From Russian steppe, from Persian sand,From pine-fringed Norway fiord,From Elbe's and Eyder's peopled strandI've skimmed the sea—I've swept the land—Way for your lord!Come deck my board—prepare my bed,And let the trump of doomPeal out a march, that as I treadAbove the dying and the deadAll may make room!From far I snuff the odour sweetThat I do love the best;And wheresoe'er I set my feet,Courtiers and liegemen flock to greetTheir King confest.Well have you done your loyal part,My subjects and my slaves—In town and country, port and mart,All's ready—after my own heart—All—to the graves!What is my feast? These babes forpined;—Men ere their prime made old;—These sots, with strong drink bleared and blind—These herds of unsexed woman-kindFoul-mouthed and bold—These bodies, stunted, shrivelled, searedWith the malaria's breath;In fœtid dens and workshops reared;From reeking sewers, drains uncleared,Drinking in death.What is my court? These cellars piledWith filth of many a year—These rooms with rotting damps defiled—These alleys where the sun ne'er smiled,Darkling and drear!These streets along the river's bank,Below the rise of tide;These hovels, set in stifling rank,Sapped by the earth-damps green and dank—These cess-pools wide.These yards, whose heaps of dust and boneBreathe poison all around;These styes, whose swinish tenants grownHalf human, with their masters ownA common ground.What are my perfumes? Stink and stenchFrom slaughter-house and sewer;The oozing gas from opened trench,The effluvia of the pools that drenchCourt-yards impure.What is my music? Hard-wrung groansFrom strong men stricken down:Women's and children's feebler moans,And the slow death-bell's muffled tonesIn every town.Who are my lieges? Those that ruleIn Vestry and at Board;The Town-hall's glib and giddy fool,The mob's most abject slave and toolThough called its lord.He who with prate of Vested RightsOld forms of wrong defends;Who for pound-foolishness still fights,Wisdom, save penny-wisdom, slights;—These are my friends.
From Russian steppe, from Persian sand,From pine-fringed Norway fiord,From Elbe's and Eyder's peopled strandI've skimmed the sea—I've swept the land—Way for your lord!
From Russian steppe, from Persian sand,
From pine-fringed Norway fiord,
From Elbe's and Eyder's peopled strand
I've skimmed the sea—I've swept the land—
Way for your lord!
Come deck my board—prepare my bed,And let the trump of doomPeal out a march, that as I treadAbove the dying and the deadAll may make room!
Come deck my board—prepare my bed,
And let the trump of doom
Peal out a march, that as I tread
Above the dying and the dead
All may make room!
From far I snuff the odour sweetThat I do love the best;And wheresoe'er I set my feet,Courtiers and liegemen flock to greetTheir King confest.
From far I snuff the odour sweet
That I do love the best;
And wheresoe'er I set my feet,
Courtiers and liegemen flock to greet
Their King confest.
Well have you done your loyal part,My subjects and my slaves—In town and country, port and mart,All's ready—after my own heart—All—to the graves!
Well have you done your loyal part,
My subjects and my slaves—
In town and country, port and mart,
All's ready—after my own heart—
All—to the graves!
What is my feast? These babes forpined;—Men ere their prime made old;—These sots, with strong drink bleared and blind—These herds of unsexed woman-kindFoul-mouthed and bold—
What is my feast? These babes forpined;—
Men ere their prime made old;—
These sots, with strong drink bleared and blind—
These herds of unsexed woman-kind
Foul-mouthed and bold—
These bodies, stunted, shrivelled, searedWith the malaria's breath;In fœtid dens and workshops reared;From reeking sewers, drains uncleared,Drinking in death.
These bodies, stunted, shrivelled, seared
With the malaria's breath;
In fœtid dens and workshops reared;
From reeking sewers, drains uncleared,
Drinking in death.
What is my court? These cellars piledWith filth of many a year—These rooms with rotting damps defiled—These alleys where the sun ne'er smiled,Darkling and drear!
What is my court? These cellars piled
With filth of many a year—
These rooms with rotting damps defiled—
These alleys where the sun ne'er smiled,
Darkling and drear!
These streets along the river's bank,Below the rise of tide;These hovels, set in stifling rank,Sapped by the earth-damps green and dank—These cess-pools wide.
These streets along the river's bank,
Below the rise of tide;
These hovels, set in stifling rank,
Sapped by the earth-damps green and dank—
These cess-pools wide.
These yards, whose heaps of dust and boneBreathe poison all around;These styes, whose swinish tenants grownHalf human, with their masters ownA common ground.
These yards, whose heaps of dust and bone
Breathe poison all around;
These styes, whose swinish tenants grown
Half human, with their masters own
A common ground.
What are my perfumes? Stink and stenchFrom slaughter-house and sewer;The oozing gas from opened trench,The effluvia of the pools that drenchCourt-yards impure.
What are my perfumes? Stink and stench
From slaughter-house and sewer;
The oozing gas from opened trench,
The effluvia of the pools that drench
Court-yards impure.
What is my music? Hard-wrung groansFrom strong men stricken down:Women's and children's feebler moans,And the slow death-bell's muffled tonesIn every town.
What is my music? Hard-wrung groans
From strong men stricken down:
Women's and children's feebler moans,
And the slow death-bell's muffled tones
In every town.
Who are my lieges? Those that ruleIn Vestry and at Board;The Town-hall's glib and giddy fool,The mob's most abject slave and toolThough called its lord.
Who are my lieges? Those that rule
In Vestry and at Board;
The Town-hall's glib and giddy fool,
The mob's most abject slave and tool
Though called its lord.
He who with prate of Vested RightsOld forms of wrong defends;Who for pound-foolishness still fights,Wisdom, save penny-wisdom, slights;—These are my friends.
He who with prate of Vested Rights
Old forms of wrong defends;
Who for pound-foolishness still fights,
Wisdom, save penny-wisdom, slights;—
These are my friends.
We don't wonder that some of our Manchester friends should be content to see the Russian forces holding the Principalities. Those who object to the idleness of a military life must naturally admire an army of occupation.
MR. 'ARRY BELVILLE, ON THE CONTINENT GENERALLYMR. 'ARRY BELVILLE, ON THE CONTINENT GENERALLY.'Arry Belville."Yes! I like it extremely. I like theLazy allysort of feeling. I like sitting at the door of aCaffyto smoke my Cigar; and above all(onter noo)it's a great comfort to wear one's Beard without bein' larfed at!"
'Arry Belville."Yes! I like it extremely. I like theLazy allysort of feeling. I like sitting at the door of aCaffyto smoke my Cigar; and above all(onter noo)it's a great comfort to wear one's Beard without bein' larfed at!"
"The Steppes of Russia are long dreary tracts, extremely tedious and very difficult to get over, requiring the greatest patience so as not to lose yourself in the midst of their interminable flatness; and, on my word, the same thing may be said of the diplomatic steps of the same country."—Aberdeen."Meeting one's constituents is sometimes as disagreeable as meeting a bill; but still it must be done, for the form of the thing, if it is only to save one's political credit."—Disraeli."The fault is not so much in bribing, as in being found out."—W. B."The only balls England should fight her battles with should be balls of cotton; the only shot, shot-silks'"—Bright."There are two kinds of M. P.'s; those who confine themselves to merely representing the people, and those who think it their duty also to represent their wrongs and grievances."—Roebuck."If I had my way I would very soon make the Russians leave the Danubian provinces. I should say to them very plainly, "Sortez, Messieurs, voilà la Porte;" and, if they didn't, I would soon make them."—Palmerston."I wouldn't dine with a Custom House officer, not even if he was to invite me, for I should be afraid he would always stop the bottle and never pass the wine."—B. Oliveira."Dentists stop vacancies in teeth by filling them up with gold, and really I know of no better plan for filling up a vacancy in Parliament."—Coppock."What's the use of my having a seat, if you will not allow me to sit down upon it?"—Rothschild."TheEmperor Napoleondistinguished himself, it is true, in taking a few capitals; but let me ask what capital can stand in the way ofLouis Napoleonwithout his immediately taking it? Such an Emperor is worth a fortune—aye, several fortunes—to France."—Malmesbury."The fact of the House sitting till so late an hour in the morning may, perhaps, account for there being so few rising men in Parliament."—Brotherton."Peace is the only commodity that, in a commercial country like England, one can never pay too dearly for, but then you should purchase it always in the cheapest market, and sell it in the dearest. But selling it is out of the question, for it is my advice to keep the peace, and not to sell it."—Cobden.
"The Steppes of Russia are long dreary tracts, extremely tedious and very difficult to get over, requiring the greatest patience so as not to lose yourself in the midst of their interminable flatness; and, on my word, the same thing may be said of the diplomatic steps of the same country."—Aberdeen.
"Meeting one's constituents is sometimes as disagreeable as meeting a bill; but still it must be done, for the form of the thing, if it is only to save one's political credit."—Disraeli.
"The fault is not so much in bribing, as in being found out."—W. B.
"The only balls England should fight her battles with should be balls of cotton; the only shot, shot-silks'"—Bright.
"There are two kinds of M. P.'s; those who confine themselves to merely representing the people, and those who think it their duty also to represent their wrongs and grievances."—Roebuck.
"If I had my way I would very soon make the Russians leave the Danubian provinces. I should say to them very plainly, "Sortez, Messieurs, voilà la Porte;" and, if they didn't, I would soon make them."—Palmerston.
"I wouldn't dine with a Custom House officer, not even if he was to invite me, for I should be afraid he would always stop the bottle and never pass the wine."—B. Oliveira.
"Dentists stop vacancies in teeth by filling them up with gold, and really I know of no better plan for filling up a vacancy in Parliament."—Coppock.
"What's the use of my having a seat, if you will not allow me to sit down upon it?"—Rothschild.
"TheEmperor Napoleondistinguished himself, it is true, in taking a few capitals; but let me ask what capital can stand in the way ofLouis Napoleonwithout his immediately taking it? Such an Emperor is worth a fortune—aye, several fortunes—to France."—Malmesbury.
"The fact of the House sitting till so late an hour in the morning may, perhaps, account for there being so few rising men in Parliament."—Brotherton.
"Peace is the only commodity that, in a commercial country like England, one can never pay too dearly for, but then you should purchase it always in the cheapest market, and sell it in the dearest. But selling it is out of the question, for it is my advice to keep the peace, and not to sell it."—Cobden.
SSOME ofMr. Punch'scontemporaries have been circulating, together with other small change, an account of a plant, newly discovered in California by a Viennese. This plant, they say, "is about a foot in height, and fades away in May, revealing to the astonished botanist a ball of natural soap, contained within its stalk, and superior to the best brown Windsor." They have forgotten, however, to add some particulars, whichMr. Punch, in his zeal for the public service, has taken pains to collect. He has ascertained that, out of one hundred and twenty-nine persons who have read this paragraph, thirty-two have observed, "that the properties of the plant are evidently soap-orific;" twenty-eight have opined "that, when Nature planted it in California she must have had an eye to the gold-washing;" sixty have pronounced authoritatively, "that the discoverer of the plant ought at once to be made a Companion of the Bath;" eight have expressed their surprise "that it should have been discovered by a German, who could have had but little previous knowledge of the article which it is said to produce;" whilst the remaining person, an eminent boiler in the City, who prides himself upon his French accent, remarked that, "they might say it had been discovered by a German naturalist, but that, for his part, he should always think it had been found out by a Frenchsavon."Mr. Punchhas further ascertained that, in the Californian dialect of the language of flowers, this plant signifies "I wash my hands of you!" and is employed by ladies to intimate their rejection of an unwelcome suit.
SOME ofMr. Punch'scontemporaries have been circulating, together with other small change, an account of a plant, newly discovered in California by a Viennese. This plant, they say, "is about a foot in height, and fades away in May, revealing to the astonished botanist a ball of natural soap, contained within its stalk, and superior to the best brown Windsor." They have forgotten, however, to add some particulars, whichMr. Punch, in his zeal for the public service, has taken pains to collect. He has ascertained that, out of one hundred and twenty-nine persons who have read this paragraph, thirty-two have observed, "that the properties of the plant are evidently soap-orific;" twenty-eight have opined "that, when Nature planted it in California she must have had an eye to the gold-washing;" sixty have pronounced authoritatively, "that the discoverer of the plant ought at once to be made a Companion of the Bath;" eight have expressed their surprise "that it should have been discovered by a German, who could have had but little previous knowledge of the article which it is said to produce;" whilst the remaining person, an eminent boiler in the City, who prides himself upon his French accent, remarked that, "they might say it had been discovered by a German naturalist, but that, for his part, he should always think it had been found out by a Frenchsavon."Mr. Punchhas further ascertained that, in the Californian dialect of the language of flowers, this plant signifies "I wash my hands of you!" and is employed by ladies to intimate their rejection of an unwelcome suit.
The lovers of the marvellous will be sorry to hear that the Chelsea Ghost is a spirit raised by the penny-a-liners in the hope of raising their own spirits by a few extra pence during the present dull season. We felt quite sure that directly the police went in search of the apparition, it would not appear to any summons that might be served upon it; and when we were told thatSergeant Somebodyhad walked through the ghost, we were convinced the real fact must have been that if there was a ghost at all, the police, instead of walking through it, would have walked into it. We felt perfectly satisfied that the spectre must vanish before the inspector, and we are happy, for the sake of common sense, to find publicity given to the fact, that the Chelsea Ghost lives only in the imagination of the unhappy paragraph-mongers, who have been tempted to idealise a spirit for the purpose of realising an extra glass of grog or some "other compound."
Toast for Tavern Landlords.—The Cricketer, who always runs up a score by his innings.
Toast for Tavern Landlords.—The Cricketer, who always runs up a score by his innings.
WWITH that spirit of zealous self-sacrifice which becomes his office, your Correspondent has visited the great masqued ball at the Opera, that terminates the festivities of the Carnival. He was accompanied by the rising diplomatistGeorge Ernest Clarence Protocol, whose filmy white choker, pink shirt, opal studs, and shining boots were truly an honour to his country. At one o'clock his Brougham whirled us rapidly to the theatre. The streets were alive with people. A masqued ball is a fête for those who can't go as well as for those who can. Riotous groups in costume were exchanging badinage with the crowd and each other as they converged to the great point of attraction. Flaring gas-lights illuminated the street down which we turned out of the Boulevard, and showed to advantage two bearded and cloaked warriors on horseback, who looked as if they might be part of the entertainment. More flaring gas-lights, like a butcher's shop on Saturday night; more picturesque mounted swordsmen—the Brougham pulls up, and we alight amid the respectful congratulations of the officials. We mount the stairs in company of masks, dominoes, and persons in ordinary evening dress, and pass into the Salle.
WITH that spirit of zealous self-sacrifice which becomes his office, your Correspondent has visited the great masqued ball at the Opera, that terminates the festivities of the Carnival. He was accompanied by the rising diplomatistGeorge Ernest Clarence Protocol, whose filmy white choker, pink shirt, opal studs, and shining boots were truly an honour to his country. At one o'clock his Brougham whirled us rapidly to the theatre. The streets were alive with people. A masqued ball is a fête for those who can't go as well as for those who can. Riotous groups in costume were exchanging badinage with the crowd and each other as they converged to the great point of attraction. Flaring gas-lights illuminated the street down which we turned out of the Boulevard, and showed to advantage two bearded and cloaked warriors on horseback, who looked as if they might be part of the entertainment. More flaring gas-lights, like a butcher's shop on Saturday night; more picturesque mounted swordsmen—the Brougham pulls up, and we alight amid the respectful congratulations of the officials. We mount the stairs in company of masks, dominoes, and persons in ordinary evening dress, and pass into the Salle.
The effect is bewildering, overwhelming. The theatre is open to the uttermost back wall, and, even so, barely holds the multitude of dancers. The orchestra is probably the noisiest in the world, but is nothing to the astounding din of the people. No words can describe the combination of the two. As for the spectacle, several thousand lunatics, in the violent stage, capering and gesticulating under a strong paroxysm of their malady, will present a faint picture of it. The madmen are all costumed, and resent the appearance of a black coat in their terrific orgies. Probably it reminds them of the medical gentlemen from whom they have escaped. There is a sprinkling of Greeks, knights, nobles ofLouis the Thirteenth, shepherdesses, court ladies, and so forth; but the prevalent costume of the men is the white and red of a Pierrot; of the ladies, the chemise and trowsers of adébardeur. It is this division that makes the most clamour and has the greatest enjoyment of the fun. Groups of the white figures with floured faces, tall hats, and streaming ribbons loll in the boxes, and hold a "chaffing" conversation with those below, which may be witty, but, at all events, is deafening. The young ladies in the embroidered shirts, satin pantaloons, and trim hats, beneath which their hair descends in long plaited tails, contribute at least their fair share to the uproar. But, besides, there are other characters not so intelligible. One grotesque shape is composed entirely of seaweed, or what looks like it; another is in rags, with carrots and turnips on his head; a third sports a chimney pot as a head dress; a fourth is surmounted by a weathercock. There is no limit to the fantastic combinations thus arrived at, which are generally more odd than pleasant; and any enterprising individual who should make his appearance in a very dirty shirt, a crownless hat, and a pair of pumps would, probably, make rather a hit than otherwise.
It must be confessed, after the first half-hour, when the eye is more accustomed to the scene, and the ear has begun to discriminate between the various noises, the refined taste of your Correspondent (used to the assemblies ofMonsieur Jullien) was very much outraged. The orchestra is simply infamous, nothing being audible but sounding brass and the jangling cymbal; the house is foully dirty and badly lighted. The company is shabbily dressed, and, apparently, includes many of the lowest ruffians of Paris. On the other hand, there is immense enjoyment and fun, and the dancing made even your travelling sage open the eyes of astonishment.
The police, of course, are everywhere, and at the ordinary public balls interfere to moderate the antics of the dancers. But at the masqued balls they let things take their course; and the consequence is, that each lady and gentleman, to the best of her or his ability, indulges in those variations on the quadrille which are collectively objectionable. They are, in musical phrase, perfectlyad libitum, and give scope for an exercise of fancy and agility, which would produce rather a sensation atAlmacks. There was one couple,Morokthe Lion Tamer in red and hessians, and adébardeurin yellow trowsers and a powdered peruke, who really were astounding.Morokended by carrying off his friend on his shoulders, to the great delight of a fat Pompier, who stood by in a bright brass helmet, exactly like a small coalscuttle.
Protocolleads the way to thefoyer, where a totally different scene presents itself. This saloon is consecrated to persons in evening dress and dominoes, no costumed characters being admitted. This is the resort of all the "swells." Of course the blond children of Albion muster strongly, and, indeed, rather eclipse the native gentlemen with their severe hauteur and stately presence. Some of the ladies are in ball dresses, and hang on the arm of cavaliers; the majority are in that mysterious envelope which recallsAuber'scharming comic opera, and employ themselves in puzzling, or, as they say, "intriguing," whatever acquaintances they recognise.Protocolis immediately attacked by a tall black domino, whose eyes sparkle with a lustre no mask can hide. She whispers something in his ear which heightens his colour, and is gone before he can demand an explanation. Now, by the shades ofRadcliffeandSir Walter, there is romance in the nineteenth century! Protocol, you must practise the guitar and learn a collection of serenades "arranged to suit a voice of moderate compass." "My dear fellow," replied the diplomatist, "I thought no one in the world knew what that lovely creature (I'm sure she's lovely) told me. Just fancy if she should turn out to be as noble and rich as she is beautiful. Hey?" Ah,Protocol, as you say, just fancy! Why there she is again.Machiavelis off in a trice and pursues the fair who flies from him. The Contemplative One entertains himself with hearing the adventures of youngTweedles, who has just joined the Lancers, and is away on a fortnight's leave. The poor child was induced to present a white domino with about five pounds' worth ofsucre de pommes, which he afterwards saw her resell to the Marchand, to his infinite disgust. "You know," complained he, "it ain't the money I care for, but it's such a howwid baw to be an object of widicule to a dem Fwenchwoman. They widicule evewy one, and wespect nothing. No wonder they're always having wevolutions and upsetting weligion, and all that sort of thing. Let's make up a supper party at theCafé Anglais. You know my cousinSwellings Swellings, and there'sDe Faultre, who was in the 20th Black Guards, but wesides in Pawis now—playsécartevewy well—twemendous luck—always turning up the king. I hopePwotocolwill come and bwing his fwend."
Another look at the lunatics, who are worse than ever.Morokand the party in yellow satin trowsers excel themselves. The Cherokees shake their plumes and howl after a most horrid sort. The Pierrots redouble their "chaff," and make up in clamour what they want in wit. The Carnival is on its last legs, and does not spare them. It is still alive, and kicking. A few hours hence, and those pious persons will be repenting of their sins on cabbage and onions. Ah! as the lady with the camellias says,Quelle belle chose que la religion!
When Sardis revolted againstCyrus, a wise captive gave the angry monarch this advice: "Send men among them to teach them to fiddle and dance and love pleasure, and they will never more give you any trouble." I wonder if Paris would revolt now againstCyrus.
Supper at theMaison Dorée. Alittleconsomméwith poached eggs, afilet aux champignons, and a salad with a bottle of Champagne.Protocol'sacquaintance, it appears, was theblanchisseuseof the Embassy, an exceedingly respectable person of fifty. The rising diplomatist seemed rather sore on the subject ofLe Domino Noir, which became the principal topic of conversation in consequence. Of course, the secret she told him must have been about his washing-bill.
The present opinion of the Sage is, that pleasure, and indeed things in general, are vanity.Bals masquésare noisy, dusty, and dull. People ought not to pay, but be paid, for going to them. Monastic institutions have charms for a well-constituted mind. Literary pursuits are laborious and not sufficiently remunerated. When Champagne is not good, it has disagreeable effects on your health the next day. Bring me someCognacandEau de Seltz. Oh dear, I wish had cut the supper.
I wish had cut the supper
The Grand Opéra at Paris has just re-opened, after a perfect "restoration" made by order of theEmperor, who is more favourable to a "restoration" in affairs of the drama than in affairs of politics. The theatre has been gorgeously re-decorated and overlaid with a profusion of gold, which stands out in all the bold effrontery of gilt beneath the blaze of a thousand gaslights. Even the members of the orchestra are elaborately got up, and though not absolutely bound hand and foot at the will of theEmperor, they are literally taken by the throat, for they are compelled to appear in white neckcloths. Every instrumental performer must become a member of the stiff-necked fraternity if he wishes to be engaged at the Grand Opéra; and it matters little what may be his reputation, or how illustrious may be the stock to which he belongs, if he refuses to bind himself to the tie prescribed by the French Government. Such is the pliancy with which all classes now bow their necks to the ruling power, that we have not heard of one instance in which the forced application of the starched cravat has roused any artist's choler. It is, however, feared that in a very heavy and fatiguing opera the time of some of the pieces will have to be changed, in order that the orchestra may get a few bars' rest to adjust their neck-ties, which some of the tremendouscrescendomovements ofMeyerbeerwill be likely to derange. We tremble to think of the consequences of the "Blessing of the Poignards" on the cravats of the poor fiddlers.
It was intended to inaugurate a statue ofLouis Napoleonat Lille, bearing the inscription—"To the Protector of Native Sugar." It was, however, abandoned for re-consideration. It will probably be amended as follows, and the statue inaugurated on the 2nd of December—"To the Protector of Native Sugar—of lead."
We perceive that all Military Hats are to be superseded in the British Army by a "Felt Helmet." We trust this arrangement will prevent everything but the helmet from being "felt"—on the head of the soldier.
The copy of an address of British residents at Boulogne lay for signature—as British residents were duly informed by theImpartial—at the library ofMrs. Moneydue. We have been favoured with the various reasons—and subjoin a few—the exquisite reasons that, delighting and uplifting the British brain—induced the British residents and visitors to write themselves down the very humble and much obliged servants of theEmperor of France.
Mr. Alderman Greenfatsigned "because he likes a strong Government. He also likes success; there is no getting on in this world without it. Has always believed that the French were only to be ruled with a rod of iron, and believed thatLouis Napoleonwas the very man to keep that rod in pickle."
Mr. Shadrach Shekels, money scrivener, signed "because he would always support legitimate government. Him as was strongest was always most legitimate. As a conscientious Jew he didn't care about France, having, of course, his serious thoughts fixed on settling down in his old age in New Jerusalem. Didn't think much ofLouis Napoleonwhen once upon a time he come into the City of London with his bills: wouldn't look at his paper at no price. But times is changed. Would do his bill now—if not at avery long date—not only with pleasure, but with great interest."
Captain Plantagenet Simcox(of the Stonehenge Yeomanry), signed "because he likedPLUCK. And theEmperorhad shown himself a clever fellow. He had proved to Europe that he had head beside pluck. Without pluck, who could have a stake in any country?"
Professor Wobblessigned "because he considered His Imperial Majesty to be one ofPlutarch'smen. TheEmperorhad the true heroic nose. It was a vulgar error that the world was governed by heads: no; the noses carried it. Waterloo was won by a nose. The nose is the natural sceptre. TheEmperorwas born a natural."
John Straight, Esq., (retired on his property) signed because "he thought theEmperorso very much improved, having sown all his wild oats. Was residing at Boulogne whenLouis Napoleonlanded, and was bundled like a sack of sawdust into a cart and delivered at the prison. But circumstances being changed, would now with the greatest pleasure give in his adhesion to the Saviour and Protector of France!"
Mrs. Deputy Botolphwould sign "because the dearEmperorhad asked herself andJemimato the ball at the Tooleries; besides, His Majesty looked such a hero upon horseback."
Miss Agnes Bochurchsigned "with a sense of gratitude to the dearEmpress, who had brought in such a darling style of dressing the hair." MissA. B.was, when in Paris,oncetaken for theEmpress.
OneMr. Rhodes, of Carlisle Street, Lambeth, is summoned before the Lambeth Street Magistrate to answer for the—what shall we call it—indiscretion (?) of boiling down putrid fat on his premises to the prejudice of the health of his neighbours, causing thereby "nausea, and even vomiting."Mr. Seckerturns to the wisdom of Parliament enshrined in the Nuisance Act, but found that—
"The words relating to any dwelling-house or building being found in a filthy and unwholesome conditionapplied not, as he took it, to places wherea trade or business was carried on, but to common lodging-houses and places of that description, and the other part of the clausedid not apply to the premises described."
"The words relating to any dwelling-house or building being found in a filthy and unwholesome conditionapplied not, as he took it, to places wherea trade or business was carried on, but to common lodging-houses and places of that description, and the other part of the clausedid not apply to the premises described."
That is, if you can make a trade of a nuisance, if you can "carry on a business" by fat-melting, the evil to the public is to be allowed because of the profit to the individual. You may turn a whole parish sick, if you can turn the penny upon their "nausea and vomiting."
TheMorning Heraldhas recently made an approach to the principle of abolishing the anonymous in newspaper writing, and has made a sort of indirect disclosure of its editorship, by meeting the public half-way in authorising an impression that has long existed in the minds of the community. TheHeraldof Tuesday, the 20th of September, after saying, "wehave been favoured with the following letter," prints a communication beginning "My dear Mamma." It is clear that to have made the avowal of its severally imputed editorship complete, the letter should have commenced with the words, "My dear Grandmamma."
We have heard a good deal lately about the "position taken by Turkey;" and as the attitude assumed has been undoubtedly rather warlike, we may come to the conclusion that the "position taken by Turkey" is in fact standing on her drum-sticks.
(From our Own Four-Mil-a-Liner)
(From our Own Four-Mil-a-Liner)
MMIRACULOUS escape—Another of those distressing accidents which too often lead to a melancholy catastrophe took place on Wednesday evening last. A party of four adventurous gentlemen, who had resolved on visiting the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, after a quiet dinner at their club, proceeded to that edifice, and, under the direction of a guide, actually penetrated the labyrinths to the lowest box on the opposite side from that at which they entered. Having achieved this feat, and feasted their eyes upon the scenery thus set before them, one of them announced his intention of attempting to get out of the theatre alone. His companions sought to dissuade him from this foolhardy exploit; but, flushed, it is supposed, with an extra half-pint of St. Estephe, the traveller, a remarkably fine young man, to whom his friends were not in the least attached, departed on the perilous enterprise. He ascended eleven staircases, descended fourteen, and, having gone backwards and forwards through twenty-two of the passages which come from nowhere and lead to nothing, in this most wonderfully constructed building, he made the appalling discovery that he had lost his way.
MIRACULOUS escape—Another of those distressing accidents which too often lead to a melancholy catastrophe took place on Wednesday evening last. A party of four adventurous gentlemen, who had resolved on visiting the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, after a quiet dinner at their club, proceeded to that edifice, and, under the direction of a guide, actually penetrated the labyrinths to the lowest box on the opposite side from that at which they entered. Having achieved this feat, and feasted their eyes upon the scenery thus set before them, one of them announced his intention of attempting to get out of the theatre alone. His companions sought to dissuade him from this foolhardy exploit; but, flushed, it is supposed, with an extra half-pint of St. Estephe, the traveller, a remarkably fine young man, to whom his friends were not in the least attached, departed on the perilous enterprise. He ascended eleven staircases, descended fourteen, and, having gone backwards and forwards through twenty-two of the passages which come from nowhere and lead to nothing, in this most wonderfully constructed building, he made the appalling discovery that he had lost his way.
With the true Anglo-Saxon courage, he continued to explore undauntedly, and at one period went down deep into the bowels of the earth, where, far above his head, he could distinctly hear the trampling of feet, and where, in the darkness, he stumbled upon certain whitish objects which may have been either the skeletons of other lost travellers, or else property busts and statues. At length, overcome by terror and thirst, he rushed upwards, and continued to mount until he reached the dizzy height where the air was so intensely rarified as to smell of oranges and gingerbeer, and where, he states, he could distinctly hear the voice ofMr. Gustavus BrookerecommendingMiss Featherstoneto go to a nunnery. His sufferings at this period were most acute, and his despairing efforts to open every door he saw were agonizing.
Retracing his steps, he explored every lonely passage, dusty avenue, and dark staircase in vain, and finally he conceived the daring resolution of setting the theatre on fire, in the hope that assistance might thus be summoned, but was prevented by the want of material. At one time he says that he heard female voices, and immediately addressed to the speaker those imploring accents to which woman never listens unmoved; but his words were flung back to him by the echoes with an injurious addition of something sounding like "Tipsy, I suppose." At last, fairly overcome, he sat down upon an extremely dirty couch, and resigned himself to his fate. How many dreadful hours thus passed he knows not, but on returning to consciousness he found himself among kind faces, and being carried over to the nearest tavern he was subjected to a course of restoratives, including alcohol and nicotine, and was finally able to walk home with some straightness. It is hoped that this will be a warning, and inasmuch as proper guides can always be obtained for a shilling, there is really no excuse for running so terrible a risk as that of trying to leave the private boxes of Drury Lane without assistance.
In theGiornale di Roma, of the 25th ultimo, appears a document called the "Act of Beatification" ofFather Johnof Britto, a Jesuit, who suffered martyrdom in 1693; so that, after the lapse of 160 years,His Holiness the Popehas "beatified" the martyred Jesuit—madeFather Johnhappy at last. The Holy See is really as dilatory in beatifying parties, or making them happy, as the High Court of Chancery. The Church of Rome treats saints as some other churchmen treat bottles of port—laying them down to acquire the right flavour, as well asbouquet, notwithstanding that the latter ought to have been already possessed by individuals who had died in the odour of sanctity. Miracles, we believe, are necessary to canonization; no miracles, no Saintship: no niche in the calendar. Our ultra-montane friends tell us that miracles, "the apparition ofLa Salette" for instance, are rigidly investigated at Rome; but it must be difficult to sift those which occurred above 160 years ago, unless the witnesses are cross-examined by table-rapping, or some equivalent means of communicating with the defunct. However, the case ofFather Johnmay teach those whom it may concern not to be disheartened by the delay of their beatification by the Roman Pontiffs, by showing them that though they may have had to wait more than a century and a half for their beatitude, they "may be happy yet."
Proverbial philosophy will occasionally fail, and we need go no further for an instance than the well known maxim as to the propriety of "a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together." Take six hearty coalheavers, and, putting between them a pot of porter, call upon them to take "a long pull and a strong pull," if you please; but pause before you invite them to the impracticable operation of "a pull all together."
There's strength in rock, to take the shockOf wave, with naked brows;There's pith in oak, to mock the strokeOf wind, with stubborn boughs;But where grew wood, and where rock stoodWind blows and sea-wave ploughs.I am not rock, I am not oak;My roots are short and slight;With foes more grave than wind or waveIt is my lot to fight.'Gainst Time and Life I wage a strife—My name isVested Right!And still I stand, all through the land,With face for every foe;—The Vestry's lord—its law my word—I deal my "aye" and "no:"—On Boards of Health I glide by stealth,All new lights out to blow.As Alderman, whene'er I canThe civic roast I rule;My fingers fold all icy-coldRound Charity and School;From off the Bench, Law's sword I wrench,And make the blade my tool.From high St. Paul's my vision fallsUpon a world of slaves;That foul line rounds my kingdom's boundsWith intramural graves;Yon pall of smoke, that Heaven doth choke—'Tis my black flag that waves!As Kings of old, when they would holdA Progress through the land,Had hunting-seat or palace meetStill ready at command;So seats are mine, where lodgings line,Garnished and swept do stand—'Tis where doth stream the fœtid steamFrom the bone-boiler's vat,The knacker's yard, which penned and barred,Sends out its odours fat;The slaughter-vault, whence, ne'er at fault,Peereth the carrion rat.In tanneries' stink, on cesspools' brink,I sit and sleep and snuff;The fever's breath brings me no death,I hold such terrors stuff;The odours flung from Smithfield dungTo me smell sweet enough.I've my own graves to take the slavesWhom 'tis my mood to kill;The parish may the cost defray,Full pits my pockets ill.I've gains allowed from shell and shroud—Each pauper brings his bill!When of my field an inch I yield,I yield it nothing loath;The vacant spot is straight a plotFor Compensation's growth—That vigorous weed whose fruitful seedI sow and harvest both.While thus I rule, the good old schoolRebellious spirits tames:My sway supports in camps and courts—One shape of many names!Who dares make fight 'gainst Vested Right?Who dares gainsay my claims?
There's strength in rock, to take the shockOf wave, with naked brows;There's pith in oak, to mock the strokeOf wind, with stubborn boughs;But where grew wood, and where rock stoodWind blows and sea-wave ploughs.
There's strength in rock, to take the shock
Of wave, with naked brows;
There's pith in oak, to mock the stroke
Of wind, with stubborn boughs;
But where grew wood, and where rock stood
Wind blows and sea-wave ploughs.
I am not rock, I am not oak;My roots are short and slight;With foes more grave than wind or waveIt is my lot to fight.'Gainst Time and Life I wage a strife—My name isVested Right!
I am not rock, I am not oak;
My roots are short and slight;
With foes more grave than wind or wave
It is my lot to fight.
'Gainst Time and Life I wage a strife—
My name isVested Right!
And still I stand, all through the land,With face for every foe;—The Vestry's lord—its law my word—I deal my "aye" and "no:"—On Boards of Health I glide by stealth,All new lights out to blow.
And still I stand, all through the land,
With face for every foe;—
The Vestry's lord—its law my word—
I deal my "aye" and "no:"—
On Boards of Health I glide by stealth,
All new lights out to blow.
As Alderman, whene'er I canThe civic roast I rule;My fingers fold all icy-coldRound Charity and School;From off the Bench, Law's sword I wrench,And make the blade my tool.
As Alderman, whene'er I can
The civic roast I rule;
My fingers fold all icy-cold
Round Charity and School;
From off the Bench, Law's sword I wrench,
And make the blade my tool.
From high St. Paul's my vision fallsUpon a world of slaves;That foul line rounds my kingdom's boundsWith intramural graves;Yon pall of smoke, that Heaven doth choke—'Tis my black flag that waves!
From high St. Paul's my vision falls
Upon a world of slaves;
That foul line rounds my kingdom's bounds
With intramural graves;
Yon pall of smoke, that Heaven doth choke—
'Tis my black flag that waves!
As Kings of old, when they would holdA Progress through the land,Had hunting-seat or palace meetStill ready at command;So seats are mine, where lodgings line,Garnished and swept do stand—
As Kings of old, when they would hold
A Progress through the land,
Had hunting-seat or palace meet
Still ready at command;
So seats are mine, where lodgings line,
Garnished and swept do stand—
'Tis where doth stream the fœtid steamFrom the bone-boiler's vat,The knacker's yard, which penned and barred,Sends out its odours fat;The slaughter-vault, whence, ne'er at fault,Peereth the carrion rat.
'Tis where doth stream the fœtid steam
From the bone-boiler's vat,
The knacker's yard, which penned and barred,
Sends out its odours fat;
The slaughter-vault, whence, ne'er at fault,
Peereth the carrion rat.
In tanneries' stink, on cesspools' brink,I sit and sleep and snuff;The fever's breath brings me no death,I hold such terrors stuff;The odours flung from Smithfield dungTo me smell sweet enough.
In tanneries' stink, on cesspools' brink,
I sit and sleep and snuff;
The fever's breath brings me no death,
I hold such terrors stuff;
The odours flung from Smithfield dung
To me smell sweet enough.
I've my own graves to take the slavesWhom 'tis my mood to kill;The parish may the cost defray,Full pits my pockets ill.I've gains allowed from shell and shroud—Each pauper brings his bill!
I've my own graves to take the slaves
Whom 'tis my mood to kill;
The parish may the cost defray,
Full pits my pockets ill.
I've gains allowed from shell and shroud—
Each pauper brings his bill!
When of my field an inch I yield,I yield it nothing loath;The vacant spot is straight a plotFor Compensation's growth—That vigorous weed whose fruitful seedI sow and harvest both.
When of my field an inch I yield,
I yield it nothing loath;
The vacant spot is straight a plot
For Compensation's growth—
That vigorous weed whose fruitful seed
I sow and harvest both.
While thus I rule, the good old schoolRebellious spirits tames:My sway supports in camps and courts—One shape of many names!Who dares make fight 'gainst Vested Right?Who dares gainsay my claims?
While thus I rule, the good old school
Rebellious spirits tames:
My sway supports in camps and courts—
One shape of many names!
Who dares make fight 'gainst Vested Right?
Who dares gainsay my claims?
A Haunted House is a tenement of any number of ordinary stories, to which is added an extraordinary one, in the form of a Ghost Story.
THE GREAT MOUSTACHE MOVEMENTTHE GREAT MOUSTACHE MOVEMENT—FAIR PLAY FOR THE BAKER.
THE GREAT MOUSTACHE MOVEMENT—FAIR PLAY FOR THE BAKER.
One of our contemporaries—theObserver—not satisfied with registering the mere dinner-givings,déjeûners, migrations, and marriages of the "upper classes," has just started a new department, to which the rather alarming title of "Accidents in High Life" has been given. We are henceforth, it seems, to be treated to the details of aristocratic mishaps, and the public press is to inform us howLord Tom Noddytumbled into a ditch while hunting, or what slips have been made byLady So-and-So. We presume we may anticipate, under the thrilling title of "Accidents in High Life," a few such paragraphs as the following:—
"We regret to hear of a rather uncomfortable casualty having occurred to the youngEarl of Spoonbill. His lordship, while riding in Piccadilly, had the misfortune to run over a young miscreant who was carrying a basket of oranges. The young nobleman was somewhat shaken by the concussion, which it is understood was sufficiently violent to break the legs of the unhappy wretch who was the cause of it; but, as we ran by the side of his lordship's horse, to be able to give our readers the latest particulars of his health, we did not wait to hear the fate of the degraded creature, who is, we hope, by this time expiating in a jail the offence of obstructing a thoroughfare and causing a temporary agitation to a member of a noble family. Repeated inquiries at his lordship's area-gate have satisfied us that there is no further cause for alarm. The noble earl was attended by the family apothecary, who "exhibited" a Sedlitz powder over night, and beef tea in the morning.
A complaint has been made against the Trustees of the British Museum, that they keep hoarded up several hundreds of duplicate coins, which might be sold or otherwise advantageously disposed of. It certainly does appear at first sight rather useless to keep several hundred pieces of money of the same sort; but perhaps the Trustees think it would not be prudent to leave themselves without one shilling or penny, as the case may be, to rub against another.
(To Mr. Punch.)
(To Mr. Punch.)
"Sir,
"Although yours is not a medical journal, I am sure you will readily give insertion to a few lines, which may be rendered, by means of your enormous circulation, instrumental in the preservation of thousands of lives. Cases of recent occurrence have fearfully exemplified the fact—previously well enough established—of the dependence of Asiatic Cholera, in common with Typhus and other pestilences, on the inhalation of the gaseous products of putrefactive decomposition. These consist principally of sulphuretted hydrogen; indeed that gas is, there can be no doubt, the noxious agent. Now, Sir, I wish to direct public attention to an infallible preventive of Cholera, and every other disease of zymotic origin, which, in the form of an antidote against the gas that occasions them, is presented to us by Homœopathy. You know that the cardinal doctrine of that science is thatsimilia similibus curantur; like cures like. Well, Sir; there is a gaseous compound analogous to, or like, sulphuretted hydrogen: I mean seleniuretted hydrogen, also called hydro-selenic acid. The inhalation of a measure of atmospheric air, otherwise pure, containing one part in ten billions of this gas, will secure any individual whatever against both Cholera, and the whole class of affections resulting from the same cause.
"Observe, only, that in order that the remedy may be enabled to act all impediments to its operation must be carefully removed. Sulphuretted hydrogen must cease to be breathed. The drainage of the neighbourhood should be rendered efficient; all the sewers should be flushed and trapped; all the cesspools stopped; all the graveyards closed; all the knackers' yards, bone-boilers', and catgut makers' establishments and every other description of nuisance in the neighbourhood abated.
"No other subsidiary conditions are requisite, except personal ablution, wholesome food, and abstinence from intoxicating quantities of gin, and other alcoholic fluids."
"Pestle."
Sweets to the Sweet.—Woman is a beautiful flower, that can be told, in the dark even, by its (s)talk.
Sweets to the Sweet.—Woman is a beautiful flower, that can be told, in the dark even, by its (s)talk.
SSEEMINGLY everybody is getting so very polite to everybody else that it is beginning to be almost impossible for two or three persons to get together without a meeting of two being got up to present the third with a testimonial. If a steam-boat goes on a rather lengthy voyage, there is sure to be a party mustered to pass flattering resolutions expressive of confidence in the captain, although the ship may have gone several hundred miles out of its way, and there may have been a variety of other disagreeablecontretemps.
SEEMINGLY everybody is getting so very polite to everybody else that it is beginning to be almost impossible for two or three persons to get together without a meeting of two being got up to present the third with a testimonial. If a steam-boat goes on a rather lengthy voyage, there is sure to be a party mustered to pass flattering resolutions expressive of confidence in the captain, although the ship may have gone several hundred miles out of its way, and there may have been a variety of other disagreeablecontretemps.
The absurdity of testimonial-giving has reached such a height that we may expect it to go still higher before it finally topples over, and we shall not be astonished to hear that two persons riding together in a Hansom cab have formed themselves into a meeting for the purpose of presenting the driver with a new lash to his whip, or some other appropriate "testimonial." When we hear of votes of thanks having been passed in favour of the commander of a steamer across the Atlantic, we feel that the difficult navigation of the Thames would warrant the presentation of a piece of plate—say a toothpick—to the captains of the PennyPinkor the HalfpennyBee, or the twopennyCitizen. If steam-boat passengers are to come to complimentary votes, what reason can there be why omnibus passengers should not vote one of their body into the chair, and record a series of resolutions in honour of the driver for his able and impartial conduct on the driving seat, or the conductor for his uprightness on his foot-board?
The Strike of the Day.—The worst of all strikes is the strike of Irish labourers—which generally consists in beating their wives.
The Strike of the Day.—The worst of all strikes is the strike of Irish labourers—which generally consists in beating their wives.
THE OLD 'UN AND THE YOUNG 'UN.THE OLD 'UN AND THE YOUNG 'UN.Old Nicholas."NOW THEN, AUSTRIA, JUST HELP ME TO FINISH THEPORTE."
"Westminster Police Court.—Policeman Xbrought a paper of doggrel verses to theMagistrate, which had been thrust into his hands,Xsaid, by an Italian boy, who ran away immediately afterwards."TheMagistrate, after perusing the lines, looked hard atX, and said he did not think they were written by an Italian."Xblushing, said he thought the paper read in Court last week, and which frightened so the old gentleman to whom it was addressed, was also not of Italian origin."
"Westminster Police Court.—Policeman Xbrought a paper of doggrel verses to theMagistrate, which had been thrust into his hands,Xsaid, by an Italian boy, who ran away immediately afterwards.
"TheMagistrate, after perusing the lines, looked hard atX, and said he did not think they were written by an Italian.
"Xblushing, said he thought the paper read in Court last week, and which frightened so the old gentleman to whom it was addressed, was also not of Italian origin."