PRISON DISCIPLINARIANS.

OSignor Broderipyou are a wickid ole manYou wexis us little horgan boys whenever you can,How dare you talk of Justice, and go for to seekTo pussicute us horgin boys, you senguinary Beek?Though you set in Vestminster surrounded by your crushersHarrogint and habsolute like the Hortacrat of hall the Rushers,Yet there is a better vurld I'd have you for to knowLikewise a place vere the henimies of horgin-boys will go.O you vickidHerodwithout any pityLondon vithout horgin boys vood be a dismal city!SweetSaint Cicilywho first taught horgin-pipes to blowSoften the heart of this Magistrit that haggerywates us so!Good Italian gentlemen, fatherly and kindBrings us over to London here our horgins for to grind;Sends us out vith little vite mice and guinea pigs alsoA popping of the Veasel and a Jumpin ofJim Crow.And as us young horgin boys is grateful in our turnWe gives to these kind gentlemen hall the money we earn,Because that they vood vop us as wery wel we knowUnless we brought our hurnings back to them as loves us so.OMr. Broderip! wery much I'm surpriseVen you take your valks abroad where can be your eyes?If a Beak had a heart then you'd compryendUs pore little Horgin boys was the poor man's friend.Don't you see the shildren in the droring roomsClapping of their little ands when they year our toons?On their mothers' bussums don't you see the babbies crowAnd down to us dear horgin boys lots of apence throw?Don't you see the ousemaids (pootyPolliesandMaries)Ven ve bring our urdigurdis, smilin from the hairies?Then they come out vith a slice o' cole puddn or a bit o' bacon or soAnd give it us young horgin boys for lunch afore we go.Have you ever seen the Hirish children sportWhen our velcome music-box brings sunshine in the Court?To these little paupers who can never paySurely all good organ boys, for God's love, will play.Has for those proud gentlemen, like a sorting B—k(Vich I von't be pussonal and therefore vil not speak)That flings their parler-vinders hup ven ve begin to playAnd cusses us and swears at us in such a wiolent way.Instedd of their abewsing and calling hout PoleeceLet em send out John to us vith sixpence or a shillin apiece.Then like good young horgin boys avay from there we'll goBlessing sweetSaint Cicilythat taught our pipes to blow.

OSignor Broderipyou are a wickid ole manYou wexis us little horgan boys whenever you can,How dare you talk of Justice, and go for to seekTo pussicute us horgin boys, you senguinary Beek?

OSignor Broderipyou are a wickid ole man

You wexis us little horgan boys whenever you can,

How dare you talk of Justice, and go for to seek

To pussicute us horgin boys, you senguinary Beek?

Though you set in Vestminster surrounded by your crushersHarrogint and habsolute like the Hortacrat of hall the Rushers,Yet there is a better vurld I'd have you for to knowLikewise a place vere the henimies of horgin-boys will go.

Though you set in Vestminster surrounded by your crushers

Harrogint and habsolute like the Hortacrat of hall the Rushers,

Yet there is a better vurld I'd have you for to know

Likewise a place vere the henimies of horgin-boys will go.

O you vickidHerodwithout any pityLondon vithout horgin boys vood be a dismal city!SweetSaint Cicilywho first taught horgin-pipes to blowSoften the heart of this Magistrit that haggerywates us so!

O you vickidHerodwithout any pity

London vithout horgin boys vood be a dismal city!

SweetSaint Cicilywho first taught horgin-pipes to blow

Soften the heart of this Magistrit that haggerywates us so!

Good Italian gentlemen, fatherly and kindBrings us over to London here our horgins for to grind;Sends us out vith little vite mice and guinea pigs alsoA popping of the Veasel and a Jumpin ofJim Crow.

Good Italian gentlemen, fatherly and kind

Brings us over to London here our horgins for to grind;

Sends us out vith little vite mice and guinea pigs also

A popping of the Veasel and a Jumpin ofJim Crow.

And as us young horgin boys is grateful in our turnWe gives to these kind gentlemen hall the money we earn,Because that they vood vop us as wery wel we knowUnless we brought our hurnings back to them as loves us so.

And as us young horgin boys is grateful in our turn

We gives to these kind gentlemen hall the money we earn,

Because that they vood vop us as wery wel we know

Unless we brought our hurnings back to them as loves us so.

OMr. Broderip! wery much I'm surpriseVen you take your valks abroad where can be your eyes?If a Beak had a heart then you'd compryendUs pore little Horgin boys was the poor man's friend.

OMr. Broderip! wery much I'm surprise

Ven you take your valks abroad where can be your eyes?

If a Beak had a heart then you'd compryend

Us pore little Horgin boys was the poor man's friend.

Don't you see the shildren in the droring roomsClapping of their little ands when they year our toons?On their mothers' bussums don't you see the babbies crowAnd down to us dear horgin boys lots of apence throw?

Don't you see the shildren in the droring rooms

Clapping of their little ands when they year our toons?

On their mothers' bussums don't you see the babbies crow

And down to us dear horgin boys lots of apence throw?

Don't you see the ousemaids (pootyPolliesandMaries)Ven ve bring our urdigurdis, smilin from the hairies?Then they come out vith a slice o' cole puddn or a bit o' bacon or soAnd give it us young horgin boys for lunch afore we go.

Don't you see the ousemaids (pootyPolliesandMaries)

Ven ve bring our urdigurdis, smilin from the hairies?

Then they come out vith a slice o' cole puddn or a bit o' bacon or so

And give it us young horgin boys for lunch afore we go.

Have you ever seen the Hirish children sportWhen our velcome music-box brings sunshine in the Court?To these little paupers who can never paySurely all good organ boys, for God's love, will play.

Have you ever seen the Hirish children sport

When our velcome music-box brings sunshine in the Court?

To these little paupers who can never pay

Surely all good organ boys, for God's love, will play.

Has for those proud gentlemen, like a sorting B—k(Vich I von't be pussonal and therefore vil not speak)That flings their parler-vinders hup ven ve begin to playAnd cusses us and swears at us in such a wiolent way.

Has for those proud gentlemen, like a sorting B—k

(Vich I von't be pussonal and therefore vil not speak)

That flings their parler-vinders hup ven ve begin to play

And cusses us and swears at us in such a wiolent way.

Instedd of their abewsing and calling hout PoleeceLet em send out John to us vith sixpence or a shillin apiece.Then like good young horgin boys avay from there we'll goBlessing sweetSaint Cicilythat taught our pipes to blow.

Instedd of their abewsing and calling hout Poleece

Let em send out John to us vith sixpence or a shillin apiece.

Then like good young horgin boys avay from there we'll go

Blessing sweetSaint Cicilythat taught our pipes to blow.

"Who shall decide when jailors disagree?"

Captain Fondleprig'sExamination.

Q. 3491.Chairman.You have had considerable experience in the treatment of felons and other prisoners, and have made prison discipline the object of much consideration?

A.I have.

Q. 3492.Will you give the Committee your ideas of the mode in which prisoners should be treated.

A.I recommend the utmost kindness and indulgence. The criminal should excite our compassion, and we should do our utmost to alleviate his sense of the punishment which society makes it necessary to inflict. I would, on his arrival, ascertain, delicately of course, what had been his previous habits and tastes. If he could read, which I would discover by some little stratagem (such as placing a letter in his hand and asking him whathemade of the address, as it puzzledme, or some other gentle device), I would cause amusing books to be placed, during the night, in his cell, and secretly changed, so as not to put him under obligation. If he could not read, poor fellow, I, or my wife, or my daughter, should read to him whenever he chose to ring for us, and I would accord him the indulgence of a pipe, if he wished it. To civilise and lead him to the Beautiful, fresh flowers should be placed in his cell—we would, in naming it to him, call it his grot—every morning, and I would recommend the hanging his apartment with engravings from the best masters, avoiding of course any subject likely to remind him painfully of his incarceration. Music should be supplied, and I have a plan for bringing all the Italian organists where I believe most people wish they were, namely, within the walls of our gaols, to soothe the minds of our captives. The bath should be recommended to, but not forced upon him, and if he preferred a warm bath in his cell, with Eau de Cologne in the water, I should naturally order it. For his health's sake, I should advise his adhering to the regular hours of meals, but if he desired a glass of sherry and a sponge cake, or an ice and wafers, or oysters and stout, between meals it would be inhuman to refuse it. The bill of fare should be brought to him each morning, and any reasonable suggestions he might make for its alteration he should see were attended to. If, which I do not anticipate, he should, despite this treatment, be insubordinate, I would, after long, patient, and humble entreaty had been exhausted, threaten to withhold his ice, or withdraw his flowers, or, in a very bad case, I might refuse him Eau de Cologne to his bath.

Q. 3493.If a prisoner were very rebellious, would you whip him?

The Witness fainted, and was removed.

Lieutenant Skinnum'sExamination.

Q. 3494.Chairman.You have had considerable experience in the treatment of felons and other prisoners, and have made prison discipline the object of much consideration?

A.I have.

Q. 3495.Will you give the Committee your ideas of the mode in which prisoners should be treated?

A.Treated! I'd treat 'em, bless 'em. Shady side of a deuced good bamboo's the place for them. Confound them! Why, if a fellow's sent to jail, stands to reason he's a scoundrel, and if he's a scoundrel treat him as such. It's an insult to an honest man to leave a rogue with a whole bone in his skin. My way's short. Thrash a rascal whenever you happen to be near him, and have a stick handy, which I take care generally to have; but a poker will do, or a crowbar, if you're in a hurry. The object of punishment is to prevent the offence being repeated, and dash my buttons but a fellow will think twice before he commits an offence that gets him under my hands a second time. Boys? Why, boys are worse than men. A man steals, perhaps, to feed his family; but what does a blessed boy steal for? To buy tarts and gin, and go to the penny theatre. I take it out of 'em, though. First I thrash 'em till there isn't a bit of their system that can be called strictly comfortable. Next, I starve 'em till they're as weak as rats. Then I give 'em work to do which they could hardly do if they were in the strongest health, and if they drop down at it I lick 'em till they get up again, and I refresh their minds with pails of cold water into the bargain. That's the right system. Ever kill them? Well, not often. Sometimes they die out of spite, for these boys are very malicious and revengeful, and will do anything to get an officer into trouble; but I find the magistrates baffle their malignity by taking no notice, and all goes on well. As for insubordination, by Jove, they don't often try it with me, but an iron collar, and a chain to hold it to the wall, a taste of the cat o' nine tails after Morning and Evening Service, a sound kick whenever a jailor happens to pass, and food placed before the rascal, but just out of his reach, for a few days, do wonders.

Q. 3496.If a prisoner were very rebellious, would you whip him?

Witness, (in a dreadful rage).Whip him, Sir! No, Sir! Whipping's too good for him, Sir! I'd—I'd—I'd—skin him alive, Sir—that's what I'd do with him, Sir.

[The witness, in his excitement, knocked over the short-hand writer with a violent back-hander, and rushed out.

At Wilkesbarre, in Pennsylvania, two slave-hunters under the Fugitive Slave Law did their best and worst to recapture a mulatto, namedRex. They placed handcuffs on him; but with these very handcuffs, the man—maddened by despair—beat down and marked his hunters. There is a moral in this, if America could understand it. Well will it be if emancipation be granted before slavery, with its very chains, shall knock down and mark the national slaveholders.

Gentle Reader!—If you have a remarkably strong constitution, you may read the following; but if not, we beg of you to pass it over:—

If a cigar makes a man ill, will a cheroot make a Man-illa?

It seems that the Royal Insignia of Hungary have lately been dug out of a hole in a very damaged condition. The Crown was cracked, and the cloak ofSt. Stephen, which, if it had been "made to measure" for the Saint himself, must have been rather the worse for wear, was so injured by damp that ifSt. Stephen'smantle should fall on anybody else the result could only be rheumatism. The garment cannot, however, have been worth much, for if it was the cloak that the Hungarian royalty used to wear, it had long ago become transparent, and might have been seen through very easily. We have not heard how the rubbish came to be discovered; but as the cloak was very seedy it may have sprung up, as anything of a seedy nature is apt to do when buried in the ground, and thus given a clue to its own discovery. Who got the Crown into the mess in which it was found is not a question very difficult of solution; but it is clear that those who imputed its abstraction toM. Kossuth, were as much in the dark as many of the acts and deeds of the Austrian Government. When a Crown is dragged in the dirt and degraded, the probability is, that he whom the cap fits is the one whose head it ought to rest upon.

SSEVERAL correspondents of theTimeshave been writing themselves into a great rage lately, about what they are pleased to call the "Iniquity of our present Hotel system." They complain, with a warmth of expression which is really very seasonable, that go where you will throughout the kingdom, you'll not find an Inn which is not inn-convenient—to your person, certainly, if not to your purse. Everywhere, they say, you'll be charged a good price for bad accommodation: and the larger the establishment, the smaller is your chance of escaping imposition. If you order a light dinner, you may be sure, nevertheless, you'll have to pay a heavy price for it. If wine be your beverage, you'll be charged three and sixpence for a glass and a half of Cape, served in a vinegar-cruet and called "a pint of Sherry:" or, if you drink beer, you will get a jug of what it were a bitter raillery to call bitter ale, and which, however nasty, you'll be charged a nice sum for. So that, in either case, the process of selling these liquids may be said invariably to include the purchaser. Your candles, too, they say, which figure so highly as "wax" in the bill, will prove in the candlestick to be as bad a composition as the fourpence in the pound of a fraudulent bankrupt: and whether lit or not, there's still the burning shame that you're to pay just the same for them. For "attendance," too, you are charged about as much as for a lawyer's: half-a-crown a day being no uncommon item for the luxury of sometimes looking at a waiter. And if you want a horse, you'll find there's not one in the stable but what's made a heavy charger.

SEVERAL correspondents of theTimeshave been writing themselves into a great rage lately, about what they are pleased to call the "Iniquity of our present Hotel system." They complain, with a warmth of expression which is really very seasonable, that go where you will throughout the kingdom, you'll not find an Inn which is not inn-convenient—to your person, certainly, if not to your purse. Everywhere, they say, you'll be charged a good price for bad accommodation: and the larger the establishment, the smaller is your chance of escaping imposition. If you order a light dinner, you may be sure, nevertheless, you'll have to pay a heavy price for it. If wine be your beverage, you'll be charged three and sixpence for a glass and a half of Cape, served in a vinegar-cruet and called "a pint of Sherry:" or, if you drink beer, you will get a jug of what it were a bitter raillery to call bitter ale, and which, however nasty, you'll be charged a nice sum for. So that, in either case, the process of selling these liquids may be said invariably to include the purchaser. Your candles, too, they say, which figure so highly as "wax" in the bill, will prove in the candlestick to be as bad a composition as the fourpence in the pound of a fraudulent bankrupt: and whether lit or not, there's still the burning shame that you're to pay just the same for them. For "attendance," too, you are charged about as much as for a lawyer's: half-a-crown a day being no uncommon item for the luxury of sometimes looking at a waiter. And if you want a horse, you'll find there's not one in the stable but what's made a heavy charger.

Another of their complaints is, that in the fitting up of our hotels there is as much bad taste as in the wines you cannot drink there. For, while the second-class houses are barely half-furnished, those which are anomalously styled "first-rate" are as much over-done as the victims who frequent them, all the rooms being crammed to every corner with a lot of ugly furniture, for which nevertheless you've to pay pretty handsomely.

In short, the British Innkeeper, as these writers represent him, figures as a sort of human apteryx, who supports himself entirely by the length of his bill.

Now, the correctness of these charges we admit as readily as we dispute the landlords'. At the same time, we think there is an evident excuse for them; for the writers, in their vehemence, seem entirely to have overlooked the fact, that inasmuch as every innkeeper is bound to keep open house, he is obviously obliged to take as many people in as possible.

MYSELF, AS I APPEARED ON PERUSING MY HOTEL BILLMYSELF, AS I APPEARED ON PERUSING MY HOTEL BILL, HAVING STAYED A NIGHT IN BRIGHTON.

"Oh, dear Punch, dear,

"I want to ask you one little question. It is about 'defacing the coin.' I wish to ask whether my brotherSeptimusis liable to be taken up? The foolish boy has several waistcoats, the buttons of which are made of coins. He has one for every-day use made with fourpenny pieces. He has another, the buttons of which are made with half-sovereigns. That is for Sunday wear, whilst he has another for very grand occasions that is buttoned together with two-sovereign pieces. He is with these absurd fancies quite a 'Man made of Money', and I know a young lady who calls him a 'walking change for a ten-pound note.' It is very conceited of him to be sure, and I am only afraid he will be taken up some day—especially if he has on at the time his great driving coat that has a long row of half-crowns running down in front, and a couple of crown-pieces over the pockets behind. Now I wish you to tell me, dearPunch, supposing he is taken up, can they send him to prison, and cut his hair off, and make him eat gruel for defacing the coin? I am more frightened than I can tell you about him.

"Poor fellow! It would be terrible to see two big policemen lay their large hands on him, when he was out walking with his little sister, and tear him away from my side, because he happened to be wearing his grand pink shirt with the studs made out of the tiniest threepenny pieces. This talk about 'defacing the coin' is all rubbish, for it strikes me that if I give ten shillings for half-a-sovereign, I have a right to do what I like with it—to throw it in the fire even, if I choose; but I am fairly tired out of my life with such stuff!

I remain, my dearestPunch,

Your great friend and admirer,

Clara(at No. 10).

"P.S. Supposing again I choose to wear a lucky coin round my neck that was given to me byJuliusbefore he went to sea, I should like to know what they would do with me? I declareI would die soonerthan they should take it from me!"

Publicans and Parsons.—Cathedral Chapters are compiled from leaves taken out of Hotel-keepers' Books.

How to Breathe the "Free Air" of Austria.—Keep your mouth shut!

M. Halévy, weary of compelling his orchestra to imitate the tinkling of Bayadères' armlets, or the solemn tramp of an army of elephants, has, in his opera of theNabob, now performing at the Opéra Comique, introduced a novel musical effect, upon whichMr. Punch, in anticipation of its speedy transmission to England, feels bound to offer a word of comment. In the third act of the opera, the libretto of which, be it remarked, is from the pen ofM. Scribe, a chaise, containing two of the principal characters, is upset at the door of a tobacconist's shop in Wales. Of course, the occupants of the chaise are assisted into the shop, where they sing a duet with, as the French papers say, "A funny accompaniment of coughing and sneezing." At this we are told the whole house"éclata de rire", and that "les brouhahas les plus vives accueillirent ce joli morçeau". IfMr. Punchwere not entirely free from all petty national jealousy, he might, perhaps, insinuate thatM. Halévyhas taken his idea from the brilliant sternutations which the immortal tenorGrimaldiwas wont to embroider, as theMorning Postwould say, upon his grand scena of "Tippetywitchet." But he contents himself withM. Halévy'sindirect tribute of praise to that greatartiste, and rejoices in the conviction that thebelle fioritureofil povero Guiseppe, now that they have received the stamp of French approval, will come into general acceptation with us.

He expects that during the ensuing winter great pains will be taken to perforate the roofs and walls of our theatres, as managers will feel that no singer can succeed properly in an air unless she stands in a draught.

He expects also that his contemporaries will criticise thedébutof a new tenor after the following fashion—

"Signor Infreddatura, who made his first appearance last night in the comic opera ofIl Catarro, has all the qualifications of a great singer; viz. a fine person, a sweet and powerful voice, expressive and appropriate action, anda bad cold. He took all his sternutations with the greatest ease, and in correct time, and in his grand aria of 'Ah! tu traditrice,' the audience knew not whether to admire most, the great power with which he gave theAhchew—sustaining the 'Ah' for some seconds, and then suddenly pouring forth the 'Chew' in a volume of sound thatDuprezmight have envied—or the playful irony which he threw into his new andspirituelreading of thetreechay. He was, however, but badly seconded byMadame Testachiara, who was so nervous as to have no control over her organ whatever, so that the two pinches of snuff which the prompter administered to her before she came on exploded at the wrong time, and thus impaired the general effect of an otherwise fine performance."

One advantageMr. Punchperceives, will certainly result from the vigorous prosecution ofM. Halévy'sidea. It is that, whereas our climate has hitherto been the bane, it will henceforth prove the antidote of foreign singers. They will flock here in crowds to perfect their education, nor will they be deterred from coming by a fear of overstocking the market, as they will always feel sure that there is plenty of rheum for them in England. And evenMr. Sims Reeves, when afflicted by the recurrence of his apparently hereditary cold, need no longer disappoint the audience by withdrawing from them altogether, and may favour them with "My lodging is on the cold ground" (a song which will naturally afford great scope for a display of the new ornaments), or with "We'll sound the gay Catarrh."

A poor applewoman is not allowed to loiter on the pavement. The lithographic artist, who draws the reddest salmon and setting suns on the flagstones, is instantly told by the policeman to "walk his chalks." The broken-down tradesman, with his white neckcloth, and black gloves with the fingers peeping out of the tips, is not allowed to lean against a door-post, and offer, in a melancholy attitude, his lucifer-matches for sale. The same rigour is exercised towards the hundred-bladed Jew boy, the barefooted girl with her bunch of violets, and the grinning Italian with his organ. Not one of them is allowed to monopolise the pavement, but is immediately commanded by the ferocious policeman to "move on." But there is a class of persons who are permitted to remain still, where a child who is crying her apples "three a penny" is not allowed even to loiter. This class of persons is not the most reputable class to come in contact with, nor the pleasantest even to look at. It is the betting class. Pass a betting-shop when you will, you are sure to find an immense crowd collected outside it.

There is no knowing what they talk about—and we have not the slightest wish to increase our knowledge—but there they will stand for hours, running in and out of the shop, in the most feverish state, exchanging memoranda in half-whispers, and dotting down incomprehensible figures in little clasp-books, which they hold up close to their breasts, for fear any one should see what they are inscribing in them. They seem dreadfully afraid lest any one should peep over their shoulders, and discover the wonderful "odds" they are pencilling down. We have no particular love or partiality for this numerous class ofHer Majesty'ssubjects. We do not like them, with their slangy stable coats, their sporting hats knowingly cocked on one side, and their suspicious looks that seem to say of every one on whom their sharp, calculating glances fall, "Well, I wonder how green you are, and I wonder what harvest I shall get out of your greenness." We do not like this bettinggenus, with its whips and switchy canes, and thick-ruled trowsers, into which a small five-barred gate seems to have been compressed, and its sensual thick-lipped mouths, that are invariably playing with a flower or a piece of straw, or caressing the end of a pencil.

Now, this class of persons blocks up our public pavements. Attempt to pass by the Haymarket, or Jermyn Street, or the purlieus of Leicester Square, about four or five o'clock, and you will find that the arteries of circulation are tied up by those thick coagulated knots of betting men. The thoroughfare is quite impassable, and you are compelled to go into the mud of the road to avoid being soiled by the refuse of the pavement. We wish the police would, until the entire system is abolished, sweep away the offensive nuisance, for we do not see why betting men should be allowed to carry on their trade on the flagstones any more than applewomen, or even your openly-professed beggar. The police might be worse engaged than in making them "move on." In this instance we would have them not pay the slightest respect to their "betters."

AA paragraph with the above startling heading has been going the round of the newspapers. It seems that the bones of the great violinist have been turned into bones of contention, by the priests who have refused to bury them. Several lawsuits have taken place, and there has been one appeal to the Court of Nice, which treated the matter as a Nice question. This court refused the request ofPaganini'sexecutors, who were anxious to get the bones buried; but rather than submit to the decree, without making any further bones about the matter, they appealed to Genoa, which it seems is somewhat over nice, for it superseded Nice in its decision. A further appeal has, however, been made to Turin, which reversed the judgment of Genoa, and a reference to the Holy See is now spoken of. "There the matter rests," say the papers, but where the bones will ultimately rest remains a problem.

A paragraph with the above startling heading has been going the round of the newspapers. It seems that the bones of the great violinist have been turned into bones of contention, by the priests who have refused to bury them. Several lawsuits have taken place, and there has been one appeal to the Court of Nice, which treated the matter as a Nice question. This court refused the request ofPaganini'sexecutors, who were anxious to get the bones buried; but rather than submit to the decree, without making any further bones about the matter, they appealed to Genoa, which it seems is somewhat over nice, for it superseded Nice in its decision. A further appeal has, however, been made to Turin, which reversed the judgment of Genoa, and a reference to the Holy See is now spoken of. "There the matter rests," say the papers, but where the bones will ultimately rest remains a problem.

Lord John Russell, in his recent speech at Greenock, alluded to the "absence of party" as a thing scarcely to be hoped, but greatly to be desired. The word "party" is so vague in its ordinary sense, that we should be glad to know the "party" to whichLord Johnalludes. He may either mean "that party" over the way, on the other side of the House, or that "other party," or that "Irish party," or that "troublesome little party" that is always asking inconvenient questions, or some "party" that some other "party" is always egging on to annoy the Government. The only "party" to which we are quite sure his Lordship did not refer is the "Protectionist party," for it would have been absurd to express a wish for the absence of what has already ceased to be, and it would be even worse than crushing a butterfly on a wheel, to call for the annihilation of a nonentity.

The Queenhas suggested to the Irish the propriety of mending their own clothes. Hitherto, when we have sent steel to Ireland, it has been in the shape of swords and bayonets.Queen Victoria, however, a right royal housewife, presents sisterHiberniawith a packet of needles.

TRUE FEELINGTRUE FEELING."My dearest Brother, confide in me. You are ill?""Ill, Jemima! Broken-hearted—dying! For six months I've sought her—all my money gone in advertisements and inquiries; but she is lost to me for ever!""She?""Yes! The Woman who Starched that Collar!"

"My dearest Brother, confide in me. You are ill?"

"Ill, Jemima! Broken-hearted—dying! For six months I've sought her—all my money gone in advertisements and inquiries; but she is lost to me for ever!"

"She?"

"Yes! The Woman who Starched that Collar!"

Some of our daily contemporaries have published an advertisement, headed, "The TimesversusEnglish Hotels," and consisting of six resolutions passed at a meeting of the principal Hotel-keepers of Town and Country, held at the London Coffee House, Ludgate Hill, on the 15th instant.

What end the public-house-keepers proposed to themselves in publishing those resolutions, it is not very easy to conceive. A mere resolution that a newspaper, in criticising hotel prices, has abused the liberty of the Press, will not persuade any reader of the paper to think so. The worst thing that has been, or could have been done to the landlords by a newspaper, was the publication of their bills: do they resolve this to be exceeding the bounds of just criticism?

Unnecessary wax-lights, at 2s.a pair; port and sherry fifty per cent. above market price; swipes calling itself ale, at 1s. per pot; these and all such items, if obviously extortionate, cannot be exhibited in any other light by the simple resolution of the extortioners, even if that be framed and glazed.

There is just one use which we may imagine these ostensible resolutions to serve. Perhaps they are put forward by way of blind to the real ones which were formed at this assembly of publicans. The following, probably, are those which the gentlemen actually concurred in:—

Resolved, unanimously—

I. That an agitation has been raised against hotel charges by the Press, which, if unchecked, will perhaps result in the reduction of them, by terrifying some of us into diminishing our prices, and necessitating the rest to follow their example.

II. That it is our interest to resist the attempt thus being made to compel us, by intimidation, to moderate our bills.

III. That such resistance can be effectually maintained only by a firm combination amongst ourselves, based upon a determination to stand by each other, in the endeavour to perpetuate those exactions which we now levy on the British Public; but that by hanging closely together, we may defy the Press, hold the public at our mercy, and safely despise and disregard popular opinion.

IV. But that, in order to preserve this happy state of independence, it is indispensably necessary to exclude most rigorously from the Hotel-keeping business the pernicious principle of competition.

V. That every effect and exertion should therefore be made to induce the Magistrates in town and country to persevere in their existing excellent system of restricting tavern-licenses to certain parties; thereby restraining that competition which would soon oblige us to adjust our prices in conformity with the clamour of common sense.

VI. That a subscription be entered into in order to raise funds for the further propitiation of the said Magistrates in our favour, by bribing them additionally to persist in refusing licenses to any other individuals than ourselves.

At the Westminster Police Office, in the course of an organ-grinding nuisance case, there was read, according to the reports, a threatening letter; which, as the following copy of it will show, was of a very dangerous character. It was stated to have been addressed to "an aged invalid gentleman;" who, we presume, had disobliged the writers by growling at them and sending them away:—

"Signor Russell,—You are one very great vicked ole man. You are one very rechted miserable man. Why you wil hart the pore horgan man that trys to get a honnest living, for you have plenty yourself money? Why you stop the poor horgan man to get a little money? You are a very ole feeble man, and cannot life much longer. When you die where will your guilty sole go to? You have no charity for the poor horgan man; what charity will God have for you in the next world? What mercy will he have for you? He will be as hard to you in the next world as you are to the poor man in this. You will go to purgatory and stop for ever and ever, if you do not repent of your vickidnys, you brown breeched, blue coated, brite button ole scarecrow; now, in conclusion, three or four of us true sons of Italy have sworn by theHoly Virginto make of you rite over upon the top of your own dore-steps one fritefullest tomartyr.

"Sined,"Antonio G."Guido R."Juan B."

The report further states that opposite the names were three daggers; but from the theological views apparent on the face of the document, we imagine that the daggers were merely the sort of index which his EminenceCardinal Wisemanis in the habit of prefixing to his signature.

Mr. Broderip, we are told, read this letter, "which created much laughter." Of that convulsive affection, however, happily nobody died; so that the communication was simply dangerous—not actually fatal to the hearers. To the original recipient, however, it seems to have been productive of consequences seriously alarming, as it, "had put him into such a state of bodily fear that he was nearly dead."

We have read of people who saw their own ghosts; which rather frightened them.Signor Russell, perhaps, was in some degree terrified by his own phantom, raised by the Italian organ-grinders—the apparition of himself in brown breeches, blue coat, and brass buttons. However, besides being thus exhibited as an "old scarecrow" to his own eyes, he had cause for apprehension in one of the mysterious menaces addressed to him. The threat of perpetual Purgatory, a Protestant old gentleman might despise; but that of martyrdom by being made the frightfullest tomartyr upon the top of his own door steps, is a substantial horror. It is suggestive of an idea dreadful enough to make him tremble over his bit of fish, and shudder in the enjoyment of his mutton-chop—the idea of being pounded and crushed into a pulp, and ground by Popish organ-grinders to the consistence of tomartyr sauce.

The Russians have been hitherto supposed to belong to the Greek Church; but there now appears to be some doubt of this. It was lately stated, in the foreign correspondence of some of our contemporaries, that after a recent review of his troops by Prince Gortschakoff, the General issued an order of the day, in which he told the army of occupation that they were called upon to annihilate Paganism, concluding his address with "Long live theCzar! Long live the God of theRussians!" IfPrince Gortschakoffis to be taken as a correct exponent of Muscovite divinity, the religion of the Russians must be identical with that of theYezidi, inasmuch as the latter, also, are worshippers of the old gentleman denominatedNicholas.

A sporting "gent," who has courageously entered the "lists" at several betting-houses, has lately purchased an elaborate work on "Ethnology," in consequence of his having heard that it will give him much information on the subject of "races."

A New Motto for Russia.—Bear and Overbear.

Our beautiful fashions go on improving! Like Buckingham Palace, they are constantly being altered, and never altered for the better. What the humanfaçadewill be ultimately, there's no knowing. Everything has been tried in the shape of flowers, feathers, ornaments on the top, and, in some instances, paint, that could possibly disfigure it. Let these disfigurements only continue, and they may have the effect of converting the human head into a kind ofMedusa's, that will turn into stone all who look at it. One of the latest absurdities is the way in which ladies wear their bonnets—if it can be called wearing at all, when it is falling, like a Capuchin's hood, right down their backs. It thus forms a capital receptacle for collecting any refuse or rubbish that may be dropt, or thrown, into it. We know one lady who found her bonnet, when she got home, perfectly filled with dust. It was quite a dust-bin in a small way—and the luncheon, which was on the table at the time, had to be sent away, as everything was spoilt by the dusty shower that the lady had unconsciously shaken down upon it.

There was another lady—whose husband is not so rich as he should be, and who grumbles fearfully, poor fellow, at every new bonnet he has to pay for—who discovered herchapeauto be as full as it could hold of orange-peel. Some malicious little boys must have amused themselves in walking behind her and pitching into it every piece of orange-peel they found lying about. It was an amusing game of pitch-in-the-hole to them. The consequence has been that the lady, who is extremely particular, especially when she takes a new fancy like a new bonnet into her head, has been compelled to throw away her old bonnet, and to have a new one. The poor husband, who is really to be pitied (husbands generally are), has been obliged, in order to pay for the additional expense, to walk instead of riding, to give up smoking, and to cut off his luncheons—all of which expenses came out of his own pocket and not out of the housekeeping. The last time he was seen he was so thin that it was almost a microscopical effort to see him. But this absurd fashion, coupled with the other absurdity of long dresses, has the one good effect in keeping our streets clean, for the low bonnets carry off all the superfluous dust, and the long dresses carry away all the superfluous mud.

Lady in long dress

It would be difficult to say which fashion, in point of cleanliness, ranks the lowest. A classical friend of ours humorously declares that he thinks the bonnets will soon be the lower of the two, and that the ladies, for convenience' sake, will shortly be wearing them, tied on to the end of their dresses. It will be relieving them, he funnily says, of a greatdraw-back, and will have the further advantage of keeping their dear heads cool. This classical friend also says that the ladies, as viewed at present with their bonnets hanging behind them, look like female anthropophagi, or "monsters whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders." However, we have only one hope that the fashion, which seems to be dropping lower and lower every day, will gradually drop off altogether, and then the marital cry will be "Il n'y a plus deBonnets!" and Cranbourne Street will be ruined. But after all, the eccentricities in the way of dress do not lie exclusively on the side of the ladies.

We must not throw every absurdity on their backs. The gentlemen come in, also, for a large share of the ridiculous. Look at an elegant young gent of the present day! His hat you must confess is faultless. It combines every quality within its lovely chimney-pot form. It has not only beauty of shape, but utility of purpose. The brim is admirable. A lady-bird can about settle on it, and that is all. There is just sufficient width to enable you to lift the hat with, and what more do you want? As for keeping the sun off, it is not needed for that purpose, for when is the sun ever seen in England? and as for keeping the rain off, as it is a well-known fact that no Englishman ever ventures out of doors without his umbrella, it cannot be needed for that purpose any more than for the sun. Then look at the shirt-collar! It is a high linen wall, behind which the face is securely protected from the sharp, cutting winds that are continually flying about our climate, like so many aërial guillotines. One's head would infallibly be chopped off, cleaner than any head of asparagus, if it were not for some such protection; and besides, we should not find fault with our young men if they do try to hide as much as they can of their beautiful features. You may be sure they only do it out of charity to the ladies! The small ribbon that fences in this high wall of collar is, likewise, most beautiful. It is almost an invisible fence that is planted evidently more for ornament than use. The wall would look cold and naked—a kind of workhouse wall—without it. We may say that every part of the dress bespeaks a degree of taste that would win the admiration even of a savage. In fact, get a savage—a greater savage, if you can, than one who beats his wife; then select a Young Lady and a Young Gent in the present year's costumes; let the former be as fashionable as you like—let the latter be as green as you can find him: then put them before your savage—turn them gently round for five minutes, and then ask him his candid opinion. We will wager our next week's receipts—no small wager, by the way—that he will be puzzled to say—

WHICH LOOKS THE MOST RIDICULOUSWHICH LOOKS THE MOST RIDICULOUS?

At thedéjeûnergiven the other day toMr. G. V. Brooke, it was stated by the manager of Drury Lane that after the morning performance, which took place last week, the public-houses in the neighbourhood of the theatre were crowded with people, who, after seeingOthello, were refreshing themselves for the purpose of seeingThe Strangerin the evening. We admit that two tragedies in one day must be rather warm work for the audience, as well as for the actors, and we do not wonder at "refreshment" being found necessary to enable the public to go through with the day's labours. Some plays are drier than others, and it would be a curious fact to ascertain how much more washing downThe Strangerwould require thanOthello. If we were to attempt a calculation, we should say, that ifShakspearetook a bottle of sparkling Moselle, nothing short of a hogshead of heavy would be needed to makeKotzebuego down at all glibly.

Of course we continue to receive reports of the appearance of other ghosts. In the playhouse world, last week, it was reported that the night watchman on duty at the Princess's was startled by the ghost ofMacbeth. Now, as the theatre does not open until the 10th the news must be premature.

AUNDER the rules issued by the Treasury Commissioners with respect to the appointment of Custom House officials, it is declared that persons nominated to be searchers must be fully acquainted with vulgar fractions. There is no objection to this kind of vulgarity as one of their qualifications, but we hope no necessity exists that they should be guilty of any other, and continue to be rude and insolent. Another rule provides that no person will be admitted to the service who shall have committed an offence against the revenue laws. What then has become of the maxim "Set a thief to catch a thief?"

UNDER the rules issued by the Treasury Commissioners with respect to the appointment of Custom House officials, it is declared that persons nominated to be searchers must be fully acquainted with vulgar fractions. There is no objection to this kind of vulgarity as one of their qualifications, but we hope no necessity exists that they should be guilty of any other, and continue to be rude and insolent. Another rule provides that no person will be admitted to the service who shall have committed an offence against the revenue laws. What then has become of the maxim "Set a thief to catch a thief?"

"The Plague is at our doors!" the watchers cried amain:—At the shrill call England raised up her head:"Arm! arm against the Plague!" the watchers cried again:England turned round upon her lazy bed,Folding her arms in dreamy drowsihead—"Arm! arm!" the watchers cried—the watchers cried in vain!England not stirring slept; or if perchance one stirred,'Twas but to vent a muttered curse on thoseWhose warning trumpet-call through folds of slumber heard,Broke in upon the pleasure of repose,With ugly thoughts of death and dying throes—So Echo's voice gave back the watchers' idle word.As when a leaguering host, under the shroud of night,Hath sapped a city's wall, and creeping in,Flashes with sword and fire upon the sleepers' sight,Who springing, drunk with fear and dazed with din,Out of their beds, to grope for arms begin—Arms that should long ere then have been girt on for fight—So suddenly the Plague hath crept within our gate;With even such wild yell and hideous noteOf fear, we start from sleep, to find the choking weightOf those blue, bony fingers on the throat;—To meet those stony eyes that glare and gloatOn victims who, fore-armed, had struggled with their fate.We run this way and that; we cling to all that comeWith nostrum or defence; and as we fallWe curse the watchers too, and ask, "Why were ye dumb?Why waked ye not the sleepers with your call?Why urged ye not the warriors to the wall?"Meanwhile to the Plague's breath lives helplessly succumb.And while he stalks abroad, on his triumphant way,We fetter his allies; his arms we hide:Allies—that till he came had unmolested swayTo make within our walls these breaches wide,Through which our grim and ghastly Foe did stride;Arms—that for his right hand we have furbished many a day.And now with bended knees, and heads bowed to the ground,In sudden piety high Heaven we sueTo stay the Plague that still his mightiest strength has foundIn what we have done ill or failed to do—Whose weapons we keep ever sharp and new—Some of whose champions bold we as our chiefs have crowned.

"The Plague is at our doors!" the watchers cried amain:—

At the shrill call England raised up her head:

"Arm! arm against the Plague!" the watchers cried again:

England turned round upon her lazy bed,

Folding her arms in dreamy drowsihead—

"Arm! arm!" the watchers cried—the watchers cried in vain!

England not stirring slept; or if perchance one stirred,'Twas but to vent a muttered curse on thoseWhose warning trumpet-call through folds of slumber heard,Broke in upon the pleasure of repose,With ugly thoughts of death and dying throes—So Echo's voice gave back the watchers' idle word.

England not stirring slept; or if perchance one stirred,

'Twas but to vent a muttered curse on those

Whose warning trumpet-call through folds of slumber heard,

Broke in upon the pleasure of repose,

With ugly thoughts of death and dying throes—

So Echo's voice gave back the watchers' idle word.

As when a leaguering host, under the shroud of night,Hath sapped a city's wall, and creeping in,Flashes with sword and fire upon the sleepers' sight,Who springing, drunk with fear and dazed with din,Out of their beds, to grope for arms begin—Arms that should long ere then have been girt on for fight—

As when a leaguering host, under the shroud of night,

Hath sapped a city's wall, and creeping in,

Flashes with sword and fire upon the sleepers' sight,

Who springing, drunk with fear and dazed with din,

Out of their beds, to grope for arms begin—

Arms that should long ere then have been girt on for fight—

So suddenly the Plague hath crept within our gate;With even such wild yell and hideous noteOf fear, we start from sleep, to find the choking weightOf those blue, bony fingers on the throat;—To meet those stony eyes that glare and gloatOn victims who, fore-armed, had struggled with their fate.

So suddenly the Plague hath crept within our gate;

With even such wild yell and hideous note

Of fear, we start from sleep, to find the choking weight

Of those blue, bony fingers on the throat;—

To meet those stony eyes that glare and gloat

On victims who, fore-armed, had struggled with their fate.

We run this way and that; we cling to all that comeWith nostrum or defence; and as we fallWe curse the watchers too, and ask, "Why were ye dumb?Why waked ye not the sleepers with your call?Why urged ye not the warriors to the wall?"Meanwhile to the Plague's breath lives helplessly succumb.

We run this way and that; we cling to all that come

With nostrum or defence; and as we fall

We curse the watchers too, and ask, "Why were ye dumb?

Why waked ye not the sleepers with your call?

Why urged ye not the warriors to the wall?"

Meanwhile to the Plague's breath lives helplessly succumb.

And while he stalks abroad, on his triumphant way,We fetter his allies; his arms we hide:Allies—that till he came had unmolested swayTo make within our walls these breaches wide,Through which our grim and ghastly Foe did stride;Arms—that for his right hand we have furbished many a day.

And while he stalks abroad, on his triumphant way,

We fetter his allies; his arms we hide:

Allies—that till he came had unmolested sway

To make within our walls these breaches wide,

Through which our grim and ghastly Foe did stride;

Arms—that for his right hand we have furbished many a day.

And now with bended knees, and heads bowed to the ground,In sudden piety high Heaven we sueTo stay the Plague that still his mightiest strength has foundIn what we have done ill or failed to do—Whose weapons we keep ever sharp and new—Some of whose champions bold we as our chiefs have crowned.

And now with bended knees, and heads bowed to the ground,

In sudden piety high Heaven we sue

To stay the Plague that still his mightiest strength has found

In what we have done ill or failed to do—

Whose weapons we keep ever sharp and new—

Some of whose champions bold we as our chiefs have crowned.

The Russian note is not to be judged of so much by its contents, as by its envelope—not so much by what it says, as by what it attempts to cover. If the note should prove a failure, theCzarwill have reason to regret that he did not show his usual address on the occasion.

No Englishman can visit the Picture Galleries at the Louvre without thinking of a building in London devoted to the same purpose, which is neither very beautiful nor very convenient; and it is rather tempting to enlarge on the despicable show the Trafalgar Square collection makes beside the principal Continental ones. The equitable temper, however, of your Correspondent leads him to suggest some reflections which will mitigate that censure. The National Gallery was not built by the luxurious sovereign of an impoverished people, or it might have been larger and more splendid. No curse cleaves to its stones. The pictures are not the fruit of rapine and confiscation, or the collection might have been more extensive and valuable. As it is, it contains less rubbish and more priceless gems than any gallery of its size in the world; and no pillaged aristocracy, no humbled province, claims a canvas there. Such considerations consoled him as he paced up the gilded saloon ofApolloto the square chamber which holds the masterpieces of the collection.Raphael,Paul Veronese,Leonardo, andTitianappear in all their glory; but the star of the room and cynosure of neighbouring eyes, isMadame Soult's Murillo—theAssumption of Mary. A crowd of devout admirers cluster always round this great work and the artist who is employed in copying it. It has the effect of a tender strain from one of Mozart's masses, sweet and sensous, yet not low. Ladies cannot but be charmed to see that a saint can be so pretty, and turn with a shudder from dirty anchorites and unshaven martyrs to gaze again and again at those lovely eyes, and silky hair, and those elegant hands crossed so gracefully on her bosom.

Certainly nothing can be more delightful than to sit on the central ottoman (which by the way is a great deal more comfortable than those backless rout seats that we wot of), and, shifting one's position from time to time, study the various marvels of art that clothe the walls of this saloon. Your Correspondent, like every English gentleman, knows (or wishes to be thought to know) something about pictures, but he is not minded to gratify you with the slang that is usually thought necessary for the proper treatment of this subject. Wherefore he will make no allusions to breadth, or chiaro-scuro, or texture, or bits of colour.Paul Veronese'sMarriage at Canais before him, fresh and varied as a bouquet of flowers, and he wishes to enjoy it as he would digest his dinner, without giving technical reasons for the process. He turns to a group ofRaphael's(I beg pardon,Rafaelle's), and would not for the world spoil the pleasure they give him by speculating on the Roman School and the artist's three manners, and the influence ofPietro PeruginoorMichael Angeloon his style, and so forth. These fine art critics are a cold-blooded set of fellows, and look at a picture as an attorney does at a lease, to see if they cannot pick a hole in it.

All this time the eyes of the enthusiast have been wandering to a corner of the chamber where an artist is copying a smallRembrandt. It is not theRembrandthe is regarding, but the artist. How excessively nice! The most charming young lady perched on a pair of steps, like a dear little bird in a tree. She bends over her work and draws her head back, and scans the effect on one side and the other with, really, the most irritating picturesqueness. She wears a blue robe just the colour of her eyes, with a little ermine tippet, and when an ancient dragon, who is reading a novel at the foot of the steps, in a cloak and ugly bonnet, speaks to her, she laughs and shakes her blondchevelure, and is so delightful altogether, that it is quite impossible to attend to the pictures. Let us go into the long gallery where the students are not so fascinating. Dirty, long-haired, and bearded men in blouses, and females in seedy crumpled black, look up as we pass by from their easels.

An English family runs past with the blue catalogues in their hands. A precious bore the whole affair is to them. They must be quick, there is no time to lose. "What a lot of pictures! Isn't that a funny man with a beard? How slippery the floor is!Rubens, ah, really. Come, girls, we must get back toMewreise'sto lunch. There's the Bose Arts, and the Museum of Artillery, and the Bois de Bullown"—"You should say Bulloyne, Pa"—"to be done before dinner."

A long vista of pictures ordered, as all galleries should be, chronologically. As you enter, mystical compositions, or rather apparitions of draped angels and saints gaze at you with sleepy eyes from firmaments of gold. Their limbs are long and gaunt; their looks grimly devout, and their heads are set awry on their shoulders. Is it credible that there should be educated men in the present day who yearn after these barbarisms, and have no sympathy with the struggles made by subsequent artists to get free from their influence? And that clergymen should put up copies of the same in our churches, and almost anathematise as heathens those who prefer better drawing? This period is the very winter of art, and the next is the spring, all life and freshness and beauty. We cannot but here remember the young painters in England who have borrowed a name, if not a principle, from the times beforeRaphael. Already their works have become the great point of attraction in the Royal Academy; already they have reaped thesuccess of enthusiastic praise, and the still rarer and more precious success of rancorous abuse. What does our friendOrtolansay on this subject?

Ortolanhas a lively sense of every sort of pleasure. He orders a dinner better than another man, and enjoys it more; he is a good sportsman, and well known as a first-rate wicket-keeper atLord's. But only his intimate friends are aware how he appreciates literature and art, and how solid his acquirements are in both. He is now quietly analysing the method employed byTitianin painting flesh when he is accosted by your Correspondent. "What do I think of Pre-Raphaelitism? I don't know what it means. Where are you to find out? There was a pamphlet certainly with that title which strongly recommended painting from Nature, but there is nothing very new in that. All artists paint from Nature, and very sick it makes one of the wonderful wigs, and satin, and armour, and plate-glass and china, and fruit and flowers and shiny dogs and deer. I don't speak of landscape painters, because the writer of that pamphlet has already proved that the moderns in this line are very superior, because better imitators than the old. One notion of his may perhaps pretend to novelty, that a painter should 'select nothing and reject nothing' in Nature. But I don't understand what he means by this. How can you avoid selecting and rejecting? I suppose some things are prettier than others, just as some women are prettier than others. He can hardly want a man to shut his eyes to what gives him pleasure. If he does he is wrong, and must know that he's wrong. If not, he must mean that when you are set down to paint the subject you have selected, you ought to paint it as it is. If that is all his discovery, what is the use of making such a fuss about it? Of course you ought, and so every industrious student does, to the best of his ability. But you must distinguish between studies and pictures. The first are merely exercises; the second are, or should be, poems. No one was more aware of this than the landscape painter whom he worships so devoutly, and who is generally thought to have pushed poetical treatment of landscapes to an extreme.

"But, perhaps, this writer does not tell us what we want to know, and we must look for Pre-Raphaelitism in the pictures themselves. Most of them are clever, and some of them show the very highest ability; but this, of course, is not the Pre-Raphaelite part of the work, and must be put out of sight. No new principle can producegenius, though genius may find out the new principles. What then remains? Is there a quaintness of form and manner which reminds one of the early Italian painters? I think there was a good deal, and still is some, but they happily seem to be working themselves free from a peculiarity which, to my mind, is neither more nor less than affectation. Is it an extraordinary fancy for ugly people that seems occasionally to possess them like an evil spirit? If this is the new principle, the sooner it is put down the better. There are quite enough frights in the world without stereotyping them for the delectation of all time. Or is it a toilsome elaboration of detail, which not one man out of a thousand could ever see without a glass? I confess, that even where the minute objects themselves form the subject of the picture, this painful execution is quite oppressive to me. I seem to be looking through an inverted telescope, which gives everything a hard outline that I never see in Nature myself, and never want to see; and further, while there is an atmosphere, I don't believe anybody else can see. But where this minute detail is merely accessory to the subject of the picture, there I hold the system to be wrong and false in the strongest sense. It is, of course, very catching to talk about imitating Nature exactly, but one simple test will show that for dramatic or poetical subjects it won't do. Dress up two models as carefully as you like, put them into appropriate attitudes, take a calotype of the group, copy it exactly on the canvas, call itHamlet and the Ghost, and then ask yourself what notion it gives you ofShakspere. Imitation of Nature is only an expedient. The end of Art is to please."

The new-found crown of Hungary has been brought in great state to Vienna, and with like state returned again to Hungary. The reason for this (we impart the news to the reader as private and confidential) was—Baron Lionel Rothschild, having examined the diadem, refused to lend a single penny upon it. The real, original stones have been taken out, but we understand the Pope has, in the handsomest manner, proposed to supply other gems of far surpassing value—namely, no other than half-a-dozen of the pebbles that stonedSt. Stephenhimself.

The arms of Austria are the eagle; the double-headed eagle. When, however, we think of the paper currency of the house of Hapsburgh—currency issued only to be dishonoured—the supporters of Austria are surely not eagles, but—asNokes, the wag upon 'Change, says—kites.

"Mr. Punch,

"Direct Taxation may be compensated for by cheapness; but it is very painful. When we are compelled to pay a lot of money at once, we feel a pang which the disbursement of twice as much distributed over a longer period, in small additions to our expenditure, does not occasion. The latter case resembles the gradual extraction of a single hair: the former is equivalent to having a whole handful torn right out. You know that you may lose a quantity of blood by frequent leeching, which, if abstracted at once from your system, would make you faint. I am still suffering from the recent payment of my assessed taxes; and shall not lose the horrible sensation for a week. As to the Income-Tax—it has the effect of a fine: a regular punishment. Couldn't these dreadful penalties be paid by instalments? I declare I am almost determined the next time I am forced to undergo one of them, to have myself put under the influence of chloroform. I have sometimes thought of brandy instead; but I have a generous weakness, which spirituous liquors are apt to stimulate, and I am afraid that if I were to pay my Income-Tax in the state I allude to, I should fling down a few guineas over the amount as a voluntary contribution, overcome with enthusiastic devotion to myQueenand Country.

"Yours, a severely plucked

"Michaelmas Goose."

"September 29, 1853."

"P.S. If we have war, these taxes will become quite intolerable; and chloroform will be absolutely necessary."

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