Chapter XIX: Act THREE (7)

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 aerial 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--

* * * * *

"ENOUGH'S AS GOOD AS A FEAST."

At the _dejeuner_ 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.

* * * * *

ANOTHER GHOST!

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.

* * * * *

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.

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 WITHIN OUR GATES."

"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.

* * * * *

A NOTED IMPOSTOR.

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.

* * * * *

OUR TOURIST IN PARIS.--No. 6.

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 CROWN OF ST. STEPHEN.

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 SUPPORTERS OF AUSTRIA.

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_.

* * * * *

HOW TO PAY YOUR TAXES.

"MR. PUNCH,

"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."

* * * * *

OUR SHABBY CONTEMPORARIES

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.

* * * * *

CIVIC SIMPLICITY.

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.

* * * * *

* * * * *

MILITARY REWARDS IN CHINA.

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.

* * * * *

"ANOTHER AND ANOTHER STILL SUCCEEDS."

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."

* * * * *

SIGNS MADE SYMBOLS.

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.

* * * * *

CREDIT AT A DISCOUNT.

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!"

[THAT MAY BE, BUT IT IS NOT PRETTY TO SAY SO.--_Punch._]]

* * * * *

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!_"]

* * * * *

THE EMPEROR AT BOULOGNE

(_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 Freischuelz_. 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-Prefecture, 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'etoile_, 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.

* * * * *

FREEBOOTER OF THE CASTLE.

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?

* * * * *

A CASE OF CLEAN HANDS.

"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!

* * * * *

HA'PORTHS OF PHILOSOPHY.

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.

* * * * *

"_Quite full, Marm. Might have sqooged the Child in, but you're about a hounce and a 'arf too large._"]

* * * * *

ANOTHER INSULT TO IRELAND!

(_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 'L2 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.

* * * * *

THEATRICAL ACT OF GRACE.

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.

* * * * *

MAHOGANY POSSESSED.

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._

* * * * *

SIGNS OF THE TIMES.

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.

* * * * *

ANOTHER MONEY QUESTION.

"DEAREST PUNCHY,

"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."

* * * * *

WORTHY ATTENTION.

"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.

"TODDLES."

* * * * *

ECHO RIGHT AT LAST.

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."

* * * * *

THE PAROCHIAL MUDLARK.

A CHAUNT FOR CHURCHWARDENS AND OVERSEERS.

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.

* * * * *

TREMENDOUS EFFECTS OF A KISS.

NICHOLAS and FRANCIS JOSEPH have met at Olmuetz; 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 JOG FOR BIRMINGHAM GAOL.

A convict, perhaps, deserves to have his head shaved; but it does not follow that his treatment should be altogether barbarous.

* * * * *

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

_Snapper._ "HAH. WELL THERE AINT NO 'UMBUG ABOUT ME; I WEAR MINE BECAUSE THEY LOOKS 'ANSOM, AND GOES DOWN WITH THE GALS."]

* * * * *

GRAND SCENA FROM OBERON.

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

RECITATIVE.

Yes, even clothes the pay must yield,
No carpet bag have I;
The Paper be my battle field--
I'm fleeced! my battle cry.

AIR.

O, 'tis a monstrous sight to see
The charge of the British Hostelry,
Its plunderings over aghast we go,
With glances adding each long, long row!

One's shocked as one glances; we shiver all,
Though we shiver quite in vain--
They have raised such a total, we, rampant, call
On the Landlord to explain.

Charge ten shillings for breakfast and bed!
Dinner reckoned at eight per head!
Are things raised again, though Protection's no more?
For your bills are as of yore!
I say, 'I'm done! Tea, two for one?
Your crumpets startle my father's son!
And my senses are whirled to the winds afar,
By your wax-lights, Attendance, _Et Caetera!_
Mourn, ye Knaves in the Public line,
Your swindles lie stark in the broad sunshine,
The guests whom you sheared ere you let them go
Have made all the world your extortion know!
Joy to the moderate hosts of France!
Custom waits upon wise finance;
Joy to your honest Yankee men!
Their guests are all travelling back again.
There they go--the shaved ones see,
Who are grumbling at British Roguery.

Take the bill--the items pare,
Fill with cheap wine the bottle fair,
Strike off half--'t will still be high--
When we've won the victory!

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

AN AFFAIR WITH THE (KNIGHTSBRIDGE) CAFFRES.