Chapter XXII: Letter XLIII (2)

"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."

* * * * *

_Frederick._ "GOOD GRACIOUS, ANGELICA, YOU DON'T MEAN TO GO OUT WITH YOUR HAIR IN THAT STYLE?"

_Angelica._ "INDEED, SIR, I DO. IT'S EXTREMELY CLASSICAL, AND TAKEN FROM THE 'IONIC.'"]

* * * * *

A LITERARY MILLIONAIRE.

Nobody expects to hear of a Literary Millionaire in England, unless it be the author of a Million of Facts, or a Million Nuts to Crack for Christmas. In France, however, authors are more fortunate, for SCRIBE, the celebrated dramatist, has just purchased an estate, for which he has given upwards of ten thousand pounds sterling. Fancy an English dramatist purchasing, or even succeeding to any estate whatever, except, perhaps, man's estate, though even this he scarcely ever seems to reach, for he seldom appears to arrive at years of discretion.

We wonder that poor SCRIBE can feel secure in the enjoyment of his purchase, without being under the apprehension that some English translator or adapter will attempt to translate the property and adapt it to his own use in some way or other. The French author has been accustomed to have all his plots mercilessly seized, and why should not his ground plots be subjected to the same piratical process? SCRIBE is the author of his own fortune, and we shall not be astonished to find some of our British dramatists--from mere habit--attempting to appropriate the proceeds of his authorship, by claiming a portion of the fortune he has realised. If some of our playwrights should ever purchase estates, we may be sure they would be "copy"-hold, inasmuch as nothing original--not even an original lease--could be expected at their hands.

* * * * *

A HOWL FROM THE HIPPOPOTAMUS.

AIR--"_I'm a Broken-hearted Gardener._"

I'm a hippish Hippopotamus, and don't know what to do,
For the public is inconstant and a fickle one too;
It smiled once upon me, and now I'm quite forgot.
Neglected in my bath, and left to go to pot.
And it's oh! oh! out of joint is my nose,
It's a nasty Ant-eater to whom every one goes.

He is my abhorrence, I think him quite a hum,
He's worse than that Marine Vi-va-ri-um;
He beats the Knowsley beasteses of the Derby dilly,
And makes the baby Elephant look small and silly.
And it's oh! oh! pity my woes!
The American Ant-eater has put out my nose.

I stood against the novelties--I didn't care at all
When the Frenchmen my existence were unable to recall;
I knew it was all jealousy, and I, too great a fact,
To be rendered a nonentity by any Mossoo's act.
But it's oh! oh! the English me depose,
And with the Great Ant-eater have put out my nose.

He is but an Edentate, while I'm a Pachyderm;
He has got a shaggy hide, while mine is smooth and firm;
He can't tell how to walk, and he don't know how to swim.
And yet, the public overboard have thrown me for _him_.
And it's oh! oh! to think that my foes
Should get a Great Ant-eater to put out my nose.

He has scarcely got a mouth, and no teeth, but in their stead
A yard or two of tongue in his elongated head;
And why the fickle public should delight in such a beast,
Is a mystery that I cannot understand the least.
And it's oh! oh! would any one suppose,
An Ant-eater could ever out of joint put my nose?

I was growing up in Hippohood, the visitors to please,
And cutting my incisors, and increasing by degrees;
And my milk-and-carrot diet I was quickly throwing by--
And now they have compelled me to eat humble pie.
And it's oh! oh! what a thing I disclose!
The American Ant-eater out of joint's put my nose.

I'd like my sharpest grinders in that Ant-eater to stick,
And leave his bushy tail for the dicky birds to pick;
I'd just like to shew him that _I_'ve got teeth to use,
That can crunch him into nothing whenever I _chews_.
And it's oh! oh! that I could come to blows
With this beast that's so completely out of joint put my nose.

Or I wish that I could make myself a Fellow, d'ye see,
Of this Zoological So-ci-e-ty:
For then I'd send this Ant-eater back to his Ants,
Or to my French rival at the Jardin des Plantes.
But it's oh! no go: there's no end to my woes;
The American Ant-eater out of joint's put my nose!

Signed, HIPPO X his mark.
Countersigned, SADI

_Knight of the Bath and Groom of the Chambers._

Given at my house in the Zoological Gardens,
this 15th day of October, 1853.

* * * * *

WORDS OF PEACE.

"That miserable miscreant!"

These were the dulcet breathings of the "oaten stop" of the Member for Edinburgh at the Peace gathering. "That miserable miscreant," said pacific MR. COWAN, "the DUKE OF TUSCANY." Well, we thought Peace proffered olives; but here are offerings very like bad eggs.

* * * * *

* * * * *

TO FIGHT OR NOT TO FIGHT? THAT IS THE QUESTION.

Our curiosity has been not merely on tip-toe, but positively upon stilts for some months past, watching the no result of the hostile correspondence between the Great Bear and the little Turkey-cock. The whole affair has been almost as absurd as an "affair of honour;" and if the parties concerned had been individuals instead of nations, the business would have long ago been brought to a conclusion, by being overwhelmed with a storm of ridicule. If any other notes than diplomatic notes had passed on this occasion, there would have been no end to the quizzing that the proceeding would have elicited. If Russia had been BROWN and Turkey had been JONES, if France had been SMITH and England had been ROBINSON, if Austria had been SNOOKS and Prussia had been TOMKINS, how ludicrous would have been the "note" as drawn up by SNOOKS, with the concurrence of SMITH and ROBINSON, but amended by JONES, and dissented from by BROWN, on a point of personal dignity! If ROBINSON and SMITH were required to give their good offices, by deciding whether the note should be read in a Brownian or in a Jonesian sense, and if SNOOKS were suspected of secretly siding with BROWN, while TOMKINS was supposed to be shuffling out of an alliance with SMITH and ROBINSON from a secret fear of JONES, the whole world would go off, _avec explosion_, into a fit of merriment at the trumpery pretensions of the parties involved, and the utter insignificance of their quarrel.

Such, however, is the true complexion to which the thing must come, if divested of the exaggerated dimensions which are given to it by the interests that are unfortunately jeopardised. The quarrel would be but a very common-place quarrel, after all, if it were not for the unfortunate fact that JOHN BULL'S nose has somehow or other got poked into the affair, and that he will probably have to pay through the nose for the awkward position he occupies.

* * * * *

DID YOU EVER?

Did you ever know a strike which did not hit the workman harder than the master?

Did you ever know a hotel-keeper, whose "wax" lights would bear the test of a tallow-chandler?

Did you ever know a Continental tourist who, if he unfortunately happened to speak English, didn't everywhere discover he was charged at least double for it?

Did you ever find a "professional" win a game of billiards of you without assigning your defeat entirely to his "flukes?"

Did you ever know a cockney take to boating without dressing himself up _a la_ T. P. COOKE?

Did you ever meet a diner-out of sufficient strength of mind to ask for "cabbage?"

Did you ever hear a loo-player confess to having won more than "just a shilling or two?"

Did you ever know a pic-nic go off without the awful apparition of a "wops?"

Did you ever know a penny-a-liner who, in speaking of a fire, could abstain from calling it "the devouring element?"

Did you ever find a Continental shopkeeper whose "_prix fixe_" might not be proved a _lucus-a_-nonentity?

Did you ever start upon a railway journey without hearing the immortal observation "_Now_ we're off?"

Did you ever know an "alarming sacrifice," which in practice did not prove to be completely one of principle?

Did you ever in your life hail a City-bound omnibus that wasn't going "a'most directly" back to Bayswater?

And as a final clincher--Did you ever know a cabman who, since the new Act came in force, could by any eloquence be induced to give you change for a shilling?

* * * * *

GETTING INTO THEIR GOOD BOOKS.

MR. G. V. BROOKE has advertised his intention to establish, out of the profits of his acting, a "Free Library for the People." We hope that the nation, in accepting the "tragedian's" books, will not pledge itself to adopt all his "readings."

* * * * *

HOTEL AND TRAVELLING EXPENSES.

"MR PUNCH,--We have seen by the _Times_ how extortionate hotel-keepers can be occasionally. In order to add my testimony in the matter, and with a view to assist in finding a remedy, I have been looking over a file of accounts which, from time to time, I have paid for my son. The following document speaks for itself; it is a relic of a tour made by my son to the Highlands of Scotland. The following seems to have been incurred between 6 P.M. and 8 A.M. next day--

_s. d._
Dinner (Kailbrose and haggis) 1 6
" Ale 2 0
" Whiskey (4 Mutchkins) 3 0
Supper (Finnan Haddies) 0 3
" Toddy 14 0
" Cigars 3 0
Mornin's 2 6
_______
L1 6 3

"I am, _Mr. Punch_, yours, &c.,
"JOHN TOMKINS."

* * *

"MR. PUNCH,--As there is some stir just now about the price of victuals and conveyance, I hope you will say a word for us. I don't eat no turtle, nor hares, nor grouse, nor partridges, nor pheasants, nor pigeon pies, nor venison, nor prawns, nor grilled turkey, nor apricot tarts, nor anything of that sort, which it quite makes one's mouth water to read of in the _Times_--nor I don't drink no foreign wines, though I once tasted some which was pretty much like ink and water. No, Sir, I likes my good old English beef, or bread and cheese, and my pot of beer along with it, and I think they taste the sweeter when they are not 'leavened with a sense of injustice,' as the late SIR ROBERT used to say. But, to come to the point. I work hard all the week--'from morn to noon, from noon to jewy eve,' as they say at the Institution; so me and my old woman and kids like a little turn round on Sunday. Well, Sir, last Sunday was a week I went from my place in Shoreditch to London Bridge, and then on by the penny steamer to Chelsea, and it cost no ends of money. Before starting on the boat I met BILL SMITH, and the following was the little bill we run up:--

Chelsea. Sept. 1853.

_s. d._
2 Pots Ale 1 4
1/2 Pint Gin 1 0
10 Pickwicks 0 10
9 Bottles of Pop for Kids 0 9
Biscuits for ditto 0 3
____
4 2

"I had nearly forgotten to mention that one Sunday afternoon I paid 6_d._ for a 'bus to Regent's Park Zoological, and 6_d._ to come back again without having seen anything. PROFESSOR JELLY, of the Institution, says the Vivarium is very interesting; but I find that it is only the aristocracy who are admitted on Sunday, the working-classes it seems would do an injury to their soles by looking at the fish on that day. BILL SMITH says he thinks if he might go to the Crystal Palace, British Museum, &c., on the only day he _can_ go, he shouldn't care how much extortion was practised at the public-houses, for he wouldn't use them.

"I am, _Mr. Punch_, yours, &c.,
"PAPER-CAP."

* * * * *

A MUSIC-SELLER'S OPINION OF FRANCE.

"I can generally tell, Sir, the state of public opinion by the songs I sell. In 1830 I sold thousands of _Parisennes_, I don't sell one now; and I don't think we've been asked for a single _Marseillaise_ for these last three years. It is the same with _Mourir pour la Patrie_--no one cares for that now; and as for _Vive Henri Quatre_, not one copy has left my shop, I should say, since the day when the DUCHESSE DE BERRI was caught in a cupboard. The only song that is asked for at present is _Partant pour la Syrie_, and we don't sell many of those. Ah! Sir, it is a bad sign when the people don't sing! Many a revolution in France has been caused by a song, and more than one throne has been upset from the want of one!"

* * * * *

TABLE MOVING EXTRAORDINARY.

We learn from a gentleman who is in the habit of moving in the highest circles, that the Table Movement party has lately derived great encouragement from the fact that the Table Rock has been moved down the Niagara falls.

* * * * *

THE PAPAL CUE.

The POPE has been ordered to play billiards for his health. Judging from the specimens he has hitherto manufactured, we doubt whether his Holiness will ever make a good canon.

* * * * *

_German Professor (on "la Perche") to Italian ditto below._ "BE STEADIER, BILL, WILL YER, OR I'M BLOWED IF I DON'T COME DOWN!"]

* * * * *

LARES AND PENATES FOR THE POTHOUSE.

High Art in British Sculpture is out of the question--except as, in the case of the DUKE OF YORK'S image and that of NELSON, when the figure is placed on the top of a tall column. This is in most instances by far the best place for it; the generality of our statues being objects of such a nature as to render it advisable that their view should borrow the very largest amount of enchantment that can be lent thereto by distance.

The Sublime in plastic Art is hopelessly unattainable by JOHN BULL: he has never yet been able to manage to pass the boundary which separates it from the Ridiculous. We had better stick to the latter, wherein we excel. To be sure, it may be doubted whether any production of the native chisel, meant for fun, could be more funny than the forms of pigtail, of wig, of military uniform and official costume, which that instrument is seriously employed to dignify. But why continue to adorn our churches and public buildings with monuments of gallant officers accoutred for parade, of bishops in confirmation costume, and of half-nude unshapely statesmen with cropped whiskers, in the dishabille of a loose sheet, apparently draped, in an uncomfortable manner, to undergo the operation of shaving? These things do not excite the feelings which they are meant to address--some of them, on the contrary, instead of warming the imagination, suggest a very unpleasant idea of catching cold.

But then, when British Sculpture attempts a tobacconist's Highlander, or a Gog or Magog, it succeeds admirably, and there is a special direction in which it once promised to do wonders; that of bass-relief on the exterior of brown jugs. Here was native talent forming a channel for itself, in which perhaps it had better run freely, exercising originality, than labour with imitative and simious toil at the manufacture of ideal Art-Alepots.

On Art-Alepots, however, of a humorous and comical design, and kindred subjects, the British sculptor might work with immense success. We have abandoned the Greek and Roman mythology (modern as well as ancient) for the most part, but we have still a sort of Temple of BACCHUS; the Gin Shops and the Public-houses. To the decoration of these the British sculptor could direct his abilities right profitably.

At a recent meeting of the Middlesex Magistrates--according to the _Times_--the chairman of the Bench, MR. POWNALL, delivered an oration to the applicants for publicans' licenses for music and dancing wherein--

"After expressing his own desire, and that of his colleagues, to do
all in their power to promote a national taste for music by granting
music licenses, he cautioned such applicants as should be fortunate
enough to obtain them, not to attempt to open penny or twopenny
concert rooms, lest by so doing they should attract the customers
of, and injure the draught of liquor in the neighbouring
public-houses. He warned them that if they were so ill-advised as to
build and fit up spacious and well-ventilated music saloons for the
accommodation of the public, and to repay themselves by taking money
at the doors, instead of by an increased sale of beer and gin, and
so 'create a monopoly in their own favour,' they must recollect that
they did so 'entirely at their own risk,' that is, at the risk of
having their concert rooms closed by the licensing Magistrates on
the next licensing day."

Now, in the Middlesex Magistrates, as represented by MR. POWNALL, and not in them only, but in the whole unpaid Bench, might the British sculptor find models for household gods to embellish pot-houses withal. Their worshipful forms might be carved to stand as chimney ornaments, or to stride in the character of the jolly divinity upon barrels over tap-room doors. The "fair round belly with good capon lined," of the worthy justice would exceedingly well become that situation; for the national organ of music which the magistracy wish to cultivate appears to be a barrel-organ. No stout, no song; no beer, no ballad; no porter, no piano; no heavy, no harp; no fuddle, no fiddle; are the maxims which regulate their philharmonic ordinances. No gin, no glee, is their decree; no go, and no chorus. Therefore the mantelpiece of every Jerry-shop ought to be embellished with their statuettes, and so ought that of every big brewer and gin-spinner, their private connexions, consulting whose vested interests under the pretence of a regard to public duty, they violate the very essential principle of Free Trade, in order to prevent the competitors of their friends from "creating a monopoly in their own favour."

* * * * *

LIBEL ON THE PRINCE OF WALES.

A Sunday paper, which affects to consider itself the organ of the Court, has fallen into a libel through its excessive propensity to flunkeyism. The following is the libellous paragraph:--

"THE PRINCE OF WALES AND THE SHOPMAN.--During one of the late Royal
visits to the Dublin Exhibition the Royal children wandered about in
the toy section of the building, while the QUEEN and PRINCE ALBERT
were in other departments. The PRINCE OF WALES showed a precocious
tact in striking a bargain. He asked the price of an elaborate
specimen of carving in bog-oak. The shopman in attendance, quite
overwhelmed with the unexpected honour, answered distractedly, "a
shilling"--the true price being about fifteen shillings. The Prince,
with a promptitude worthy the future ruler of a great commercial
nation, closed with the bargain at once, laid down his shilling, and
walked off with his prize. This little incident will probably make
the fortune of the exhibitor, who is constantly surrounded by groups
of the curious, and preserves the shilling under a glass vase, only
to be shown to the most favoured of the customers."

While transferring the above paragraph to our columns, we beg to protest against its truth, and to express our contempt for the awkward flunkeyism which endeavours to compliment the heir to the throne by imputing to him an act of what an American would call "smartness," and an Englishman would designate dishonesty. The imputation thrown upon the little PRINCE is that he took advantage of a shopman's mistake to obtain for a shilling what was worth fifteen, and this is clumsily described as a feat "worthy the future ruler of a great commercial nation." What great commercial principle is comprised in the act which has thus falsely, as we believe, been attributed to the Prince we are at a loss to perceive; but, if our contemporary carries on its commercial concerns in the spirit it seems so much to admire, we should decline having any dealings with it "in any shape or way" whatever.

We should like to know what the proprietors of the paper would say if a "smart" news-boy were to enter the office, asking the price of a quire of the journal, and on being told sixpence by mistake, he were to throw down that sum, and seizing up some ten shillings-worth of property, were to hurry away with it. Such an "incident" would more probably become the subject of a police charge than of a puffing paragraph.

* * * * *

AN IMPOSING SIGHT.--The sight of your Bill--at nine-tenths at least of our "first-rate" Hotels.

* * * * *

PHOTOGRAPHIC "GLIMPSES OF THE MOON."

PROFESSOR PHILLIPS, than whom ENDYMION was not a more fervent admirer of the moon, has succeeded in inducing her, not merely to sit for her portrait, but even to paint it. When

"His great bright eye most silently
Up to the moon is cast,"

we may be sure that

"Right graciously
She looketh down on him,"

since she allows him to carry away so many softened images of her charms. For other men she exists only in apogee or in perigee, but he possesses her also in effigy, and can contemplate her at his leisure, when her face is "gone from the gaze" of ordinary mortals. Nevertheless he intends, with a liberality that does him honour, to make his fellow men partners of his good fortune, and has therefore entrusted her relative, and namesake, the late eminent printseller of Threadneedle Street, with the preparation of engravings from the aforesaid photographs. _Punch_ is happy to present the world with a prospectus of these engravings, which are three in number. The first depicts her as she appeared on her "conjunction with JUPITER." She is attired in her bridal dress, a robe of white aerophane, spangled with stars; JUPITER is just stepping forward to "endow her with his ring;" and CHARLES'S WAIN waits in the background to convey the happy couple to their destination. The second picture is evidently meant to be a companion to the first, for in it she is represented on the _wane_, whilst the celestial BOOTES, who has been holding the horses' heads, is once more putting the ribbons into the hand of CHARLES.

In the last plate of the series, the "expression of her features," (as was said of the young lady who wore a wreath of roses) is "more thoughtful than before," and we scarcely need to be told by the accompanying letterpress, that she has just been reading in the afternoon's _Sun_ an account of the difficulties by which her beloved brother, the EMPEROR OF CHINA, is surrounded.

Great hopes were at first entertained that she would allow a fourth plate to be executed, displaying her as she appeared when "the cow jumped over the moon;" but she steadfastly refuses her assent to this proposition, alleging, with much reason, that, whilst only the learned few could trace in the legend of this saltatory performance an allusion to the mystical fellowship of the Egyptian APIS with ISIS, the lunar deity, the many would treat it as irreverently as did the little dog who is said to have "laughed at such sport;" and that, although the dish may on that occasion have run away with the spoon, the plate thus executed would find no spoon spooney enough to elope with it.

* * * * *

PARSONS AND DOCTORS.

Many surgeons, doubtless, remarked an absurd letter from a clergyman which appeared the other day in the _Times_, recommending charcoal in combination with brandy and opium--as a cure for cholera. One of them, dating his letter from Bloomsbury Square, has fortunately written an answer to that communication, pointing out that the quantity of the last-named drug prescribed by the parson would amount to 10 or 12 grains every half-hour; and of course destroy the patient. This clergyman, no doubt, is a well-meaning person, but he should confine himself to pointing the way to Heaven, recollecting that the opposite place is paved with good intentions. Possibly he overstated the quantity of opium, by what may be called a clerical error; a proper dose of it is well known to be beneficial in the complaint in question: brandy is also found useful: and to these two ingredients of the mixture we should be disposed to ascribe any favourable result of its administration. The third is probably inert; otherwise it would be a convenient medicine, as anybody, in case of need, might munch cinders.

Clergymen, in their anxiety to do good, are too often accustomed to add the treatment of bodies to the cure of souls. In order to minister to patients as well as penitents, they ought to possess the gift of healing, and that having ceased to be supernaturally imparted, they had better acquire it in the ordinary manner, by attending the hospitals. Some add homoeopathy to what the rubric prescribes in the Visitation of the Sick, and by so doing do the least harm that it is possible to do by empiricism; as the swallowers of their globules at least die of their diseases: but we would advise even the homoeopathic divines to stick to theological mysticism, and not deal in "riddles" which will generally be "affairs of death."

* * * * *

POETRY FOR THE PEACE CONFERENCE.

To preach a bully peace
Would I don a suit of drab,
With a white cravat and a broad-brimmed hat,
And rely on simple gab?
Oh no! my friends, not I;
I'd buckle sword on thigh;
And also a pair of pistols wear,
And keep my powder dry.

Of small avail are words
Alone, with headstrong foes;
But they go for much when they are such
As can be maintained by blows.
So, if policeman meet
With brawlers in the street,
At the word to be gone they won't move on,
Till he his truncheon shows.

With despots if we plead
By diplomatic notes,
Best speeds our pen when we show most men
In blue and scarlet coats.
Most regiments of the brave,
Most fleets upon the wave;
Let the style be bland, but strong the hand
That begs them to behave.

To charm vindictive rage
In warlike rival's breast,
It is well to preach in the softest speech
If at peace we wish to rest.
But arm meanwhile!--enlist!
Draw gauntlet upon wrist;
And in friendly grasp he soon may clasp,
And shake your doubled fist.

* * * * *

A RAILWAY DOG.

The papers contained the other day an account of an eccentric dog, who, it seems, is in the habit of frequenting the railways, and travelling about the country from station to station in company with different engine-drivers. Surely this must be a very unhappy dog, who is afflicted with a suicidal turn, and whose instinct directs him to the railways as the surest mode of terminating his existence.

We should like some philosopher to take the matter in hand, and ascertain whether the dog is a sad dog, a reckless dog, or a mad dog, that is thus risking the shortening of his dog-days by pursuing such a line of life, or rather such a line of death, as a line of railway.

* * * * *

EAGLES AT A DISCOUNT.

France has lately superseded the jolly old Gallic Cock, and mounted the Eagle on the dunghill of national vanity. Eagles have, however, fallen terribly low in France, and they are being publicly exhibited in every variety of form and substance, from the Spread Eagle cut in paper, at three sous, to the Eagle ready to seize on its prey, carved in gilt wood, at one or two Napoleons. It is quite true that the French have found their master not at all earlier than they wanted him; and we can't help recognising the wisdom of substituting the Eagle for the _Egalite_ humbug that was, for a time, permitted to predominate.

* * * * *

THE TUNE CHANGED.

For the first day RICHARD COBDEN was supreme at the Peace Congress: the bagpipers played nothing but _Oh Richard, oh man Roi!_ On the second day, however, after old ADMIRAL NAPIER had fired off his speech, nothing was heard but--_Charlie is my Darling._

* * * * *

"THE COMING STRUGGLE."

The speculations about the "Coming Man" have amused us for some years; but expectation having been tired out by waiting for the "man," who, though always "Coming, coming, coming!" never came, a new dodge has been started, and we are now called upon--in a pamphlet, price 6_d._--to prepare for the "_Coming Struggle_." According to the author of this rather lucrative speculation the world is very shortly to be at an end, and indeed, it seems that we may as well make arrangements for terminating all business transactions in 1866, for after that the Millennium is to commence, when pecuniary affairs are to be a matter of total indifference. If the author of the "_Coming Struggle_" is to be believed--and between 100,000 and 200,000 copies of his "speculation" appear to have been sold, which looks as if some people put faith in his announcements--we may expect most of the public companies to begin winding themselves up, and the Insurance offices especially should already begin to refuse insurances on healthy lives, for after 1866 no policy will be payable.

Such is the credulity of the age, that the author of the "_Coming Struggle_" will, probably, realise by this sixpenny "spec.," a very nice little competency. We would advise him, however, not to carry the experiment too far, or he will invest in paper and print all that he has made: and he has already shown symptoms of a tendency to over-do the thing by bringing out a "_Supplement to the Coming Struggle_," price also 6_d_. Sequels are never successful, and having finished off the world comfortably in his first book, we think him injudicious to try the experiment of another. Poor MURPHY made a hit with one "_Weather Almanack_", and, if he had left the thing alone, he might have preserved his reputation as a prophet, but when, unfortunately, he risked another shot and predicted a "coldest day," on which the thermometer was at 60 in the shade, there was an end to his "_Weather Almanack_" as a source of income. We advise the "_Coming Struggle_" gentleman to be warned in time and not to speculate in "supplements," or "sequels," but to go altogether on a new tack if he wishes to "put money in his purse," which is probably the chief aim of his "philosophy."

* * * * *

A ROYAL "LUNCH" PREVENTED.

It must be a relief, indeed, to HER MAJESTY to get away to Scotland, where in the retirement of Balmoral she is at least free from the importunities of that sort of loyalty which deprives her of the common comforts of a private individual. Provincial Mayors are perhaps the greatest pests that Royalty has to encounter; and the Preston Corporation seems to have made itself a fearful bore on the return of the QUEEN from Scotland. No sooner was it understood that HER MAJESTY would stop at Preston fifteen minutes to take luncheon, than the Town Clerk issued a circular to all the members of the Corporation, calling on them to meet for the purpose of deciding how the fifteen minutes HER MAJESTY had allowed herself for refreshment could be consumed by some municipal twaddle, of which Royalty was to be made the recipient. Instead of the QUEEN being suffered to take her hurried basin of mock-turtle at the station, she was to be bothered with calf's head, in the shape of the Mayor, and a dish of hash was to be set before her in the form of an adulatory address from the authorities.

It is indeed hard that Royalty cannot get a quarter of an hour free for luncheon on a long journey, but is compelled to give up every minute of spare time to the swallowing of a quantity of unwholesome stuff in the way of flattery from the authorities. We admire a loyal address when circumstances render it appropriate and convenient; but to intercept HER MAJESTY at every resting point on her way, and subject her to the fatigue of listening to and answering a mass of commonplace rubbish from the mouth of a Mayor, is no less impertinent on the part of the authorities, than it must be annoying to the Sovereign. We are quite sure that the QUEEN would prefer a sandwich to a puff, and a glass of sherry to all the milk-and-water in the world--notwithstanding all the sugar that the authorities might put into it.

* * * * *

HOW BRITANNIA SALUTES HER BABIES!

BRITANNIA--like a most careful mother--expends a world of powder on her babies. A week ago she flourished the powder-puff regardless of expense; and regardless of noise. Her three youngest royal babies--the PRINCESS LOUISA, aged five years; the PRINCE ARTHUR, aged three; and the dear little poppet PRINCE LEOPOLD, aged not one--were all of them brought down from the nursery at Osborne, and--with their nurses--embarked on board the _Fairy_ to cross to Portsmouth, on their way to Windsor Castle, to be smothered with kisses by one of the best of mammas, and one of the tenderest of fathers.

Well, the precious babies passing through Spithead "were saluted by the _Blenheim_, by the garrison, and by the _Victory_, flag-ship;" and this was ordered by GRANNAM BRITANNIA, who, we think, by such smoke and pother rather exposes her dotage than shows her affection. Why should the "adamantine lips" of sixty-eight pounders salute those little babies? LOUISA, being five years old, may be a little seasoned to the custom; and ARTHUR--(as godson to the DUKE)--may have a precocious taste for gunpowder; but consider the tender months of baby LEOPOLD! A suckling, and saluted with a smack of thunder.

Poor little heart! No doubt GRANNY BRITANNIA means the noise as an evidence of her love; but, we needs must think it a proof of her foolishness. Dear little rose-buds! Why not go to be kissed at Windsor in all their innocent freshness? Why should they be forwarded to their parents, new too from Scotland, smelling of gunpowder in which is so much brimstone?

* * * * *

* * * * *

RETALIATION.

Photography, it was erroneously stated, had enabled forgers to commit frauds upon the Bank of England. Had it been true, the retribution would have been just. The Bank issues light sovereigns--why not repay it with Light five-pound notes?

* * * * *

HOW TO MULL PORTE.--Ask LORD ABERDEEN.

* * * * *

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

That MR. BROOKE--according to the information benignantly supplied to a benighted public by his manager--has restored Drury Lane to its former grandeur as a Temple of the Drama, is a grand fact. Having restored the Temple, and made his exit--_en route_ for California--enter TOM BARRY "the Deathless Clown."

MR. E. T. SMITH--like a modest flower--unconscious of his own merits, has culled in "a wise discretion, the result of a deliberative council in science." And the wisdom of his discretion shows itself in astounding results. For instance, he has the youthful HERNANDEZ, who is, in himself, "the very constellation in the hippodramatic hemisphere." Next, he has EATON STONE; and he "confronts in a marvellous manner, the wild horse of the prairies"--that animal being at the present hour rampant and loose under Drury Lane stage. Next, there is ARTHUR BARNES, "the champion of all the world" who throws "ninety-one summersaults in succession;" a living anatomical illustration of the truth that one good turn deserves another. TOM BARRY, "the deathless Clown--his name and fame are enough." The Undying One! Immortal WILLIAM over the portico, and the Deathless BARRY in the sawdust!

It is expected that the Deathless BARRY will, 'ere his engagement concludes, be regaled with a complimentary supper of several yards of property sausages. Among other expected toasts, is "The Memory of JOSEPH GRIMALDI," which, it is believed, will be responded to by his late dresser, a veteran of the good old school. On this festive occasion, the horses of the company--deathless Barbs!--will have an extra feed of beans.

* * * * *

THE "VOW OF POVERTY."

Some Benedictine monks, with a strange mixture of the secular and the spiritual in their affections, presented themselves a few days ago as claimants to vote for Members of Parliament. Though they profess to entirely de-vote themselves to the Church, they do not wish to be de-voted or deprived of votes for the county of Northumberland. But the best of the joke--rather a solemn piece of mockery, by the bye--was the fact of their appearing in the character of persons having taken "a vow of poverty," to claim their right to certain property, in respect of which they contended that they ought to have the electoral franchise. The contradictory and anomalous position in which they stood led to a cross-examination of the claimants, in the course of which some peculiar views as to the effect of a "vow of poverty" were elicited. The result seems to be, that a Benedictine monk may be a man of property, though he has taken a vow of poverty, and that, in the words of one of the professional men engaged on the occasion, "so far as respects property the law of poverty has no effect whatever."

The Benedictine monk was a good deal pressed, and in spite of the ingenuity appropriate to his "order" he was driven into a corner, from which he could not escape except upon the prong of a fork which the professional gentleman kept continually presented to the Benedictine monk, for the latter to fall upon. When told that, "in making the vow of poverty, he says he has no property whatever," the "monk" could only reply "We must have property or we could not exist;" so that we are justified in asking what is the meaning of a vow of poverty, if it can be taken by a man of property who, on the strength of that property, lays claim to a vote for the county? The witness when pressed admitted, "We all have property"--all _we_ who have made a vow of poverty, or an abnegation of property--but the way we manage it is this: "We have what is called a 'peculium,' which is a separate thing from the vow of poverty." It is convenient, certainly, to be able to be poor and rich at the same time, and to combine all the temporal advantages of property with the spiritual advantages of poverty. The "peculium" is, of course, elastic, and there is no particular place for drawing the line in the banker's book. A vow of poverty which admits of a "peculium" in the shape of a private fortune is like a vow of tea-totalism, which allows of a "peculium" in the form of a private gin-bottle.

* * * * *

THE GOD OF THE RUSSIANS

God of the Russians!--who is he?
A great--and bulky--deity:
He stands some six feet two, or three.

He is proportionally stout;
The lofty form is well filled out
Of the Controller of the Knout.

He ranks among the _Di Majores_,
And in despotic power he glories;
He once was worshipped by the Tories.

He banquets on celestial fare,
His Nectar's _Clicquot_, potion rare!
And his Ambrosia's _caviare_.

As to the Russian God's costume,
It is a cocked hat and a plume,
If so to speak we may presume:

Likewise, a military stock;
Belt, sword, and coat--a tail or frock:
He stands in jack-boots like a rock.

Yet any thinker might suppose
He'd wear a different sort of clothes,
More ancient--classical--than those.

For this same God of Russia seeks
To be the God, too, of the Greeks.
Then why does he sport coat and breeks?

Old NICHOLAS should wear the loose
Robe that once clad the form of ZEUS,
That is the garment for the DEUCE.

* * * * *

BRITANNIA'S SAFETY BELT.

Considering how much England is indebted for its safety to the magic belt of water that runs round it, every Englishman, when speaking of St. George's Channel, ought, in true nautical fervour, to ejaculate: "Bless its old CHOPS!"

* * * * *

INFECTION GLEBE.

Everybody knows that an intramural churchyard has a tendency to enlarge itself--not in area, but in perpendicularity. It is in every sense a rising concern, and it swells like an investment at compound interest. The attraction of mortality increases in a ratio multiplying with the increase of the mass--and what is there to prevent so deadly a nuisance from being immediately abolished? Hear the BISHOP OF LONDON in his evidence given before the Lords' Committee on the Great Extramural Cemetery Bill--opposed by the LORD BISHOP:--

"I wish, in a very few words, to explain that, when the bill was
first printed, the clergy were much alarmed. They saw that it would
interfere with the establishment of parochial burial grounds, and
they objected more particularly to the small amount of compensation
fees which the company intended to pay, viz., 1_s._ 8_d._ for the
open ground, and 2_s._ 6_d._ for the brick graves and vaults."

In the country it is a common thing to see sheep grazing in churchyards, but in London, by the account of the Bishop, the same pastures afford food to the shepherds. To the eye of chemists--who are ghost-seers--for ghost and gas "are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations"--what a picture is presented by a metropolitan incumbent praying at his reading desk against pestilence with the cause of it steaming up all around him in the shape of sulphuretted hydrogen, for the generation of which he is principally responsible! By all means give the intramural clergy compensation for the loss they may sustain by extramural cemeteries, though the poor innkeepers did not get any when their businesses were destroyed by the railroads. Let them be compensated even at the Bishop's estimate, which he says he "prevailed upon MR. CORFIELD" to adopt, viz., 2s. 6d. for the open ground and 6s. 6d. for the brick graves. Canterbury Registrars and fat pluralists will cut up one of these days sufficiently well to supply the needful: in the mean time let the _convives_ of the earthworm feed without the walls.

* * * * *

THE BRIDLE ROADS.

We see a book advertised under the title of "The Bridle Roads of Spain." We know very little about Spain, but can inform our fair readers (we mean the ladies) that the Great Bridal Roads of England are:--St. George's, Hanover Square, and Gretna Green.

* * * * *

[_Mr. Punch answers the question._]]

* * * * *

OUR TOURIST IN PARIS.--No. 9.

My dear fellow-countrymen who throng the theatres, the _cafes_, and the promenades of this gay city, may form very different opinions of its inhabitants and institutions; but on one point, I believe, they are all agreed; that, in common with the rest of the Continent, it is over-ridden with bureaus and bureaucracy. Every third man is an _employe_, a soldier, or a policeman. You cannot have a warm bath, without taking a ticket from a lady at a desk, nor indulge in a mild polka, without being watched by a man in a cocked hat. If you change your hotel, instant information must be sent to the Prefecture; if you want to send a telegraphic message to England, it must first receive the sanction of the Minister of Police; if you enter Paris from a country walk, with a great-coat on your arm, you will be pounced upon and searched at the Barriere. All this is disgusting to honest JOHN BULL, and he curses it with great force of language. "Thank goodness!" says he, "at all events, we are free from this miserable drilling, and marshalling, and boarding-school discipline." In England we certainly are.

Occasionally the London newspapers take the opportunity of an "illustrious foreigner's" visit, to contrast our liberty and their thraldom. The leading journal will point out with its usual epigrammatic terseness, varied illustration, good sense and eloquence, the advantage of letting people alone, and the extent to which our Government does let us alone. "His Highness, or Majesty, as the case may be, will ride for hours in our metropolis with out seeing a soldier or (especially if there's a row) a policeman." Blessed independence! but the contrast is much more striking, because more disagreeable to a wretched Englishmen, born to freedom, who finds himself in a mess on the Continent--a contingency which happens to one out of every dozen tourists. Those confounded passports form the monster grievance. Accordingly from July to November, not a week passes but some victim writes to complain that he is in confinement at Marseilles or Como, or somewhere or another, because his passport is lost or not _en regle_. Old JOLLYBOY, I recollect, wrote a tremendous letter to the _Times_ containing a column and a half of his adventures. It ought to have produced a reconsideration of the whole passport system, but it didn't. Those foreign governments are so dense!

And now little BOMBAZINE (who is "reading for the bar," like every young fellow about town that is not in the army) comes to your Correspondent, and complains of a grievance which throws all the foreign misdemeanours into the shade. He went to the English Embassy to get his passport signed, and _the man there could not speak English_! Now, by JOVE, HARRY is right, and it is too bad! Here are we every day ridiculing or cursing the villainous antiquated machinery of passports. We all know, and are never tired of repeating, that it works for the persecution of helpless timid travellers and the protection of brazen and ingenious criminals. (JOSEPH MAZZINI entered Italy a few months ago in the petticoats and "front" of an old woman, the policemen taking off their hats and paying compliments, while a poor English consumptive parson in search of health was marched off between two chasseurs as if he had been a pickpocket.) We complain reasonably enough that we travel everywhere scattering our livres sterling, making the fortunes of innkeepers, creating watering places, supporting entire branches of commerce, fostering capital cities, everywhere cheated, pitied, and laughed at, and yet foreign governments have not the sense to encourage such lucrative and harmless visitors, but do everything they can to prohibit our free locomotion. They are great asses, are they not? Call them all the names you like, and now believe, if you can, that an English establishment abroad is worse than them all. Our ambassador, as I understand from a diplomatic friend, receives a very tolerable income from his country by way of wages and compensation for exile, and yet cannot afford to keep a man in his office capable of communicating with the multitude of Britons who do not speak French.

We recollect a certain circular issued from the foreign office at Washington, which invited the United States' consuls and ambassadors to employ native Americans and none others in their offices. And quite right. It is bad enough to have to deal with foreigners about our passports where it is absolutely necessary, but when we go to our own Embassy we hope to meet with, if not the _personnel_ at least the language and plain good sense of the Anglo-Saxon. We _might_ expect to meet also there a disposition to smooth instead of aggravating the nuisances of the passport system, and, behold, we find an official with all the French bureaucratic humbug, and without a knowledge of our tongue. How such a monstrous absurdity could have arisen passes one's understanding. Good heavens! why every hotel, every _cafe_, every shop, nay every superior police office, contains one or more persons who speak English, and the English Embassy is the only establishment without one. Why don't some of those young swells come down from their room and do the passport business? Do they think it "low?" But hear HENRY BOMBAZINE.

"You know MRS. TOODLEHAM, my Aunt, is given to reading the papers in connexion with the prophecies, and has just got hold of a very entertaining book on those subjects called 'The Battle of Armageddon,' which has determined her to come to England at once with me. It's by one of those immensely knowing parties, you see, who tell you about the end of the world, give 'tips' in fact 'on future events,' like the Derby prophets in _Bell's Life_. Well, he says, that Russia is going to invade Jerusalem, and the English fleet is to sail into the Dead Sea--no--the United States' fleet is to sail into the Caspian--no--hang it! I never can recollect the names of places--at all events, there's to be an awful shindy somewhere, and England is the only safe place to go to. So I went to the Embassy to get the old lady's name put on my passport, and, as I said, the fellow couldn't speak a work of English. I tried him with French" (you _should_ hear dear HENRY'S French), "and could hardly make him understand then. He wanted first to see her passport, but, bless you, she hasn't got any. I don't suppose she ever had one, and at all events, if she had, must have lost it years ago. You know she came over to see LOUIS PHILIPPE crowned, and liked the place so much she has stayed ever since. And when I told him that, and offered references to bankers, and so forth--mind you, he's not over civil in his manner, I suppose because he can't make anything by the job--he opened his eyes till the eyebrows went right away into the hair of his head, and flatly refused. '_Savvy vous, Mossoo_,' said he, '_savvy vous que c'est une affaire tres serioose. Une affaire serioose_'--those were his very words. What do you think of that, because a poor old woman wants to get back to her native country out of the way of the battle of Armageddon? By JOVE, I know what I'll do. I'll write to the _Times_."

No, no, HARRY my boy, we'll do better for you than that. I'll send your history to _Mr. Punch_. He is great and good, my friend, and will see you righted if anybody can.

* * * * *

AGRICULTURAL IMPROVEMENTS.

The old proverb informs us, that "a reformed rake makes the best husband;" but, according to MECHI, it is "your reformed plough that makes the best husbandman"

* * * * *

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

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DRAT THE EASTERN QUESTION!

_To my Son_ PUNCH.