bard and sage {My lash will prove efficient;

_Fran._ {My halter, I'll engage, {Will quell the ill-conditioned.

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

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

_Both._ {And that's the way, no doubt, {To keep mankind in check.

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

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

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

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

_Both._ {When we've trampled down the Free, {Oh what jolly, glorious fun 'twill be!

[_Da Capo as lib._

* * * * *


[Illustration: W]

We perfectly agree with MR. ALDERMAN SIDNEY--the Lord Mayor elect--that the great civic show of the Ninth of November is a vital element in our social and commercial life. WHITTINGTON'S cat still purrs encouragingly down generations. WALWORTH'S dagger is a bright and keen realty; and not the air-drawn blade that the utility-mongers would make of it. The influence of the Lord Mayor's Show is no doubt felt in the remotest parts of this island. The rumbling of the wheels of the state coach is heard in the dreams of youthful sleepers a-bed, it may be, in garrets at the Land's End. ALDERMAN SIDNEY feels all the poetry of this; therefore the City of London is safe in his enthusiastic keeping.

But MR. ALDERMAN SIDNEY--if we may believe a very general report--proposes to endow the Show with a purpose of instruction. He will inform outward bravery with an inward teaching. Thus, as a prosperous tea-merchant, the new Lord Mayor will have a new state coach built and ornamented as a magnificent tea-chest upon wheels; and will further have his coachman and footmen drest after the approved fashion of TIEN-TE, in remote but no less sincere compliment to Young China, _vice_ Old China chipped, cracked, and falling to pieces.

* * * * *


As we know that the Russians require oleaginous food, is it not possible that, after devouring Turkey, the Czar may take a fancy to "Greece?" Should he do so, is it not probable that "GENUINE RUSSIAN BEAR'S GREECE" will no longer be a fiction?

* * * * *


It is said that the agitation for the constitution of a Greek empire is the politic work of Russia. That if others supply the eloquence, the Greek fire of talk--it is Russia that stands the shot.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE HORRORS OF WAR.


_Second Ditto._ "WELL, WOT ODDS?"


* * * * *


WHEN the trumpet's call to arms shall in Turkey's quarrel sound, On the field of Europe's war shall JOHN BULL be backward found? No, by GEORGE! to the fray like a war-steed let him bound, Prepared to fall or conquer, with expensive laurels crowned.

Our heroes like water their blood abroad shall pour; Our money shall also be scattered as of yore: We have done it oftentimes, and we'll do it yet once more, Even though we get worse off than we ever got before.

Should the nations draw the sword, it will be a grand affair, With "Now or Never Liberty!" for a cry to rend the air: Sore loss, whichever way it goes, ourselves will have to bear, But that we've made our minds up to, and therefore need not care.

'Tis hard in others' quarrels to be forced to interpose, But point me out the craven base that hesitation shows, And I'll punch his wretched head and wring his despicable nose, Forward! no matter how we swell the debt the nation owes.

Let the sword leap from the scabbard while the frantic bugles bray, Draw, England, draw the purse as well that must be flung away, Charge! and in charging never think how much you'll have to pay; To the Brave there will be time to talk of that another day!

* * * * *


The EARL OF ABERDEEN, at the late Privy Council, looked very much pressed and flattened. It is said that, for some weeks past, the noble Earl has suffered a nightly dream, in which he believes himself turned to a bagpipe, with the EMPEROR OF RUSSIA, horned and tailed, playing upon him.

* * * * *


The present mode of advertising seems to be by asking a question and, from the general use of the process, we presume that the questioning is found to answer. Somebody asks us every day, "Who would be without a dressing case?" and another attempts to tickle our vanity by addressing to us the inquiry, "Do you keep livery servants?" and suggesting to us the _éclat_ of an imaginary retinue. Another wants to know, "Why pay more than sixteen shillings for your trowsers?"--a question we hardly like to dwell upon, for it presents to our mind the still more interesting question, "Why pay anything at all, and why not victimise your tailor?"

Talking of advertisements reminds us of one which daily offers to dye our hair, including the whole head for a crown, and our whiskers for "a shilling upwards." It would be important to know how far "upwards" we could have our whiskers dyed for that moderate sum, as it would be awkward to have them a rich Prussian blue about the jaw, a piebald in the middle, and a good old natural grey on the cheek-bone. The same accommodating person, who promises to dye us permanently for five shillings, offers, if we don't like the look of ourselves when we've been regularly done, to give us our money back again. This would be but a sorry compensation for one who had exchanged the simplicity of nature for the variegated hues of art, and who, in the hope of becoming once more the youthful beau, had qualified himself for the part of the rainbow. Before, standing the "hazard of the dye," we, like RICHARD THE THIRD, had rather see "HASTINGS'S head," or anybody else's head, a month after the operation.

* * * * *


A few days ago MR. GLADSTONE received, carefully packed in an oaken box, and nicely enveloped in many folds of tissue paper, a massive handsome silver poker. It bore on the squared end this inscription:--"Presented to stir the Minister to stir himself to enable the country to stir a cheaper coal."

* * * * *

[Illustration: A TERRIBLE TURK.

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

* * * * *


[Illustration: W]

We have had our attention called to a complaint which, it seems, has long been prevalent throughout the kingdom, although but little notice hitherto has publicly been taken of it. It threatens now, however, to become as prolific a source of correspondence as the Cholera; and scarcely a _Times_ passes, without at least a column of "Constant Readers" on the subject.

We are not aware if a specific name has as yet been found for it; but we think it may be best described, perhaps, as a sort of Inn-fluenza, although it certainly in some degree resembles also a remittent fever, seeing that the sufferers cannot generally make progress without a remittance. And it partakes still further of a febrile character, since it usually is attended with irritation in the patient.

Of the symptoms which lead to it, perhaps the most painful is a species of opthalmia, which commonly afflicts the patient with the most distressing ocular delusions. He has been even known, under its influence, to declare that he can see only a pint of wine in a decanter, which his attendants have assured him contains a bottle; and candles, which he similarly has been told are wax, he has frequently been found unable to distinguish from composite. The sense of taste, too, it seems, is similarly affected. When offered pale ale, the patient not unfrequently will pronounce it to be swipes; and in some cases he has actually mistaken that for Cape, which is warranted, and even charged for, as Madeira.

We trust that the urgency of this complaint being now admitted, efficient means will be at once devised to stop it. There is little doubt, we think, that the sufferers hitherto have been bled too freely, and another course of treatment should be certainly adopted. We do not generally advocate the use of the knife, but in this complaint decidedly, wherever any person is attacked by the symptoms which may lead to it, we do not know if we can well prescribe a surer remedy than cutting.

* * * * *


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

[We rather think the following letter has reached us by mistake, and must have been intended for one of our morning contemporaries. However, we print it.--ED.]


While I am on the Continent I feel quite different to what I do when I am on an island. The sensation that if you leave one country you can immediately go into another, without the intervention of what LORD BYRON has so beautifully called the Blue Ocean, (although the ocean or sea is not always blue, but often green) between the two neighbourhoods, produces a curious effect upon my idiosyncrasy. At the same time I must confess that this metaphysical feeling does not apply to Paris, because that city is in the centre of a large country, and if I wished to leave it (which at present I do not), I should have to traverse a considerable extent of territory.

Yesterday I visited the Madelaine, which is a church, and stands near the Boulevards, and the front looks towards the Place de la Concorde, a locality which has also had various other names, which, if I knew them, as I am "free to confess" (as they say in a certain place which I have already immortalised) I do not, would naturally suggest to the mind a long train of instructive historical thoughts, although as the Madelaine, if GALIGNANI'S _Guide_ may be trusted, was not built until after the principal events connected with the Place de la Concorde had occurred, to remember them here would be a case of _post hoc et prompter hoc_ (I translate for the benefit of the fair sex--"because you are here you are prompted to think of that there,") and as I am travelling to instruct myself and my readers, I wish to avoid _persiflage_. The Madelaine is a building which has cost considerable sums of money, and it is a remarkable coincidence that it is Greek in style though intended for _Roman_ Catholic worship, but such are the anomalies and anachronisms which strike the intelligent traveller. The _façade_, or altar-piece, is painted in very bright colours, with mythological allusions to the EMPEROR NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, and other well-known individuals. The effect of the exterior is something like that of the Licensed Victuallers' Asylum at Woking Buzzard, but I think in many respects inferior to that worthy and laudable institution, of which an Englishman (I do not particularly refer to a talented, gifted, and irascible correspondent) is so justly proud. I only staid five minutes; service was not being performed, and there was no person in the church but myself, but this was enough to inspire me with the utmost contempt for the mummeries of the Roman Catholic creed, and with pity for the blinded and unenlightened individuals who indulge therein.

The day being fine, or as they say in France, _ce est une beau journal_, I lounged along the Boulevards, and remarked that human nature was the same in every climate. I then went down the Rue de la Paix--you will observe that I am now quite familiar with the old parts of the City of Paris--and after some turnings came to the Cathedral of Notre Dame, which is certainly fine, although devoted to a false religion, which, however, does not alter the architecture, and I hope I am too candid not to draw the distinction between the external and the internal aspects of an edifice. To adopt a metaphor, the sign of a tavern may be well painted, although the beer sold within may not be good; but in saying this, I wish to be understood to speak generally, and not with reference to any particular establishment, far less to swell that illiberal cry against hotel-keepers (many of whom are most worthy and honourable men) which my antagonist--whom it is my mission to crush--in Printing House Square continually raises.

But, _revenions a nous moutions_, ("to return to business") I was greatly pleased, or shall I say amused, with a highly dramatic scene which occurred in the course of my walk. I shall never forget it, and it may take its place "in this distracted orb" (SHAKSPERE'S _Hamlet_) beside that other joke, which, as I have already told my readers, will throw me into paradoxes of laughter at any hour or time. Wake me and tell me the house is on fire, assure me there is an earthquake, let me hear that a printer's unpardonable carelessness has made a newspaper under my charge say a reverend clergyman reached before PRINCE ALBERT instead of preached before H. R. H., and that the Court refuses to receive my published apology; still, if you tell me the joke in question, I shall laugh. But I think the following dialogue is as rich as the other, _Arcades ambo_, (the fair sex must excuse me if I do not translate this). I saw a respectable gentleman's handkerchief protruding from his coat pocket, and knowing the disagreeableness of finding that humble but useful article missing, especially in the influenza period, I thought I would waive ceremony, and though unintroduced, suggest to him the advisability of a precautionary measure. So, touching my hat with some playfulness, I said, "_Monsieur, vous voulez perdre votre parapluie_." (I must not translate this, or the joke will be lost.)

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

But as he did not replace his handkerchief, I, who am not easily daunted, returned to the attack.

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

"_Diable!_" he exclaimed, impatiently. As I never permit any of our own correspondents to use this word, I shall not break my own laws by rendering it into the vernacular.

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

"What's the row?"

I explained that I had given the French gentleman a caution as to his _parapluie_, to which I pointed as sticking out of his pocket.

"That's his _mouchoir_," said my friend, laughing heartily, as did the gentleman when the mistake was explained to him, and we all took off our hats to one another. These little amenities cost nothing, but yet may be bright oases on the ordinary stream of the battle of life.

I must reserve until to-morrow my narrative of the taking of the Bastille, which naturally occurred to me as I gazed upon the column in the Place Vendôme, and I shall probably offer some instructive observations upon the literature and religion of the country in which I now find myself. But I can truly say, "England" (which includes Scotland, and also poor Ireland) "with all thy faults, my heart still turns to thee," a thought which must comfort those countries during my temporary absence.

* * * * *


It is said that "Steam annihilates both Time and Space." It is a thousand pities, for our comfort in railway travelling, that its annihilating powers will sometimes extend, also, to--human beings.

* * * * *


* * * * *



(_From a countryman of his._)

Hey, ABERDEEN, are ye wakin' yet, And are our drums a beatin' yet, The journals lee, Or fra' all we see, The Russians are not retreatin' yet?

Hey, ABERDEEN, are ye writin' yet, In hollow phrases delightin' yet, While on Danube's banks Thae hostile ranks Are makin' ready for fightin' yet?

Hey, ABERDEEN, are ye prosin' yet, On your council sofas a dozin' yet, To the old world's sneers, And the new world's jeers, Your country's honour exposin' yet?

Hey, ABERDEEN, are ye twaddlin' yet, And over yer red tape dawdlin' yet About NICK'S good faith, And his power, and baith, To your weary colleagues a maudlin' yet?

Hey, ABERDEEN, are ye Premier yet, We must have some cleverer schemer yet, Or the Russian cat Whom ye love to pat, Will be over to lick up her cream here yet.

* * * * *

"The true art of dining consists in dining at your country's expense."--_Young Stafford._

* * * * *


A SPLENDID banquet was yesterday given by MESSRS. PUE and PHITT to their friends and connexions, to commemorate what may be termed the coming of age of their establishment; the extensive bone-boiling and horse-slaughtering concern, and catgut manufactory, situated in a densely populated part of the above district: which, having now arrived at the standing of 30 years, is exempt from the operation of the Nuisances Removal Act.

Dinner was served in a large shed on the premises, fitted up for the occasion, having been decorated with much attention to taste, and plentifully sprinkled with chloride of lime in equally judicious regard to smell.

The usual loyal toasts having been dispensed with, and "Our Noble Selves" substituted in their place, the senior partner proposed the toast of the evening. He said he was glad, in times like the present, when alarmists were making such efforts to lead people by the nose in a crusade against everybody who gave the slightest inconvenience to that organ, to see himself, and his friend at the other extremity of the table, surrounded by so numerous and respectable an assembly of well-wishers. He was proud of the support of the strong minds that despised a squeamish agitation, and of the strong stomachs--the two always went together--that asserted themselves in meeting to afford that support in that place. The interest that he and his partner had the honour of representing might be called one of the Institutions of Southwark; and they prided themselves upon the fact that their premises were, as a wag had observed, among the peculiar fetors of the locality. The odour of profit was pleasant, in the opinion of a wise man, no matter what the profit was made out of, and the surrounding district was rich in effluvia, and he hoped no dainty legislation would ever impoverish it. Bones were not boiled--dogsmeat was not made--catgut was not manufactured--with lavender-water. But what was called a perfume was often more unhealthy than the reverse. Flowers, for instance, were considered by the faculty bad for a sick room; and on the other hand, what could be more wholesome than physic, and what more nasty? The salubrity of the atmosphere they were then inhaling, was proved by the fact that himself and his family had been breathing it for the last thirty years; and that led him to the toast he was about to propose. The establishment which they were met to celebrate the prosperity of, had now completed the thirtieth year of its existence. It had, in fact, attained its majority, and was now no longer under that control that an infant business of the same nature is subject to. The monster nuisance, as it had been invidiously called, was no longer amenable to the Nuisances Removal Act. The young Giant was out of his nonage; and those who wished to grapple with him must do it in the Court of Quarter Sessions--where he defied them. He would now then give them the young Giant's good health; they would drink, if they pleased, Perpetuity to the Premises, and Success to Sulphuretted Hydrogen and Ammonia.

The toast was drunk with all the odours.

The other member of the firm briefly expressed his thanks for the kind and enthusiastic manner in which the company had responded to his worthy partner; which, he declared, quite delighted his old bones.

After a series of other anti-sanitary toasts and sentiments, the company separated at a late hour in an excited state, having, as a facetious gentleman remarked with a strong emphasis on the first syllable of the epithet, partaken of an entertainment that was truly _sump_-tuous.

* * * * *


We are informed that a communication of an interesting nature has been made to the Tuscan Government in reference to the imprisonment of MISS CUNNINGHAME for giving away a Bible and a _Pilgrim's Progress_. Through the HON. MR. SCARLETT, acting as Chargé d'Affaires in the temporary absence of SIR HENRY BULWER, LORD ABERDEEN is said to have requested the opinion of the GRAND DUKE LEOPOLD and his Cabinet respecting a measure of great importance in regard to the principle of toleration, contemplated very seriously by HER MAJESTY'S Ministers. The projected enactment which has thus been submitted to the consideration of the Tuscan Sovereign and his advisers is based on the principle whereon is also founded the article in their penal code under which MISS CUNNINGHAME has been incarcerated. It treats the attempt to convert any person from the State religion as a crime against the State, and inflicts imprisonment with hard labour for that offence. Under its operation any Roman Catholic, convicted of making a present to a member of the Established Church of a "_Garden of the Soul_," or a crucifix, will be tried for sedition and CARDINAL WISEMAN will inevitably be sent to the treadmill.

* * * * *


What is better than a right of way through the Park? A right of curds and whey at the Lodge gate.

* * * * *

THE BRITISH STENTOR.--The most powerful voice in the country is that of the man who can utter most money.

* * * * *


[Illustration: O]

Olives are to be grown in Edinburgh. We rejoice to hear the news. The Scotch have always been distinguished for meekness and (after breakfast) even mealy-mouthedness. They have, nevertheless, been shamefully libelled by history. The national spirit has been designated the _perfervidum genium Scotorum!_ No such thing. CALEDONIA was ever mild as milk: in the time even of AGRICOLA, it was well known that butter would not melt in her mouth. This meek, pacific quality of Scotland has been wickedly disguised and libelled, but COBDEN and BRIGHT have resolved to vindicate the truth. Eagles never did breed in Scotland--they were only doves, sucking-doves, of a larger size. And as for the thistle, with that hostile, spiteful, unbrotherly motto, _Nemo me impune lacessit_,--Scotland shall henceforth assume as her floral type the simple "gowan fine."

We are happy to learn that the peace festival will be celebrated with appropriate beauty of imagery and plenteousness of fare. We have gathered a few of the particulars; and although we do not vouch for the fullness of the description--for the time will yet admit of many improvements--nevertheless the subjoined will be found a very fair sketch of the approaching ceremony.

At day-break, Mons Meg will be fired; being loaded with a cotton-ball, brought from Manchester by one of her Members, JOHN BRIGHT. A procession--forming at Holyrood House--will proceed (weather permitting) to the summit of Arthur's Seat. We give a few of the more important characters in the pageant.

MR. COBDEN (crowned with corn) will lead a Bear in a string of daisies; the Bear "crumpled" a little about the ears, and muzzled with the finest bit of cotton twist.

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


A Banner (with a walnut-tree worked in worsted) borne by MR. GEORGE WILSON; with the appropriate peaceful motto:

"The oak gives place to the walnut-tree, For more 'tis beat, the better it be!"

At the public meeting, the LORD PROVOST will--on the part of the City of Edinburgh--decorate certain members of the Congress with medals, bearing the effigies of a Goose--a Calf--a Bee. _Anser, Vitulus, Apis regunt mundum_: the Goose, the Calf, the Bee do (should) rule the world--Goose-pen, Calf-parchment, Bees'-wax.

At the banquet geese and sweetbreads and wax-candles will, in a savoury and brilliant manner, further illustrate the uses and beauties of ANSER, VITULUS, APIS.

For ourselves, we say, long flourish the olive-tree! But is now the precise season to plant it in the soil of Scotland?

Courteous invitations have been sent to the EMPERORS OF RUSSIA AND AUSTRIA, to be present either in their Imperial persons or by ambassador. However, up to the time of our going to press, no answer had been received; and we thought it, perhaps, useless to wait for it.

* * * * *


A new Work has been recently published under the quaint title of "_The Book of the Axe_." We do not know whether it is an illustrated volume, but the "_Book of the Axe_" would seem to have missed its aim, unless the "cuts on wood" are numerous.

* * * * *


Transportation, as a penalty for crime, has been abolished by law: but transportation, by way of amusement, is still carried on, and MR. HENRY RUSSELL--familiarly known as the original "maniac," he having obtained an injunction against a second-hand "maniac" who had infringed a copyright by seeing them "dancing, dancing, dancing, in the hall"--has been causing some of his audience to be literally transported with delight by presenting them with free passages to America. This is all very well, and very liberal, no doubt, but a passage to America may sometimes prove more free than welcome.

We recollect a recent instance of a quiet old gentleman from the country having strolled into a theatre, where he found a "popular vocalist" pumping away at the "_Ship on Fire_" with all his lungs, and the old gentleman was about to quit the theatre at the end of the performance when he was suddenly seized, dragged on to the stage, exhibited to public view, and loudly cheered as the happy winner of "a free passage to America." To appear ungrateful for a boon which seemed to be thought so enviable was impossible, and the poor old gentleman was obliged to give his name and address on the spot, to enter into arrangements for meeting the ship at Liverpool, and pledge himself to an emigration which would separate him from a capital business, a devoted wife, and an affectionate family. The feelings of that wife and family may be conceived when they found by the next day's paper--received by the early morning mail two hundred miles from London--that the husband and father had so far forgotten the ties of home and kindred as to have become the subject of "a free passage to America." It is true that, after a frightful nightmare, in which he heard a wild chorus of "Cheer, boys, cheer," interrupted by moans of "Ha! 'tis the night watch!" with occasional shrieks of "I am not mad! I am not mad!" he rose with a determination to relinquish his precious prize, and resigned to some more appreciating hands his "free passage to America."

* * * * *


The Pope, according to his frequent custom, has recently caused prayers to be offered in all Continental Catholic churches, for the conversion of England. This is very good of him, though it may be very unnecessary. The POPE declares--sorrowingly--that this England, "once the island of the blessed," has been "for a long while past caught in the errors of heresy"--"has fallen from the true belief,"--and is oppressed by "dark, false teaching, which keeps it from the knowledge of the truth." All of which evils His Holiness prays may be put away from us, that we may all see the true light, which is the POPE'S eye--all salute the true faith, which is the POPE'S toe. We repeat, however, that we object not to the prayers of the POPE'S Church; but we do most vehemently object to the bolts and bars with which such supplications are wont to be associated. For instance, we have no objection that the DUKE OF TUSCANY should pray for the conversion of MISS CUNNINGHAME, but we do object--and might feel disposed to urge such objection from an iron mouth--that the GRAND DUKE should turn the lady from her free home to an Italian dungeon. Let the DUKE pray as much as he will; but only pray--not _prey_.

* * * * *


The daily papers tell us that--

"The clouds of small black flies which were observed in many places of the island about a fortnight or three weeks ago, again presented themselves on Wednesday morning in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh."

These black flies have--we understand upon good authority--preceded MR. ELIHU BURRITT from Russia: and are, indeed, only another evidence of the magical influence of the harmonious blacksmith. These black flies were--only two months ago--wasps, Russian wasps, encountered by ELIHU in the environs of St. Petersburg. He was on horseback, when his horse's foot sinking into a wasp's nest, brought a cloud of the destructive insects about the head of the traveller. Every wasp had his sting out when--MR. BURRITT delivered himself of one of those marvellous orations which it had been his mission to deliver to the CZAR'S bondmen. In twenty minutes, the eloquent peacemaker had talked every armed wasp into a harmless small black fly. Thus, can there be any doubt that the peace orators of the North will, in like manner, talk the Russian army out of its bayonets?

* * * * *


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

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

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

* * * * *





* * * * *


Last week was held a meeting of certain rabbits in a box in the Zoological Gardens. The meeting, it must be confessed, was not very numerous, but extremely respectable.

MR. DOUBLESMUT took the chair, and briefly opened the proceedings. He said that they would improve the happy accident of their meeting into an enduring advantage. He thought that the time had arrived for the whole nation of rabbits to raise themselves in the scale of creation; by cultivating a deeper trust and wider confidence with the animal world about them. He must lament, while he confessed, that he had been brought up in the fear and horror of foxes, weasels, stoats, polecats, sparrow-hawks, and so forth. But, for his part, he believed that the time was come when the whole rabbit people might live in love and amity and perfect trust with all around them. It was mean; it was a moral cowardice to distrust either fox or weasel: they, poor things! like illiterate rabbits, had been the victims of ignorance and prejudice; but in these days, everybody might embrace everybody. Yes, he felt his heart expand towards all created things, and--

--And the rest of the speech was cut short; for the boa-constrictor--in whose house the rabbits had met, and over whose coils they had hopped and run--the boa, in the twinkling of an eye, had MR. DOUBLESMUT in his jaws; and in two minutes deposited body and bones in his throat.

* * * * *


The promotion of talent is always gratifying, even when that talent is employed on the side of opponents. MR. LUCAS deserves a reward, which we should like to see him get, for having lately distinguished himself. Among the Hibernian intelligence, the other day, it was reported that, at a tenant-right meeting, a DR. M'KNIGHT having accused him of an act of treachery to the cause, the honourable gentleman declared the doctor's statement to be an "unmitigated lie." MR. LUCAS has often distinguished himself by the use of similar expressions; and what is remarkable, he has not distinguished himself by anything else, except by a veneration of the POPE and a hatred of his Protestant fellow subjects--if his hatred for Protestantism stops there. But it is precisely the limited nature of the ability which he has displayed which entitles him to preferment: and we are sure we speak the sentiments of all moderate politicians when we say that DR. NEWMAN'S "Catholic" University cannot do less than appoint the Hon. Member Professor of the Vulgar Tongue.

We would also commend MR. LUCAS'S merits to the attention of HER MAJESTY'S advisers. We might as well have diplomatic relations with Rome, as with any other of the absurd and semi-barbarous Governments to which we send an envoy. Let those relations, then be established, and our vituperative ex-friend despatched as ambassador to the POPE. The only fear is that the salary which, of course, would be attached to the appointment would stop his mouth, or, at least, deprive his eloquence of that only quality which renders it remarkable--that peculiar strength of language without which it would be wholly unadorned. That this would not much signify one way or the other is not quite true. It is of some consequence to the community at large to be presented, from time to time, with an example of the effects of popish bigotry on the human feelings and intellect, as afforded by the unrestrained rhetoric of MR. LUCAS.

* * * * *


One voice from sea to sea, One thought from shore to shore,-- "Peace if without disgrace still peace may be, War, if we must have war!" Curs'd be the hand that draweth brand, While swords with honour can be spared: May the hand rot, which draweth not, When honour bids the sword be bared.

Peace now for thirty years With Plenty, hand in hand, One olive-crowned, one crowned with harvest ears, Have sat within our land, Twin-sisters dear! To keep them here, What price would England grudge to pay? One price alone! Were Honour gone, How long would Peace and Plenty stay?

Bring out Old England's flag, Storm-rent from Waterloo! Fling forth to the four winds the glorious rag, And bear it England through. Through vale, o'er hill, by forge and mill, Past upland village, coastward town, Up Scottish strath, o'er Irish _rath_, Across Welsh hill and English down.

Salute it, young and old, With God-speed on its way! As it ne'er waved but o'er the free and bold Pray Heaven it never may. Still let its course to Fraud and Force Strike terror from the air; Still let its sight to down-trod right Bring hope upon despair.

* * * * *


If any one asks us how we are off for soap it is pleasant to be able to answer the question in the most satisfactory manner. We happen to be extremely well off for soap, in consequence of the kindness of some eccentric individuals who are always sending us by post certain penn'orths of specimens of saponaceous matter, with which they invite us to shave ourselves. We have lately received in a letter a bit of something which we are told will cover our face with "a lather like thick white paint, over which the razor will glide;" but as we don't want a razor to glide _over_ our beard, we hesitate to try the experiment. The gratuitous soap is accompanied by the prospectus of a perfume, which "never becomes faint," and a preparation for the hair, which makes it "soft and glossy for ever." We are quite sure that the individual who sent the announcement to us can have no notion of the disorderly haycock which does duty on the top of our poll for a head of hair, or he would never undertake to render it "permanently," or even for one moment "soft and glossy."

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE TWO DROMIOS.]

* * * * *


Bully _Bottom_ is, in truth, "translated" by MR. PHELPS. Translated from matter-of-fact into poetic humour--translated from the commonplace tradition of the playhouse to a thing subtly grotesque--rarely, and heroically whimsical. A bully _Bottom_ of the old, allowed sort, makes up his face--even as the rustic wag of a horse-collar--to goggle and grin; and is as like to the sweet bully of PHELPS--bears the same relation in art to the _Bottom_ of Sadler's Wells--as the sign-post portrait on the village green to a head, vital by a few marvellous dots and touches of RICHARD DOYLE. In these days we know of no such translation! Translate a starveling Welsh curate into a Bishop of London, and PHELPS'S translation of _Bottom_ the weaver shall still remain a work of finer art, and--certainly to all humanising intents of man-solacing humour--of far richer value. We have had, plentiful as French eggs, translations of facile, delicate French into clumsy, hobbling British; and now, as some amends, we have _Bottom_ translated by PHELPS from dull tradition into purest airiest SHAKSPERE. MR. PHELPS has not painted, dabbed, we should say, the sweet bully with the old player's old hare's-foot; but has taken the finest pencil, and, with a clean, sharp, fantastic touch, has rendered _Bottom_ a living weaver--a weaver whose brain is marvellously woven, knitted up, with self-opinion.

Now this, we take to be the true, breathing notion of SHAKSPERE, and this notion has entered the belief of the actor, and become a living thing. _Bottom_ is of conceit all-compact. Conceit flows in his veins--is ever swelling, more or less, in his heart; covers him from scalp to toes, like his skin. And it is this beautiful, this most profitable quality--this human coin, self-opinion, which, however cracked, and thin, and base, may be put off as the real thing by the unfailing heroism of the utterer--it is this conceit that saves _Bottom_ from a world of wonderment when he finds himself the leman dear, clipp'd by the Queen of Faery. _Bottom_ takes the love--the doting of _Titania_--as he would take the commanded honey-bag of the red-lipped humble-bee--as something sweet and pleasant, but nought to rave about. He is fortified by his conceit against any surprise of the most bountiful fortune: self-opinion turns fairy treasures into rightful wages. And are there not such _Bottoms_--not writ upon the paper Athens of the poet; not swaggering in a wood watered of ink-drops--but such sweet bullies in brick and mortar London--_Bottoms_ of Fortune, that for sport's sake plays _Puck_? The ingenuous _Bottom_ of the play has this distinction from the _Bottoms_ of the real, human world--he, for the time, wears his ass's head with a difference; that is, he shows the honest length of his ears, and does not, and cannot abate the show of a single hair. His head is outwardly all ass: there is with him no reservation soever.

MR. PHELPS has the fullest and the deepest sense of the asinine qualities of _Bottom_ from the beginning. For _Bottom_ wants not the ass's head to mark him ass: the ass is in _Bottom's_ blood and brain; _Puck_ merely fixes the outward, vulgar type significant of the inward creature. When _Bottom_ in the first scene desires to be _Wall_, and _Moonshine_, and _Lion_, his conceit brays aloud, but brays with undeveloped ears. But herein is the genius of our actor. The traditional bully _Bottom_ is a dull, stupid, mouthing ass, with no force save in his dullness. _Bottom_, as played by MR. PHELPS, is an ass with a vehemence, a will, a vigour in his conceit, but still an ass. An ass that fantastically kicks his heels to the right and left, but still ass. An ass that has the most prolonged variations of his utterance--nevertheless, it is braying, and nothing better. And there is great variety in braying. We never heard two asses bray alike. Listen--it may be the season of blossoming hawthorns--and asses salute asses. In very different tones, with very different cadence, will every ass make known the yearning, the aspiration that is within him. We speak not frivolously, ignorantly, on this theme; for in our time we have heard very many asses. And so return we to the _Bottom_ of merry Islington--to the Golden Ass of Sadler's Wells.

That ass has opened the playhouse season of 1853-4 very musically--would we could think hopefully, and with prophetic promise. At present, however, _Bottom_ is the master-spirit: and, in these days of dramatic _pardonnez-mois_, it is a little comforting--not that we are given to the sanguine mood in things theatrical--to know that folks are found ready to make jocund pilgrimage to Sadler's Wells, where a man with a real vital love for his art has now for many seasons made his theatre a school; and more, has never wanted attentive, reverent, grateful scholars. In this, MR. PHELPS has been a national school-master; and--far away from the sustaining, fructifying beams of the Court--for hitherto our ELIZABETH has not visited our BURRIDGE--has popularly taught the lessons left to England by SHAKSPERE--legacies everlasting as her cliffs.

As yet, HER MAJESTY has not journied to the Wells. But who knows, how soon that "great fairy" may travel thither, to do grace to bully _Bottom_! If so, let MR. PHELPS--if he can--still heighten his manner on his awakening from that dream. Let him--if he can--more subtly mingle wonderment with struggling reason, reason wrestling with wonder to get the better of the mystery!

"I have had a dream--past the wit of man to say what dream it truly was!--Man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was--there is no man can tell what! Methought I was, and methought I had.--The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was."

We do not think it in the wit or power of MR. PHELPS--under any newer inspiration, to give a deeper, finer meaning to this than he has done. But, if HER MAJESTY command the play, as a loyal subject, he will doubtless make the essay. In these words, _Bottom_--as rendered by the actor--is taken away from the ludicrous; he is elevated by the mystery that possesses him, and he affects our more serious sympathies, whilst he forbids our laughter. One of the very, very few precious things of the stage--of this starved time--is an Ass's head, as worn by the manager of merrie Islington.

We hope, at least, the QUEEN will command that head to be brought--with due solemnity--to Windsor Castle. Let _Bottom_ be made to roar again before HER MAJESTY, the PRINCE, the heir-apparent, and all the smaller childhood royalties. Let _Bottom_ be confronted with the picked of the Cabinet--the elect of Privy Councillors. And--as we have Orders of Eagles and Elephants, why not the ingenuous out-speaking significance, the Order of the Ass? As a timid beginning, we have the Thistle--wherefore not the Ass himself?

In which case, the Order established, the _Bottom_ of Sadler's Wells ought rightfully to be the Chancellor thereof.

* * * * *


ROMEO would never have asked "What's in a name?" if he had but lived to take a tour in England, and become acquainted with the nomenclature of some of our inns. To us there is hardly a sign in the kingdom which is not thoroughly sign-ificant: and any traveller, we should think, who has his mental eyes about him, may see at a glance outside the way in which he will be taken in. Who, for instance, would expect to enter the jaws, or doors, of a _Lion_ without being bitten, or to get away from an _Eagle_ without considerable bleeding? A little matured, the _Lamb_ becomes decidedly indicative of fleecing; while every _Bear_, we know, is naturally prone to squeeze as many as he can lay his paws on. Roguery in the _Fox_ is what everybody looks for, and plucking and roasting are, of course, inseparable from a _Goose and Gridiron_. Nor is the _Blue Boar_ an exception to the rule, for it most aptly symbolises your complexion when you leave it: and no one, we should think, would enter a _Green Man_, when reminded on the threshold of his verdancy in doing so.

Of all our signs, however, perhaps there is none more suggestive than the _Magpie and Stump_, which any one may see is merely a contraction for the far more significant _Magpie and Stump Up_.

* * * * *


"Shall we never bury the hatchet?" asks MR. COBDEN. And _Punch_ asks, "How can the hatchet be buried, when the peacemakers themselves so often throw it?"

* * * * *


[Illustration: S]

Some attention having been lately called to the increasing magnificence of Paris, it is due to the national taste of this country to point out the improvements that have been lately effected and are now in progress in the British Metropolis.

To begin with Buckingham Palace; and indeed we may well say to "begin" with it, for we can scarcely hope to see it finished. Standing in front of the Palace, we look upon the enclosure of the Park, and we feel a national pride in stating that there has been an extensive addition to the valuable collection of aquatic birds which absorb so much of the attention--and the bread-crumbs--of the bystanders. Every one is familiar with the fountain opposite the Palace, and the familiarity of the public had been accompanied by a contempt which was perfectly natural. This fountain, formerly consisting of a stone ginger-beer bottle, standing in a round pie dish, has been removed, the operation having served the double purpose of improving a work of Art, and giving employment to one plumber, a bricklayer, and a bricklayer's labourer for nearly a fortnight. This stroke of policy combined the advancement of national taste with a propitiation of the working-class, or, at least, of those members of it--three in all--who were engaged in the transmogrification of the ginger-beer bottle in a pie dish complete to the present substitute, which, though highly effective, is exceedingly simple, and is, in fact, nothing but a plug-hole.

Turning our back upon this subterranean squirt, which we are happy to do, we walk up to the gates of the Palace, where taste and industry are at work in the form of a stone-mason, who is occupied in chipping the resemblance of a bunch of PRINCE OF WALES'S feathers on the stone-work to which the gates are appended. When this magnificent idea is realised on all the gate-posts, the spectator, looking from the north, will have no less than six feathers in his eye--a result that might be looked for in vain in any other capital of Europe. Turning our gaze upwards to the Palace, we are struck by the dazzling effect of several thousand pails of whitewash which have been lavished on the front of the royal residence, while, for the sake of contrast, the sides and back of the building have been left in all their pristine dirtiness.

We will now proceed to the City, by Pall Mall; and, on our way, we will stop at the Ordnance Office where, as it is a public building, we will see what public taste and public money have effected. The architect has, with a boldness amounting to audacity, piled an extra attic on to each of the two wings, thus producing a wondrous novelty of effect by making the sides of the building considerably higher than the centre. Criticism might, perhaps, complain of a rather too free use of the cowl--and, indeed, of a rather startling variety of cowls--in the treatment of the chimney-pots. Passing eastwards, and shutting our eyes--for obvious reasons--as we traverse Trafalgar Square, we turn round when we reach the Strand, and catch a glimpse of the pigtail of GEORGE THE THIRD forming a sort of parallax to the Electric Clock, which is the star of the neighbourhood. The first remarkable work of Art that greets us on our way is the wooden figure of a Mandarin, which nods to us from the window of a tea-dealer's; and this curious specimen of sculpture in wood is faced by a remarkable piece of carving in the form of a joint of cold meat in the cook's shop opposite. Finding ourselves eventually in the City, we pass the end of Farringdon Street, pausing for a moment at the Waithman Monument, and thinking that the artist who gave his head to this block ought to have his head given to another.

But we now approach the more ambitious improvements that have been effected in the City at an enormous cost, and we are struck with astonishment at the bold effort that has been made by the architect of the Manchester Warehouse on the right to destroy the effect of St. Paul's, by raising up an ordinary brick structure to a considerable height above the roof of the Cathedral, and thus suggesting the recollection of the frog and the ox in the fable. The architect of the Manchester Warehouse, who is some unknown "bird," has endeavoured to swell himself out to the dimensions of a WREN, and the result is, that though he may have damaged the effect of St. Paul's, he has made his own paltry pile ridiculous by its juxtaposition to the great metropolitan monument.

From the sketch we have given it will be seen that we cannot be charged with doing nothing in the way of alteration to the Metropolis, but, on the contrary, we are doing much that will give a lesson to Art by teaching what to avoid, or, at all events, what would be better avoided.

* * * * *


EPHRAIM SMUG was a trader snug, A Quaker in faith and feeling, Little given to heed distinctions of creed In matters of worldly dealing, And as sharp a blade in driving a trade As lives between Bow and Ealing.

He'd a horror of war, but he'd sell the CZAR Steel or powder for Turk or Tartar; The slave trade did hate, but would send a freight Of handcuffs for African barter; And though pious himself, would have furnished for pelf The faggots to roast a martyr.

His stock in hand to suit each land, Was various in assortment; In gains and grace he throve apace, Till quite dignified grew his deportment; And he kept a strong box, with three patent locks, And he knew what "taking it short" meant.

Till there came bad times, and long columns of crimes Filled the files of the morning papers, How cribs had been cracked, and tills ransacked, And all sorts of burglarious capers, Set forth without stint by all arts of print To attract the _gobemouches_ and gapers.

But SMUG only jeered, as these stories appeared, At the nervousness of each neighbour; Said it would be absurd, were cost incurred In blunderbuss, pistol, and sabre; And when the Police 'twas resolved to increase, He declaimed about waste of labour.

But the Vestry still, to guard shop and till, Voted rates, spite of all objectors: Laid in bars and bolts, and revolvers from COLT'S, And a pack of canine protectors; While EPHRAIM SMUG called their fears humbug, And snubbed the Police Inspectors!

He railed at the cost; counted up what was lost In alarum, and dog, and detective; At the Vestry he got excessively hot, And descended to invective,-- Calling stories of plunder, mere editor's thunder To make newspaper sales more active.

Quoth he: "Why spend our gains, in spring shutters and chains, Instead of in lawful traffic?" Then of danger to peace, from dogs and police, He gave a picture graphic; And on brotherly trust came out with a "bust" Of eloquence quite seraphic.

"And after all's done, has anything gone?" (Thus ran his peroration), "Where's the highwayman grabbed, or the burglar nabbed, For all your big police-station? Show a dog if you can that has pinned his man! I pause--for a demonstration."

Some this eloquence scorned, and wouldn't be warned-- But some began to change feature;-- "The Policeman we pay three shillings a day, And a dog is a hungry creature."-- When thus began a plain-spoken man-- Not the least of a popular preacher:

"Now, it seems to my mind--though no doubt I'm blind Not to follow friend EPHRAIM'S reason-- That we've not thrown away our policeman's pay, If our pillows we take our ease on, Without any dread of a chap 'neath the bed, With a knife to slit one's weason.

"If our bars and our bolts, and revolvers from COLT'S Have been wasted because not wanted, Had we been without guard--neither bolted nor barred-- Though we'd spent less (for that is granted), Shouldn't we have looked glum if a burglar had come, And with our goods levanted?

"I appeal to the room, why mayn't we assume That the very precautions we've taken Against EPHRAIM'S advice, may have been the price At which we have saved our bacon?" "Hear, hear!" cried the crowd. Police were allowed; And the faith in EPHRAIM was shaken.

* * * * *


Frenchmen are accustomed to boast, and with reason, that Paris is the best stranger's city in the world. If you were dropped from the skies into the Place de la Bourse with nothing, as people say, but what you stand upright in, in five minutes you might have the advantages of a complete establishment. Under that archway you find a Brougham, which is at your service for two francs an hour, and a trifle to the man. The turn-out is not of course dazzling, and the coachman drives with a rein in each hand and his whip over his shoulder; but equipages in general are not very stylish here, and the whole thing is decent, clean, and comfortable. Your Tourist would not undervalue the London Hansom; it is an incomparable carriage of its kind, and has become a necessity for young men of fashion like himself. Bowling down Piccadilly to St. James's Street at fifteen miles an hour under the whip of one of the tremendously swell cabmen who ply in those parts, is a perfectly unique pleasure. But you can't take your wife or your sister with you in such a rampant vehicle; and if you have no carriage of your own, you will feel the advantage of having a decent _coupé_ within call at cab fare.

Then, without the trouble of carrying a wonderful lamp about with you--which would be excessively inconvenient, not to say ungentlemanlike, to our notions--you can instantaneously command the services of a slave at the moderate price of a franc per errand. In London, unless a man has an establishment of servants, or is staying at an hotel, he must go his errands himself, or trust the questionable fidelity of a crossing sweeper.

Having hired your carriage and servants, you can at once find a lodging of any degree of pretension (ornamented with five-and-forty clocks, if you like, and as many looking glasses), where you take up your abode without being bored for references. Here you can live as in chambers in the Temple, only very much more comfortably, with domestics always at hand yet never intruding, and free from that intolerable surveillance that a London lodging-house keeper thinks it her duty to keep on her patrons. As long as you pay your rent you may keep your own hours and select your own company. (MRS. P--RK--NS I fear never reads your paper, Sir, or she could not fail to be of a sweeter temper than she is; but, on the chance of her seeing this number, allow me to tell her that she is like a toad, both ugly and also venomous, likewise a dragon, and in other respects objectionable, while the curtains of her first-floor are a standing miracle, containing as they do, in successive strata, vermin that flourished in the beginning of the present century. Moreover, I did not purchase that case of curious old Champagne brandy with any view to encourage her in intemperance, which is disgusting in all, and especially in females.)

As you walk in the streets far from home you can satisfy any want, however minute or unexpected, down to having your clothes brushed, your boots cleaned (by the way, Parisian boot-cleaning is an utter and total failure), or even having your nails cut. This last does not strike an Englishman as much of a luxury; but we must remember that here a paternal government has, in its tender care for home cutlery, decreed that no Frenchman shall be able to purchase a decent knife, razor, or pair of scissors, under about twice its value.

Your Correspondent, whose meditative mind leads him to trace causes in their effects, attributes to this policy the length of beard and fingernails which distinguishes, if it does not adorn, all ranks here (he flatters himself that the connexion between cutlery and cleanliness has not been remarked upon before). You can also have your corns chopped about, if you have any fancy for permanent lameness, at a very moderate figure. In short, every operation of the toilet may be gone through by means of a short series of visits without opening your dressing-case.

You have the gayest promenades in the world, and if it rains, abundance of cover with rather more opportunity of amusing yourself than there is in the Burlington Arcade, for there is always a bustle, and everything you see is pretty, except the women. A few sous for a cup of coffee or a glass of liqueur entitle you to spend your whole afternoon in a _café_, ventilated and lighted to perfection, where you may read all the journals, and amuse your leisure with the manly game of dominoes. Compare this with the dingy, dirty, beer and tobacco-scented coffee-rooms of London, where they think you a "sweep" (that is the expression I believe) if you don't make yourself nearly drunk on their poisonous fluids, and where the inside sheet of the _Times_ is always "in hand." It is a constant wonder to me what unfortunate foreigners do to fill up their afternoons in our smoky Babylon.

You dine as you like, economically or splendidly, without the terrors of indigestion before you; and after a cup of coffee (almost an unattainable luxury in London), you have your choice of Grand or Comic Opera, Classical Drama, or Vaudeville, the only objection to which is, that after once seeing careful and refined acting, you will rather lose your taste for the "genuine effects" of the British stage, and may possibly, on your return home, set down the favourite performers as awkward sticks or impudent buffoons. As you go to bed, without the fever that arises from a heavy dinner with beer, Port, and Sherry, you may reflect that you have not been bored for a single instant of the day, and contrast with your own case the unutterable misery of the stranger without friends or a club, who is condemned to pass his time in London.

CHARLES MARTINGALE, ESQ., having read the above, says it's all humbug. He lodges in Piccadilly (very cheap, only £120 a year, including a servant's room,) goes to the Bag for breakfast, where he meets his friends; reads the _Morning Post_, has a game at Pyramid pool, some Sherry and Seltzer water, and goes back to dress for the Park, where he sees his friends again. Then there is sure to be a dinner party, and a ball or two afterwards, which he tops off with Vauxhall, and perhaps a look in at the Haymarket as he goes home. Or else he does the domestic, and takes a friend in a Brougham to Richmond or Greenwich for dinner. What more can a fellow want to amuse himself? Let him go to Races, or the Horticultural, or the Opera, or the Play, if he likes; and one thing he wants to say is, that _he_ thinks CURLIWIG no end of fun in a farce; and, as to buffoonery, fellows may just as easily do that on paper.

MARTINGALE, what do you mean, Sir? Well, it's very unfair to run down native talent. And--one other thing--he'd a doosid dead sooner have a tankard of club beer than the miserable thin stuff they call Claret here. So he wishes this put in, though he doesn't know about literature and all that, just to show the public that it's not everybody that is so easily taken in by foreigners as a fellow he won't mention.

* * * * *


[Illustration: A]

At the City Court of Sewers--according to the _Times_--certain gentlemen carrying on a nasty business in St. Mary Axe,

"Were summoned upon the certificate of the Medical Officer of Health, stating that there is upon these premises a large store of hides and horns of cattle in an offensive state, and the same is likely to be prejudicial to the health of persons whose habitations are in the neighbourhood of the same."

The cattle were dead--but the hides and horns were alive. We shall be excused further details. But

"One of the defendants said, he had been on the spot many years in constant attendance on the business, and he had not, during the whole period, a moment's illness. He believed that, so far from being prejudicial, the ammonia, which had been represented as so offensive, had operated as a preventive of the cholera in the vicinity of the place in which the hides were deposited."

According to this gentleman, if putrefaction generates the bane, it also develops the antidote; but, unfortunately, when both are taken together it usually happens that the former is a great deal too strong for the latter. We must note one more exquisite morsel of physiology.

"A COMMISSIONER said, he really believed that it was the wish of some people to make a private parlour of the City of London. (_Laughter and cries of 'Oh!'_). He had lived many years, and his father before him, in the midst of the matters complained of, and a healthier family never existed than that which they had successively brought up in the City. He wished that the gentlemen who were so nice were obliged to go without meat for 12 months."

The family to which this individual belongs must be a curious one. A naturalist would like to see it. What class of creatures can it be that lives and thrives "in the midst of the matters complained of?" Have they got any legs?--if so, how many, or is the structure of their bodies annular? Do they change into anything, lie torpid, and then change again into something else, with wings? In that case do they fly away, and where do they go to? In any case, where do they expect to go to?

* * * * *

EXCESSIVE EXTRAVAGANCE.--The ladies' bonnets are all "running to waist."

* * * * *




* * * * *


Nobody expects to hear of a Literary Millionaire in England, unless it be the author of a Million of Facts, or a Million Nuts to Crack for Christmas. In France, however, authors are more fortunate, for SCRIBE, the celebrated dramatist, has just purchased an estate, for which he has given upwards of ten thousand pounds sterling. Fancy an English dramatist purchasing, or even succeeding to any estate whatever, except, perhaps, man's estate, though even this he scarcely ever seems to reach, for he seldom appears to arrive at years of discretion.

We wonder that poor SCRIBE can feel secure in the enjoyment of his purchase, without being under the apprehension that some English translator or adapter will attempt to translate the property and adapt it to his own use in some way or other. The French author has been accustomed to have all his plots mercilessly seized, and why should not his ground plots be subjected to the same piratical process? SCRIBE is the author of his own fortune, and we shall not be astonished to find some of our British dramatists--from mere habit--attempting to appropriate the proceeds of his authorship, by claiming a portion of the fortune he has realised. If some of our playwrights should ever purchase estates, we may be sure they would be "copy"-hold, inasmuch as nothing original--not even an original lease--could be expected at their hands.

* * * * *


AIR--"_I'm a Broken-hearted Gardener._"

I'm a hippish Hippopotamus, and don't know what to do, For the public is inconstant and a fickle one too; It smiled once upon me, and now I'm quite forgot. Neglected in my bath, and left to go to pot. And it's oh! oh! out of joint is my nose, It's a nasty Ant-eater to whom every one goes.

He is my abhorrence, I think him quite a hum, He's worse than that Marine Vi-va-ri-um; He beats the Knowsley beasteses of the Derby dilly, And makes the baby Elephant look small and silly. And it's oh! oh! pity my woes! The American Ant-eater has put out my nose.

I stood against the novelties--I didn't care at all When the Frenchmen my existence were unable to recall; I knew it was all jealousy, and I, too great a fact, To be rendered a nonentity by any Mossoo's act. But it's oh! oh! the English me depose, And with the Great Ant-eater have put out my nose.

He is but an Edentate, while I'm a Pachyderm; He has got a shaggy hide, while mine is smooth and firm; He can't tell how to walk, and he don't know how to swim. And yet, the public overboard have thrown me for _him_. And it's oh! oh! to think that my foes Should get a Great Ant-eater to put out my nose.

He has scarcely got a mouth, and no teeth, but in their stead A yard or two of tongue in his elongated head; And why the fickle public should delight in such a beast, Is a mystery that I cannot understand the least. And it's oh! oh! would any one suppose, An Ant-eater could ever out of joint put my nose?

I was growing up in Hippohood, the visitors to please, And cutting my incisors, and increasing by degrees; And my milk-and-carrot diet I was quickly throwing by-- And now they have compelled me to eat humble pie. And it's oh! oh! what a thing I disclose! The American Ant-eater out of joint's put my nose.

I'd like my sharpest grinders in that Ant-eater to stick, And leave his bushy tail for the dicky birds to pick; I'd just like to shew him that _I_'ve got teeth to use, That can crunch him into nothing whenever I _chews_. And it's oh! oh! that I could come to blows With this beast that's so completely out of joint put my nose.

Or I wish that I could make myself a Fellow, d'ye see, Of this Zoological So-ci-e-ty: For then I'd send this Ant-eater back to his Ants, Or to my French rival at the Jardin des Plantes. But it's oh! no go: there's no end to my woes; The American Ant-eater out of joint's put my nose!

Signed, HIPPO X his mark. Countersigned, SADI

_Knight of the Bath and Groom of the Chambers._

Given at my house in the Zoological Gardens, this 15th day of October, 1853.


* * * * *


"That miserable miscreant!"

These were the dulcet breathings of the "oaten stop" of the Member for Edinburgh at the Peace gathering. "That miserable miscreant," said pacific MR. COWAN, "the DUKE OF TUSCANY." Well, we thought Peace proffered olives; but here are offerings very like bad eggs.

* * * * *

[Illustration: WHY COALS ARE DEAR.]

* * * * *


[Illustration: O]

Our curiosity has been not merely on tip-toe, but positively upon stilts for some months past, watching the no result of the hostile correspondence between the Great Bear and the little Turkey-cock. The whole affair has been almost as absurd as an "affair of honour;" and if the parties concerned had been individuals instead of nations, the business would have long ago been brought to a conclusion, by being overwhelmed with a storm of ridicule. If any other notes than diplomatic notes had passed on this occasion, there would have been no end to the quizzing that the proceeding would have elicited. If Russia had been BROWN and Turkey had been JONES, if France had been SMITH and England had been ROBINSON, if Austria had been SNOOKS and Prussia had been TOMKINS, how ludicrous would have been the "note" as drawn up by SNOOKS, with the concurrence of SMITH and ROBINSON, but amended by JONES, and dissented from by BROWN, on a point of personal dignity! If ROBINSON and SMITH were required to give their good offices, by deciding whether the note should be read in a Brownian or in a Jonesian sense, and if SNOOKS were suspected of secretly siding with BROWN, while TOMKINS was supposed to be shuffling out of an alliance with SMITH and ROBINSON from a secret fear of JONES, the whole world would go off, _avec explosion_, into a fit of merriment at the trumpery pretensions of the parties involved, and the utter insignificance of their quarrel.

Such, however, is the true complexion to which the thing must come, if divested of the exaggerated dimensions which are given to it by the interests that are unfortunately jeopardised. The quarrel would be but a very common-place quarrel, after all, if it were not for the unfortunate fact that JOHN BULL'S nose has somehow or other got poked into the affair, and that he will probably have to pay through the nose for the awkward position he occupies.

* * * * *


Did you ever know a strike which did not hit the workman harder than the master?

Did you ever know a hotel-keeper, whose "wax" lights would bear the test of a tallow-chandler?

Did you ever know a Continental tourist who, if he unfortunately happened to speak English, didn't everywhere discover he was charged at least double for it?

Did you ever find a "professional" win a game of billiards of you without assigning your defeat entirely to his "flukes?"

Did you ever know a cockney take to boating without dressing himself up _à la_ T. P. COOKE?

Did you ever meet a diner-out of sufficient strength of mind to ask for "cabbage?"

Did you ever hear a loo-player confess to having won more than "just a shilling or two?"

Did you ever know a pic-nic go off without the awful apparition of a "wops?"

Did you ever know a penny-a-liner who, in speaking of a fire, could abstain from calling it "the devouring element?"

Did you ever find a Continental shopkeeper whose "_prix fixe_" might not be proved a _lucus-a_-nonentity?

Did you ever start upon a railway journey without hearing the immortal observation "_Now_ we're off?"

Did you ever know an "alarming sacrifice," which in practice did not prove to be completely one of principle?

Did you ever in your life hail a City-bound omnibus that wasn't going "a'most directly" back to Bayswater?

And as a final clincher--Did you ever know a cabman who, since the new Act came in force, could by any eloquence be induced to give you change for a shilling?

* * * * *


MR. G. V. BROOKE has advertised his intention to establish, out of the profits of his acting, a "Free Library for the People." We hope that the nation, in accepting the "tragedian's" books, will not pledge itself to adopt all his "readings."

* * * * *


"MR PUNCH,--We have seen by the _Times_ how extortionate hotel-keepers can be occasionally. In order to add my testimony in the matter, and with a view to assist in finding a remedy, I have been looking over a file of accounts which, from time to time, I have paid for my son. The following document speaks for itself; it is a relic of a tour made by my son to the Highlands of Scotland. The following seems to have been incurred between 6 P.M. and 8 A.M. next day--

_s. d._ Dinner (Kailbrose and haggis) 1 6 " Ale 2 0 " Whiskey (4 Mutchkins) 3 0 Supper (Finnan Haddies) 0 3 " Toddy 14 0 " Cigars 3 0 Mornin's 2 6 _______ £1 6 3

"I am, _Mr. Punch_, yours, &c., "JOHN TOMKINS."

* * *

"MR. PUNCH,--As there is some stir just now about the price of victuals and conveyance, I hope you will say a word for us. I don't eat no turtle, nor hares, nor grouse, nor partridges, nor pheasants, nor pigeon pies, nor venison, nor prawns, nor grilled turkey, nor apricot tarts, nor anything of that sort, which it quite makes one's mouth water to read of in the _Times_--nor I don't drink no foreign wines, though I once tasted some which was pretty much like ink and water. No, Sir, I likes my good old English beef, or bread and cheese, and my pot of beer along with it, and I think they taste the sweeter when they are not 'leavened with a sense of injustice,' as the late SIR ROBERT used to say. But, to come to the point. I work hard all the week--'from morn to noon, from noon to jewy eve,' as they say at the Institution; so me and my old woman and kids like a little turn round on Sunday. Well, Sir, last Sunday was a week I went from my place in Shoreditch to London Bridge, and then on by the penny steamer to Chelsea, and it cost no ends of money. Before starting on the boat I met BILL SMITH, and the following was the little bill we run up:--

Chelsea. Sept. 1853.

_s. d._ 2 Pots Ale 1 4 ½ Pint Gin 1 0 10 Pickwicks 0 10 9 Bottles of Pop for Kids 0 9 Biscuits for ditto 0 3 ____ 4 2

"I had nearly forgotten to mention that one Sunday afternoon I paid 6_d._ for a 'bus to Regent's Park Zoological, and 6_d._ to come back again without having seen anything. PROFESSOR JELLY, of the Institution, says the Vivarium is very interesting; but I find that it is only the aristocracy who are admitted on Sunday, the working-classes it seems would do an injury to their soles by looking at the fish on that day. BILL SMITH says he thinks if he might go to the Crystal Palace, British Museum, &c., on the only day he _can_ go, he shouldn't care how much extortion was practised at the public-houses, for he wouldn't use them.

"I am, _Mr. Punch_, yours, &c., "PAPER-CAP."

* * * * *


"I can generally tell, Sir, the state of public opinion by the songs I sell. In 1830 I sold thousands of _Parisennes_, I don't sell one now; and I don't think we've been asked for a single _Marseillaise_ for these last three years. It is the same with _Mourir pour la Patrie_--no one cares for that now; and as for _Vive Henri Quatre_, not one copy has left my shop, I should say, since the day when the DUCHESSE DE BERRI was caught in a cupboard. The only song that is asked for at present is _Partant pour la Syrie_, and we don't sell many of those. Ah! Sir, it is a bad sign when the people don't sing! Many a revolution in France has been caused by a song, and more than one throne has been upset from the want of one!"

* * * * *


We learn from a gentleman who is in the habit of moving in the highest circles, that the Table Movement party has lately derived great encouragement from the fact that the Table Rock has been moved down the Niagara falls.

* * * * *


The POPE has been ordered to play billiards for his health. Judging from the specimens he has hitherto manufactured, we doubt whether his Holiness will ever make a good canon.

* * * * *


_German Professor (on "la Perche") to Italian ditto below._ "BE STEADIER, BILL, WILL YER, OR I'M BLOWED IF I DON'T COME DOWN!"]

* * * * *


High Art in British Sculpture is out of the question--except as, in the case of the DUKE OF YORK'S image and that of NELSON, when the figure is placed on the top of a tall column. This is in most instances by far the best place for it; the generality of our statues being objects of such a nature as to render it advisable that their view should borrow the very largest amount of enchantment that can be lent thereto by distance.

The Sublime in plastic Art is hopelessly unattainable by JOHN BULL: he has never yet been able to manage to pass the boundary which separates it from the Ridiculous. We had better stick to the latter, wherein we excel. To be sure, it may be doubted whether any production of the native chisel, meant for fun, could be more funny than the forms of pigtail, of wig, of military uniform and official costume, which that instrument is seriously employed to dignify. But why continue to adorn our churches and public buildings with monuments of gallant officers accoutred for parade, of bishops in confirmation costume, and of half-nude unshapely statesmen with cropped whiskers, in the dishabille of a loose sheet, apparently draped, in an uncomfortable manner, to undergo the operation of shaving? These things do not excite the feelings which they are meant to address--some of them, on the contrary, instead of warming the imagination, suggest a very unpleasant idea of catching cold.

But then, when British Sculpture attempts a tobacconist's Highlander, or a Gog or Magog, it succeeds admirably, and there is a special direction in which it once promised to do wonders; that of bass-relief on the exterior of brown jugs. Here was native talent forming a channel for itself, in which perhaps it had better run freely, exercising originality, than labour with imitative and simious toil at the manufacture of ideal Art-Alepots.

On Art-Alepots, however, of a humorous and comical design, and kindred subjects, the British sculptor might work with immense success. We have abandoned the Greek and Roman mythology (modern as well as ancient) for the most part, but we have still a sort of Temple of BACCHUS; the Gin Shops and the Public-houses. To the decoration of these the British sculptor could direct his abilities right profitably.

At a recent meeting of the Middlesex Magistrates--according to the _Times_--the chairman of the Bench, MR. POWNALL, delivered an oration to the applicants for publicans' licenses for music and dancing wherein--

"After expressing his own desire, and that of his colleagues, to do all in their power to promote a national taste for music by granting music licenses, he cautioned such applicants as should be fortunate enough to obtain them, not to attempt to open penny or twopenny concert rooms, lest by so doing they should attract the customers of, and injure the draught of liquor in the neighbouring public-houses. He warned them that if they were so ill-advised as to build and fit up spacious and well-ventilated music saloons for the accommodation of the public, and to repay themselves by taking money at the doors, instead of by an increased sale of beer and gin, and so 'create a monopoly in their own favour,' they must recollect that they did so 'entirely at their own risk,' that is, at the risk of having their concert rooms closed by the licensing Magistrates on the next licensing day."

Now, in the Middlesex Magistrates, as represented by MR. POWNALL, and not in them only, but in the whole unpaid Bench, might the British sculptor find models for household gods to embellish pot-houses withal. Their worshipful forms might be carved to stand as chimney ornaments, or to stride in the character of the jolly divinity upon barrels over tap-room doors. The "fair round belly with good capon lined," of the worthy justice would exceedingly well become that situation; for the national organ of music which the magistracy wish to cultivate appears to be a barrel-organ. No stout, no song; no beer, no ballad; no porter, no piano; no heavy, no harp; no fuddle, no fiddle; are the maxims which regulate their philharmonic ordinances. No gin, no glee, is their decree; no go, and no chorus. Therefore the mantelpiece of every Jerry-shop ought to be embellished with their statuettes, and so ought that of every big brewer and gin-spinner, their private connexions, consulting whose vested interests under the pretence of a regard to public duty, they violate the very essential principle of Free Trade, in order to prevent the competitors of their friends from "creating a monopoly in their own favour."

* * * * *


[Illustration: A]

A Sunday paper, which affects to consider itself the organ of the Court, has fallen into a libel through its excessive propensity to flunkeyism. The following is the libellous paragraph:--

"THE PRINCE OF WALES AND THE SHOPMAN.--During one of the late Royal visits to the Dublin Exhibition the Royal children wandered about in the toy section of the building, while the QUEEN and PRINCE ALBERT were in other departments. The PRINCE OF WALES showed a precocious tact in striking a bargain. He asked the price of an elaborate specimen of carving in bog-oak. The shopman in attendance, quite overwhelmed with the unexpected honour, answered distractedly, "a shilling"--the true price being about fifteen shillings. The Prince, with a promptitude worthy the future ruler of a great commercial nation, closed with the bargain at once, laid down his shilling, and walked off with his prize. This little incident will probably make the fortune of the exhibitor, who is constantly surrounded by groups of the curious, and preserves the shilling under a glass vase, only to be shown to the most favoured of the customers."

While transferring the above paragraph to our columns, we beg to protest against its truth, and to express our contempt for the awkward flunkeyism which endeavours to compliment the heir to the throne by imputing to him an act of what an American would call "smartness," and an Englishman would designate dishonesty. The imputation thrown upon the little PRINCE is that he took advantage of a shopman's mistake to obtain for a shilling what was worth fifteen, and this is clumsily described as a feat "worthy the future ruler of a great commercial nation." What great commercial principle is comprised in the act which has thus falsely, as we believe, been attributed to the Prince we are at a loss to perceive; but, if our contemporary carries on its commercial concerns in the spirit it seems so much to admire, we should decline having any dealings with it "in any shape or way" whatever.

We should like to know what the proprietors of the paper would say if a "smart" news-boy were to enter the office, asking the price of a quire of the journal, and on being told sixpence by mistake, he were to throw down that sum, and seizing up some ten shillings-worth of property, were to hurry away with it. Such an "incident" would more probably become the subject of a police charge than of a puffing paragraph.

* * * * *

AN IMPOSING SIGHT.--The sight of your Bill--at nine-tenths at least of our "first-rate" Hotels.

* * * * *


[Illustration: P]

PROFESSOR PHILLIPS, than whom ENDYMION was not a more fervent admirer of the moon, has succeeded in inducing her, not merely to sit for her portrait, but even to paint it. When

"His great bright eye most silently Up to the moon is cast,"

we may be sure that

"Right graciously She looketh down on him,"

since she allows him to carry away so many softened images of her charms. For other men she exists only in apogee or in perigee, but he possesses her also in effigy, and can contemplate her at his leisure, when her face is "gone from the gaze" of ordinary mortals. Nevertheless he intends, with a liberality that does him honour, to make his fellow men partners of his good fortune, and has therefore entrusted her relative, and namesake, the late eminent printseller of Threadneedle Street, with the preparation of engravings from the aforesaid photographs. _Punch_ is happy to present the world with a prospectus of these engravings, which are three in number. The first depicts her as she appeared on her "conjunction with JUPITER." She is attired in her bridal dress, a robe of white aërophane, spangled with stars; JUPITER is just stepping forward to "endow her with his ring;" and CHARLES'S WAIN waits in the background to convey the happy couple to their destination. The second picture is evidently meant to be a companion to the first, for in it she is represented on the _wane_, whilst the celestial BOOTES, who has been holding the horses' heads, is once more putting the ribbons into the hand of CHARLES.

In the last plate of the series, the "expression of her features," (as was said of the young lady who wore a wreath of roses) is "more thoughtful than before," and we scarcely need to be told by the accompanying letterpress, that she has just been reading in the afternoon's _Sun_ an account of the difficulties by which her beloved brother, the EMPEROR OF CHINA, is surrounded.

Great hopes were at first entertained that she would allow a fourth plate to be executed, displaying her as she appeared when "the cow jumped over the moon;" but she steadfastly refuses her assent to this proposition, alleging, with much reason, that, whilst only the learned few could trace in the legend of this saltatory performance an allusion to the mystical fellowship of the Egyptian APIS with ISIS, the lunar deity, the many would treat it as irreverently as did the little dog who is said to have "laughed at such sport;" and that, although the dish may on that occasion have run away with the spoon, the plate thus executed would find no spoon spooney enough to elope with it.

* * * * *


Many surgeons, doubtless, remarked an absurd letter from a clergyman which appeared the other day in the _Times_, recommending charcoal in combination with brandy and opium--as a cure for cholera. One of them, dating his letter from Bloomsbury Square, has fortunately written an answer to that communication, pointing out that the quantity of the last-named drug prescribed by the parson would amount to 10 or 12 grains every half-hour; and of course destroy the patient. This clergyman, no doubt, is a well-meaning person, but he should confine himself to pointing the way to Heaven, recollecting that the opposite place is paved with good intentions. Possibly he overstated the quantity of opium, by what may be called a clerical error; a proper dose of it is well known to be beneficial in the complaint in question: brandy is also found useful: and to these two ingredients of the mixture we should be disposed to ascribe any favourable result of its administration. The third is probably inert; otherwise it would be a convenient medicine, as anybody, in case of need, might munch cinders.

Clergymen, in their anxiety to do good, are too often accustomed to add the treatment of bodies to the cure of souls. In order to minister to patients as well as penitents, they ought to possess the gift of healing, and that having ceased to be supernaturally imparted, they had better acquire it in the ordinary manner, by attending the hospitals. Some add homoeopathy to what the rubric prescribes in the Visitation of the Sick, and by so doing do the least harm that it is possible to do by empiricism; as the swallowers of their globules at least die of their diseases: but we would advise even the homoeopathic divines to stick to theological mysticism, and not deal in "riddles" which will generally be "affairs of death."

* * * * *


To preach a bully peace Would I don a suit of drab, With a white cravat and a broad-brimmed hat, And rely on simple gab? Oh no! my friends, not I; I'd buckle sword on thigh; And also a pair of pistols wear, And keep my powder dry.

Of small avail are words Alone, with headstrong foes; But they go for much when they are such As can be maintained by blows. So, if policeman meet With brawlers in the street, At the word to be gone they won't move on, Till he his truncheon shows.

With despots if we plead By diplomatic notes, Best speeds our pen when we show most men In blue and scarlet coats. Most regiments of the brave, Most fleets upon the wave; Let the style be bland, but strong the hand That begs them to behave.

To charm vindictive rage In warlike rival's breast, It is well to preach in the softest speech If at peace we wish to rest. But arm meanwhile!--enlist! Draw gauntlet upon wrist; And in friendly grasp he soon may clasp, And shake your doubled fist.

* * * * *


The papers contained the other day an account of an eccentric dog, who, it seems, is in the habit of frequenting the railways, and travelling about the country from station to station in company with different engine-drivers. Surely this must be a very unhappy dog, who is afflicted with a suicidal turn, and whose instinct directs him to the railways as the surest mode of terminating his existence.

We should like some philosopher to take the matter in hand, and ascertain whether the dog is a sad dog, a reckless dog, or a mad dog, that is thus risking the shortening of his dog-days by pursuing such a line of life, or rather such a line of death, as a line of railway.

* * * * *


France has lately superseded the jolly old Gallic Cock, and mounted the Eagle on the dunghill of national vanity. Eagles have, however, fallen terribly low in France, and they are being publicly exhibited in every variety of form and substance, from the Spread Eagle cut in paper, at three sous, to the Eagle ready to seize on its prey, carved in gilt wood, at one or two Napoleons. It is quite true that the French have found their master not at all earlier than they wanted him; and we can't help recognising the wisdom of substituting the Eagle for the _Egalité_ humbug that was, for a time, permitted to predominate.

* * * * *


For the first day RICHARD COBDEN was supreme at the Peace Congress: the bagpipers played nothing but _Oh Richard, oh man Roi!_ On the second day, however, after old ADMIRAL NAPIER had fired off his speech, nothing was heard but--_Charlie is my Darling._

* * * * *


[Illustration: T]

The speculations about the "Coming Man" have amused us for some years; but expectation having been tired out by waiting for the "man," who, though always "Coming, coming, coming!" never came, a new dodge has been started, and we are now called upon--in a pamphlet, price 6_d._--to prepare for the "_Coming Struggle_." According to the author of this rather lucrative speculation the world is very shortly to be at an end, and indeed, it seems that we may as well make arrangements for terminating all business transactions in 1866, for after that the Millennium is to commence, when pecuniary affairs are to be a matter of total indifference. If the author of the "_Coming Struggle_" is to be believed--and between 100,000 and 200,000 copies of his "speculation" appear to have been sold, which looks as if some people put faith in his announcements--we may expect most of the public companies to begin winding themselves up, and the Insurance offices especially should already begin to refuse insurances on healthy lives, for after 1866 no policy will be payable.

Such is the credulity of the age, that the author of the "_Coming Struggle_" will, probably, realise by this sixpenny "spec.," a very nice little competency. We would advise him, however, not to carry the experiment too far, or he will invest in paper and print all that he has made: and he has already shown symptoms of a tendency to over-do the thing by bringing out a "_Supplement to the Coming Struggle_," price also 6_d_. Sequels are never successful, and having finished off the world comfortably in his first book, we think him injudicious to try the experiment of another. Poor MURPHY made a hit with one "_Weather Almanack_", and, if he had left the thing alone, he might have preserved his reputation as a prophet, but when, unfortunately, he risked another shot and predicted a "coldest day," on which the thermometer was at 60 in the shade, there was an end to his "_Weather Almanack_" as a source of income. We advise the "_Coming Struggle_" gentleman to be warned in time and not to speculate in "supplements," or "sequels," but to go altogether on a new tack if he wishes to "put money in his purse," which is probably the chief aim of his "philosophy."

* * * * *


It must be a relief, indeed, to HER MAJESTY to get away to Scotland, where in the retirement of Balmoral she is at least free from the importunities of that sort of loyalty which deprives her of the common comforts of a private individual. Provincial Mayors are perhaps the greatest pests that Royalty has to encounter; and the Preston Corporation seems to have made itself a fearful bore on the return of the QUEEN from Scotland. No sooner was it understood that HER MAJESTY would stop at Preston fifteen minutes to take luncheon, than the Town Clerk issued a circular to all the members of the Corporation, calling on them to meet for the purpose of deciding how the fifteen minutes HER MAJESTY had allowed herself for refreshment could be consumed by some municipal twaddle, of which Royalty was to be made the recipient. Instead of the QUEEN being suffered to take her hurried basin of mock-turtle at the station, she was to be bothered with calf's head, in the shape of the Mayor, and a dish of hash was to be set before her in the form of an adulatory address from the authorities.

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.

* * * * *


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?

* * * * *


* * * * *


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?

* * * * *


* * * * *


[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.

* * * * *


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.

* * * * *


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 _Dí 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.

* * * * *


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!"

* * * * *


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.

* * * * *


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._]]

* * * * *


My dear fellow-countrymen who throng the theatres, the _cafés_, 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 _employé_, 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 Préfecture; 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 Barrière. 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 règle_. 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 _café_, 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 très 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.

* * * * *


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."

* * * * *


_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,


"_The Common, October, 1853._"

* * * * *


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?

* * * * *


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.

* * * * *


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.

* * * * *


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.

* * * * *


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.


[_Where are the Police?_]

* * * * *


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?"

* * * * *


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 _prançant_ 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 _£ 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 "_£ s. d. et _NON_ Droit_" shall be The motto we'll proclaim!

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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.

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Table Turning, as practised by political parties, consists in turning statistical tables to account.

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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.

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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.

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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,


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.

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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.

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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_.

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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.

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Unmitigated Effrontery of MESSRS. BROWN AND SMITH.]

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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.

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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.

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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