THE DEMON OF THE CUPBOARD.

THE DEMON OF THE CUPBOARD

Within the last few months mysterious noises have been repeatedly heard in the cupboards ofHer Majesty'ssubjects throughout the kingdom. These have been, in most instances, at first supposed to be occasioned by mice and rats, as they consisted in scrapings, scratchings, and knockings, such as are made by those animals. But in many cases wherein the noises were the most violent, cheese contained in the cupboard was found untouched; so that it was necessary to seek some other explanations of the acoustic phenomena.

The circumstances of table rapping obviously suggested that the sounds were caused by spirits; and several powerful mediums were consulted, independently, with respect to this point. The answers to all inquiries obtained through these channels agreed in the fact that the cupboards were haunted; and also coincided in the further information that the name of their obstreperous inhabitant wasNicholas.

This startling declaration apparently rendered the character of the author of the disturbances no longer doubtful, and was considered by serious clergymen a conclusive proof that they resulted from "Satanic Agency."

However, to subsequent interrogatories, as to whether the "Nicholas" who scratched in the cupboards was the same as that personage generally known as "Old Scratch," the reply was uniformly in the negative; and the cupboard-hauntingNicholaswas described as not that old one but "the other."

Several defunctNicholaseswere then named, and the question was put with regard to each in succession, whether he was the one alluded to; but in every case it was declared that the individual mentioned was not the scratchingNicholas.

At last—in a kind of jocose despair—was put the inquiry, whether theNicholaswas theEmperor of Russia. When, to the amazement of all the hearers, the response distinctly rapped out was "Yes!"

A clue was thus obtained for ulterior investigation, by which it was elicited that theCzar Nicholaswas in the cupboards by force of his operation on the loaf, of which, by his nefarious proceedings, prompted by ambition, pride, and rapacity, he had raised the price to everybody in the nation. The knocking and scratching indicated rage and fury, combined with irritation and vexation on account of having got into a scrape.

The sort of ubiquity which seems involved in one individual vermin infesting so many cupboards at the same time, is declared to be a mystery, the solution of which is referred to the abstruser laws of mesmerism. By the assistance of the mediums we learn thatNicholashas remarkable faculties of a spiritual kind, which he partakes of as the limb participates in the nature of the parent body. Hence, indeed, he is adored as the deity of the Russians; just as his ancient namesake is "honoured for his burning throne."

Since the above particulars were communicated, it has been positively averred, by ladies venerable for their years and other persons of the soundest judgment as well as the highest respectability, that, on going to their cupboards late at night to cut a slice of bread and butter, they have been terrified by the miniature apparition of a gigantic figure with an inflated aspect, bestriding the loaf in a military uniform and a pair of jack-boots. So that now, in almost all families, when any strange noise is heard about the house, it is customary to refer the disturbance to theCzarin the cupboard.

The Bishop of Oxford and Oil-cum-Honeymade a beautiful speech at the Mansion House in favour of theAlbertMemorial. Never did tongue talk more silverly for bronze. Nevertheless, there is a passage in the episcopal harangue—(let us not forget to observe, it is reported of the Bishop that in his guilelessness he is wholly unaware of the road from Oxford to Lambeth)—a passage relating to "things solid" that somewhat puzzles us.Samuel of Oxfordobserved (andMr. Samuel Carter Hall, who, he said, "represented the artists," smiled and applauded the words) that—

"It is of the very nature ofthings solidthat, instead of being borne along upon the surface of the stream of time,they sink gradually downbeneath its waters; and, therefore, with regard to this great fact—anda great factI hold it to have been—if any memorial is to be raised at all, I think it should be raised while yet the memory of its greatness holds its true place in the impression of those by whom it was witnessed."

Because, ifPrince Alberthas not a monument in bronze to remind the short memory of human nature that there was once a Crystal Palace in Hyde Park, the recollection of that great fact, being a "thing solid," will gradually sink down into the waters of oblivion. Just as, doubtless, we should have forgotten Waterloo and its results, if certain ladies of England had not set up a statue ofWellingtonactingAchillesin Hyde Park. Well, we have a notion that the best and most enduring monument to the memory of the fleeting Crystal Palace in the Park will be provided by the enduring glory, even at the present time, crowning Sydenham Hill.

We have the greatest admiration of the intellectual subtleties of theBishop of Oxford. Like an olive, his nature secretes its own oil. Nevertheless, we should have liked to hear other bishops upon "things solid." Where was theBishop of London? Is it possible that any churchman can speak upon better authority, from deeper experience of "things solid," than the teacher of Fulham? Why, then, was the chief power of illustrations of the "solids" of this life merely required ofSamuel of Oxon? Moreover,Prince Albertis, it seems, to have the statue: and among the alto-reliefs will, doubtless, beChallisreading his patent of baronetcy.

The thing is decided upon. So gentlemen, unbutton your pockets; and down with the pounds—the "things solid," if we mistake not,Bishop of Oxford.

In the well-knownLetters from the Baltic,Nicholasis thus drawn in pen and ink—

"His face is strictly Grecian—forehead and nose is one grand line; the eyes finely lined, large, open, and blue, with a calmness, a coldness, a freezing dignity, which can equally quell an insurrection, daunt an assassin, or paralyse a petitioner: the mouth regular, teeth fine, chin prominent, with dark moustache and small whisker; but not a sympathy in his face. His mouth sometimes smiled, his eyes never."

Mr. Punch, having studied the Czar in his works, is disposed to put forth another sketch; as thus—

His face is strictly all cheek: forehead and nose one grand roundabout curve; the eyes large, open, round, and expressive as a cannon's mouth; cannon that can quell an insurrection, or slaughter innocence; the mouth curved and significant as a scimitar; teeth large and prominent as chevaux-de-frise; the face altogether a national death-warrant. The mouth, like scimitar steel, sometimes glistens—the eyes never.

"We have no Windsor"—says, very mournfully, theEarl of Eglington—"no Buckingham Palace, no St. James's, no Kensington, no Hampton Court."

Mr. Punchbegs to mingle his tears with the tears of the noble Earl,Mr. Punchthe while lamenting as an Englishman that—"We have no cockaleekie—no haggis—no singed sheep's-head—no bagpipes!"

The late fine weather has enabled us to get the wheat into the ground, which the previous rains threatened to prevent. Agricultural prospects thus present a hopeful appearance; but then, by reason of the extent of land sown, a great many fields must be in a state of seediness.

Ladies' Mouths.—An old beau says: "A Lady's mouth never looks so beautiful as when she is pronouncing the word 'Yes.'"

WWE,Nicholas the First, Emperor and Autocrat of all the Russias, and King of all Good Fellows, proclaim:

WE,Nicholas the First, Emperor and Autocrat of all the Russias, and King of all Good Fellows, proclaim:

That we have been insulted by the Turk, whose stony heart we have—on the bended knees of our Christian spirit—supplicated, but to no purpose.

We have, as becomes a Christian autocrat, submitted to have our dearly-beloved Ambassador,Prince Menschikoff, publicly bastinadoed in the streets of Constantinople.

We have allowedOmar Pachato pull the nose of our dearly-beloved General,Prince Gortschakoff.

We have—by a meekness and endurance unparalleled in the House ofRomanoff—begged, suffered, entreated, wept, rolled ourselves in the dust, to appease and mollify the cannibal spirit of the Turk.

But all in vain. He is stiff-necked, and not to be turned. We, therefore, propose to march with our sacred soldiers to Constantinople, and there and then—(Grace having been duly said by the Patriarch of our Holy Church)—to eat the accursedSultan Abdul-Medjidalive, andWITHOUT SALT! [Here follows a pious invocation for a blessing on the Imperial intention.]

The formation of a New General Electric Telegraph Company is contemplated byMr. Punch.

To supersede and cut out all existing Electric Telegraph Companies will be the object of the New General Electric Telegraph Company, of whichMr. Punchmeditates the establishment.

Nothing can be clearer to the reflecting mind than that a shock of electricity is, of itself, one of the cheapest commodities that can be produced.

Nothing is more notorious than the fact that an electric shock, imparted to the wire of an Electric Telegraph, is about as dear an article as any in the market.

The extent of the circuit traversed by a shock of electricity does not add to its cost. The messenger incurs no travelling expenses.

Yet nine shillings is the sum which "A Poor Man in Trouble," who wished to inquire respecting a sick relative, complains to theTimesthat he was asked to pay for the simple message "Is he better?" with answer, to be transmitted from a station 46 miles from town to the neighbourhood of Belgrave Road, Pimlico.

If there is any one speculation peculiarly calculated to pay on the principle of large sales at low prices, it is manifestly an Electric Telegraph.

In preference, therefore, to any Austrian or Spanish loan, in which enterprising parties may be disposed to risk their capital,Mr. Punchinvites them to join him with their two or three millions in his proposed New Electric Telegraph Company; unless the present Companies, awakened by the fear of competition withPunch & Co., should reduce their prices immediately.

One of the features in theLord Mayor'sShow of the other day was a figure of "Justice, in a Car drawn by Six Horses." Singularly enough, the six horses showed a disposition to pull different ways, and the leaders on each side were as obstinate in trying to upsetJusticeas a couple of Old Bailey barristers. It was rather a bold measure to introduce Justice officially into any part of the proceedings onLord Mayor'sDay, for if the goddess were present among the Corporation in reality rather than in effigy, the probability is, that there would be no procession onLord Mayor'sDay, in consequence of there being noLord Mayor, as a natural result of there being no Aldermen from whom to select the potentate.

It might have been remarked the other day, that the civic idea of Justice differs from all the ordinary notions of the character, for theJusticeof the Corporation of London as seen in the procession, instead of being blindfold, wore a bandage over the forehead in such a way as not to interfere with her sight, or prevent her from having both her eyes open to her own interest. Her scales were rather gigantic, but she did not carry them in her hand, and they seemed to be emblematical of nothing but the balance she keeps hung up, as it were, without being accounted for. PoorJusticeseemed to be frightfully shaken by the treatment she experienced in the City; and, after the fatigues of the day were at an end, was heard to say that she had not a leg to stand upon. If a representation of Justice for the City had really been needed for theLord Mayor'sShow, how much better it would have been to have mounted the Corporation Commissioners on the Car, and have displayed them to the world as the real emblems of that Justice which the City is likely to experience, when the present disclosures of civic corruption have produced their legitimate consequence.

Of all Tables we should think the Tables of figures inBradshaw'sGuidewould be the most difficult to move—for we only know from our own painful experience that, whenever we wish to find out a particular spot, we never can get the Tables to move in the direction we want to go to!

Giovenetti Che Fatt'.—A simple-minded Correspondent asks us the meaning of an Alderman who has not passed the chair, and is desirous of knowing whether the Alderman so situated has been unable to get past the chair by reason of his obesity.

Here's Government again at we wi' moor new fangled whims and fancies,A callin' on us vor to gie a statement of our circumstances;Now, zince we've got to undergoo this delicate investigation,O' coorse, my friends, our best we'll do to furnish every information.We be to zay what land we got—how many acres under tillage—They seeks to find that out for what?—not surely with intent to pillage.They wants the number of our stock, which if we wonders why they axes,At any rate we knows full well it can't be to lay on moor taxes.We'm to put down in black-on-white, our cows, and pigs, and ship, and hosses;Which them as don't know how to write I s'pose must do by means o' crosses:Our wheat, our barley, wuts, and rye, our beans, our hay, and straw moreover,Our mangold-wurzel, turmuts, ay, and taters, sainfoin, too, and clover.P'raps we shall likewise ha' to state the number of our ploughs and harrows,Wheel carriages, both small and great, from carts and waggons down to barrows,Machines that to the farm belongs, our clod crushers and scarifiers,And all our forks, and rakes, and prongs, according as the case requires.Our poultry booked they may expect—returns o' turkeys and gallanies,Along o' lists made out correct o' Bantams, Dorkins, Cochin Chaneys,And geese and ducks, and pigeons; nay, may be they'll want, a inventory,Including all the eggs they lay; a pretty joke and likely story!How 'twas the project fust arose of sneakin in behind the curtain,By gettin of us to expose our secrets, I consider certain;'Tis Popery in the Government that wishes for to get possessionOf our affairs; for which intent they tries to bring us to confession.We very soon shall find, I fear, the country in a sad condition,'Tis the beginning, all this here, I take it, of the Inquisition,You'll shortly see the fagots blaze, unless you stand resolved and steady;There's the New Forest, anyways, directed to be cut already.

Here's Government again at we wi' moor new fangled whims and fancies,

A callin' on us vor to gie a statement of our circumstances;

Now, zince we've got to undergoo this delicate investigation,

O' coorse, my friends, our best we'll do to furnish every information.

We be to zay what land we got—how many acres under tillage—They seeks to find that out for what?—not surely with intent to pillage.They wants the number of our stock, which if we wonders why they axes,At any rate we knows full well it can't be to lay on moor taxes.

We be to zay what land we got—how many acres under tillage—

They seeks to find that out for what?—not surely with intent to pillage.

They wants the number of our stock, which if we wonders why they axes,

At any rate we knows full well it can't be to lay on moor taxes.

We'm to put down in black-on-white, our cows, and pigs, and ship, and hosses;Which them as don't know how to write I s'pose must do by means o' crosses:Our wheat, our barley, wuts, and rye, our beans, our hay, and straw moreover,Our mangold-wurzel, turmuts, ay, and taters, sainfoin, too, and clover.

We'm to put down in black-on-white, our cows, and pigs, and ship, and hosses;

Which them as don't know how to write I s'pose must do by means o' crosses:

Our wheat, our barley, wuts, and rye, our beans, our hay, and straw moreover,

Our mangold-wurzel, turmuts, ay, and taters, sainfoin, too, and clover.

P'raps we shall likewise ha' to state the number of our ploughs and harrows,Wheel carriages, both small and great, from carts and waggons down to barrows,Machines that to the farm belongs, our clod crushers and scarifiers,And all our forks, and rakes, and prongs, according as the case requires.

P'raps we shall likewise ha' to state the number of our ploughs and harrows,

Wheel carriages, both small and great, from carts and waggons down to barrows,

Machines that to the farm belongs, our clod crushers and scarifiers,

And all our forks, and rakes, and prongs, according as the case requires.

Our poultry booked they may expect—returns o' turkeys and gallanies,Along o' lists made out correct o' Bantams, Dorkins, Cochin Chaneys,And geese and ducks, and pigeons; nay, may be they'll want, a inventory,Including all the eggs they lay; a pretty joke and likely story!

Our poultry booked they may expect—returns o' turkeys and gallanies,

Along o' lists made out correct o' Bantams, Dorkins, Cochin Chaneys,

And geese and ducks, and pigeons; nay, may be they'll want, a inventory,

Including all the eggs they lay; a pretty joke and likely story!

How 'twas the project fust arose of sneakin in behind the curtain,By gettin of us to expose our secrets, I consider certain;'Tis Popery in the Government that wishes for to get possessionOf our affairs; for which intent they tries to bring us to confession.

How 'twas the project fust arose of sneakin in behind the curtain,

By gettin of us to expose our secrets, I consider certain;

'Tis Popery in the Government that wishes for to get possession

Of our affairs; for which intent they tries to bring us to confession.

We very soon shall find, I fear, the country in a sad condition,'Tis the beginning, all this here, I take it, of the Inquisition,You'll shortly see the fagots blaze, unless you stand resolved and steady;There's the New Forest, anyways, directed to be cut already.

We very soon shall find, I fear, the country in a sad condition,

'Tis the beginning, all this here, I take it, of the Inquisition,

You'll shortly see the fagots blaze, unless you stand resolved and steady;

There's the New Forest, anyways, directed to be cut already.

The Australian Route.—This route, since the discovery of gold, must be the Root of Evil.

SAVE ME, DEAR PUNCHP—nce Alb—rt."SAVE ME, DEARPUNCH, FROM THESE MOST RIDICULOUS FRIENDS."

I snored in slumber comatose,Soaked, stuffed, and gorged too full by far;Across my red and bulbous noseQueen Mabthen drove her tiny car;Whereon I clambered precipices,And tumbled headlong down abysses,And roamed among strange edifices,Till I at last saw Temple Bar.Yes; there was Temple Bar, no doubt,Of that I felt completely sure;Yet there was something strange aboutThe gateway—mystic and obscure—A character and meaning double;And from foul puddles, signs of trouble,Whilst gas around began to bubble,It formed the mouth of some great sewer.Then, in the visions of the night,Behold a Broom the kennel brushed,And a Voice cried, "'Twill be all rightEre long!" and then the Voice was hushed;And then I heard a sullen mutter,A sort of grumbling in the gutter;And after that, the same Voice utterThese words: "The Sewer must be Flushed."When, lo! a noise of dismal cries,Grunts, groans, and squeaks of wild despair,The anguish of a thousand sties,With frightful discord rent the air;And straightway, in the dreamy juggle,Approaching waters seemed to struggle,Gurgle, and dash, and splash, and guggle,And through the portal burst and tear!Ah! what a cataract of slushAnd monstrous mud was there to see.Like noisome soup appeared to gushThe sizy torrent, now set free;And in the mess lurched figures bloated,With fat heads, whose dull eyes still gloatedOn morsels that around them floatedOf callipash and callipee.The Sword, the Cap, the Mace, the Chain,Regalia of the Civic Crown,Disgorged by that enormous drain,Tangled and hitched with robe and gown,With acts, and deeds, and charter-scrollsOf fees and metage, dues and tollsOn corn, fruit, oysters, salt, and coals,Came rolling, rumbling, tumbling down.Pie Poudre, Leet and Baron Court,With Swanhoppers no more to hop.Those dark and dirty billows' sport,Together hurled, went squash, and flop:And one who stemmed, till Hope's last glimmer,The slab surge that did round him simmer,The Water Bailiff—sturdy swimmer;He too was swamped amid the slop.With sirloins, haunches, all these thingsWere mashed; with jelly, ice, and cream,Chantilly biscuits, legs and wingsOf game and poultry, and the streamBore salmon, turbot, hash, and curry,Goblet and flagon, hurry-skurry,My brain was bursting with the worry—And then I started from my dream!

I snored in slumber comatose,

Soaked, stuffed, and gorged too full by far;

Across my red and bulbous nose

Queen Mabthen drove her tiny car;

Whereon I clambered precipices,

And tumbled headlong down abysses,

And roamed among strange edifices,

Till I at last saw Temple Bar.

Yes; there was Temple Bar, no doubt,Of that I felt completely sure;Yet there was something strange aboutThe gateway—mystic and obscure—A character and meaning double;And from foul puddles, signs of trouble,Whilst gas around began to bubble,It formed the mouth of some great sewer.

Yes; there was Temple Bar, no doubt,

Of that I felt completely sure;

Yet there was something strange about

The gateway—mystic and obscure—

A character and meaning double;

And from foul puddles, signs of trouble,

Whilst gas around began to bubble,

It formed the mouth of some great sewer.

Then, in the visions of the night,Behold a Broom the kennel brushed,And a Voice cried, "'Twill be all rightEre long!" and then the Voice was hushed;And then I heard a sullen mutter,A sort of grumbling in the gutter;And after that, the same Voice utterThese words: "The Sewer must be Flushed."

Then, in the visions of the night,

Behold a Broom the kennel brushed,

And a Voice cried, "'Twill be all right

Ere long!" and then the Voice was hushed;

And then I heard a sullen mutter,

A sort of grumbling in the gutter;

And after that, the same Voice utter

These words: "The Sewer must be Flushed."

When, lo! a noise of dismal cries,Grunts, groans, and squeaks of wild despair,The anguish of a thousand sties,With frightful discord rent the air;And straightway, in the dreamy juggle,Approaching waters seemed to struggle,Gurgle, and dash, and splash, and guggle,And through the portal burst and tear!

When, lo! a noise of dismal cries,

Grunts, groans, and squeaks of wild despair,

The anguish of a thousand sties,

With frightful discord rent the air;

And straightway, in the dreamy juggle,

Approaching waters seemed to struggle,

Gurgle, and dash, and splash, and guggle,

And through the portal burst and tear!

Ah! what a cataract of slushAnd monstrous mud was there to see.Like noisome soup appeared to gushThe sizy torrent, now set free;And in the mess lurched figures bloated,With fat heads, whose dull eyes still gloatedOn morsels that around them floatedOf callipash and callipee.

Ah! what a cataract of slush

And monstrous mud was there to see.

Like noisome soup appeared to gush

The sizy torrent, now set free;

And in the mess lurched figures bloated,

With fat heads, whose dull eyes still gloated

On morsels that around them floated

Of callipash and callipee.

The Sword, the Cap, the Mace, the Chain,Regalia of the Civic Crown,Disgorged by that enormous drain,Tangled and hitched with robe and gown,With acts, and deeds, and charter-scrollsOf fees and metage, dues and tollsOn corn, fruit, oysters, salt, and coals,Came rolling, rumbling, tumbling down.

The Sword, the Cap, the Mace, the Chain,

Regalia of the Civic Crown,

Disgorged by that enormous drain,

Tangled and hitched with robe and gown,

With acts, and deeds, and charter-scrolls

Of fees and metage, dues and tolls

On corn, fruit, oysters, salt, and coals,

Came rolling, rumbling, tumbling down.

Pie Poudre, Leet and Baron Court,With Swanhoppers no more to hop.Those dark and dirty billows' sport,Together hurled, went squash, and flop:And one who stemmed, till Hope's last glimmer,The slab surge that did round him simmer,The Water Bailiff—sturdy swimmer;He too was swamped amid the slop.

Pie Poudre, Leet and Baron Court,

With Swanhoppers no more to hop.

Those dark and dirty billows' sport,

Together hurled, went squash, and flop:

And one who stemmed, till Hope's last glimmer,

The slab surge that did round him simmer,

The Water Bailiff—sturdy swimmer;

He too was swamped amid the slop.

With sirloins, haunches, all these thingsWere mashed; with jelly, ice, and cream,Chantilly biscuits, legs and wingsOf game and poultry, and the streamBore salmon, turbot, hash, and curry,Goblet and flagon, hurry-skurry,My brain was bursting with the worry—And then I started from my dream!

With sirloins, haunches, all these things

Were mashed; with jelly, ice, and cream,

Chantilly biscuits, legs and wings

Of game and poultry, and the stream

Bore salmon, turbot, hash, and curry,

Goblet and flagon, hurry-skurry,

My brain was bursting with the worry—

And then I started from my dream!

The Results of Striking.—It is as strange as it is lamentable that strikes should so commonly end in broken heads, since the moment the men have once struck there is a stoppage of the mill.

Not Far Out.—A cynical old Cockney of our acquaintance says he considers the moustache movement to be only a new way the young fellows have got into of giving themselves 'airs.

FLUSHING THE GREAT CITY SEWERSFLUSHING THE GREAT CITY SEWERS.

TTHEKing of the Belgiansopened his Chambers last week, and it is to be regretted thatKing Leopold'sexcellent speech has been so incorrectly translated by the London newspapers. No wonder thatLord Clarendoncomplains of the inadequate way in which the journalists render his despatches. An English dramatic author, hurried in his rapine, could hardly have adapted a French speech more clumsily than it has been done for our papers. We subjoin a literal translation:

THEKing of the Belgiansopened his Chambers last week, and it is to be regretted thatKing Leopold'sexcellent speech has been so incorrectly translated by the London newspapers. No wonder thatLord Clarendoncomplains of the inadequate way in which the journalists render his despatches. An English dramatic author, hurried in his rapine, could hardly have adapted a French speech more clumsily than it has been done for our papers. We subjoin a literal translation:

"Gentlemen,

"I am charmed to meet you again. When we separated, you were so kind as to express your entire satisfaction with the marriage I told you I had then in view for my son, theDuke of Brabant. I need not inform you that the match has since come off, because I do not suppose you will easily forget the portentous (effroyable) disturbance we made about it. But you will be happy to hear that I have taken MaryHenrietta of Austriaand her husband over to England, and that our charming friend and relativeQueen Victoriawas quite pleased with the bride, and considersBrabanta fortunate young fellow.

"It is, I hope, unnecessary for me to say that it was not merely, or chiefly, to introduce a young wife to a young matron that I endured the perilous voyage from Ostend to Portsmouth. You will do your King more justice.

"Allied with the House of Austria, I found in that marriage the strongest reason why my voice should be heard in England at a conjuncture (crise) when Austria needed an advocate there. But this is not all. You know how long and how sedulously I have laboured to get theEmperor Nicholasto accredit an ambassador from Russia to Belgium. His Majesty has, for years, disdained my request with Northern haughtiness (fierté), but, either for reasons of mine or his own, he has at last accorded the favour. Since that boon, it is well known to you that Russia has had only to ask and to have in Belgium. I was therefore doubly bound to undertake my English mission, charged as I was with the interests of Austria and of Russia.

"That the Prince Consort of England and myself retired into the shooting field together—for the Sovereign of England has a certain straightforwardness (droiture) which makes it difficult to urge diplomatic considerations in her hearing—you may have learned. If I alluded to the danger which might accrue to Saxe Gotha in the event of Russia, Austria, and Prussia not regarding its princes as their friends, I am sure the august sportsman to whom I addressed such a speculation will not have listened to me in vain. The friends ofMary Henriettaand of our newly-arrived ambassador have no reason to be dissatisfied with the effect I produced.

"I may therefore felicitate you, Gentlemen, and myself, on the perfect concord which exists between Russia, Austria, Saxe Gotha, and Belgium, and I am glad to add that the aged and accomplished prime minister of England, the goodAberdeen, fully concurs in the sentiments of those four powers.

"Details of your own finance and other topics affecting yourselves will be supplied by my Ministers, but I could not refrain from personally informing you of the quadruple alliance which I, and our charmingMary Henrietta, have done so much to cement, and which I trust you will remember should we ask for any little addition to the estimates.

"That the blessing of, &c."

Nicholasis the acknowledged deity of the Muscovites. A god standing six feet four in his sacred stockings. The manner in which he recruits his army to carry on his Holy Wars is very celestial. Sometimes he causes his angelic Cossacks to surround a boys' school and carry off the scholars, promoting them from the birch to the knout. In one particular case two boys, one 12 and the other 14, were carried away, their old grandmother of 85 raising her hands, doubtless in prayer for the God of Russia. Who can doubt the Christianity of an Emperor, who is at once the heart and soul of such a system? Poor fellow! In his last proclamation he says "He has been goaded into war by thePorte." Goaded is the word. Only think of the nasty red-wattled turkey gobbling at and goading a poor, harmless, innocent bear! We shall next have the Christian dove pecking out the eyes of the twin-headed eagle.

Now that every British Innkeeper clearly holds himself privileged to take as many people in continually as his house will hold, it has become a question of quite national importance how most effectually to check their chousing. In our position of Adviser-General to the Nation, we have of course been nationally consulted in the matter, and we therefore feel called upon to give our readers—we mean of course the nation—our opinion on the subject.

It being generally admitted, by everybody but themselves, that the present system of our Innkeepers has become, like a baby, quite a crying nuisance, we think it may most properly be dealt with in the cradle: and we would therefore have our rising generation early prepared for the fleecing that awaits them. We are sure that by judicious treatment a wholesome horror of hotels might be easily impressed upon the infant mind. We would have the landlord take the place of the infantine "Old Bogy," and figure in our fairytales as the terrible old Ogre, who lives upon the unsuspecting travellers who come to him: while in all the juvenile editions of our Natural History he might be represented as a species, only known in England, of theOrnithorynchus, orBeast with a Bill. Instead of the deeds of mythic "Forty Thieves," our nursemaids should recount the rogueries of an inn; and, instead of threatening a "dark room" by way of penal settlement for the fractious, they in future might condemn them to a "private" one at an hotel, lit with nominal wax candles at half-a-crown an inch. "Reform your Landlord's Bills" should be, of course, an early round-hand copy, and the first thing in the spelling-book a spell against extortion. In short, no means should be spared to represent an hotel as a sort of inhumane mantrap, which it is impossible to get out of without considerable bleeding.

The same wholesome warning might be given through the medium of those senseless lyrics which are known to us, collectively, as our Nursery Rhymes. We have long had a contempt for these unmeaningHumpty-Dumptys, and have long considered them a national disgrace. They were an insult to our cradlehood, and are still continually an annoyance to our maturer ears. The proverbial wisdom of our ancestors is but little shown, we think, in having handed them down to us. It is humiliating to think that in this era of enlightenment, this present March—or, we should rather say, November—of Intellect, such nonsense can be tolerated. Any well-regulated baby must, we are persuaded, feel itself disgraced by it.

In the position we hold as national benefactors, we have long been anxious to reform these truly "nonsense verses," and we are resolved that when our stereotyped "want of space" no longer afflicts us, we will "seriously incline" our pen to an attempt at their amendment. Meanwhile, upon a subject so suggestive as the present, we can't resist throwing a little reason in the rhymes; and we feel we shall be doing the infant state some service by printing, as a specimen, ourInnkeeper Rhymer.

Air.—"Hushaby Baby."

Chouse away, innkeeper, while you've the chance,For you'll very soon drive all the tourists to France:A crown for a breakfast—eight shillings for lunch—Pay him his bill, and expose him inPunch.

Chouse away, innkeeper, while you've the chance,

For you'll very soon drive all the tourists to France:

A crown for a breakfast—eight shillings for lunch—

Pay him his bill, and expose him inPunch.

Air.—"Ride a Cock-horse."

Dine at the Cross off steak tough as horse,And charged at the rate of a crown for a course;With bills ever high, and bows ever low,You shall have chousing wherever you go.

Dine at the Cross off steak tough as horse,

And charged at the rate of a crown for a course;

With bills ever high, and bows ever low,

You shall have chousing wherever you go.

Air.—"Sing a Song of Sixpence."

Sing a song of fleecing:A pocket full of goldIn four-and-twenty hoursWill be quite cleaned out, I'm told.Would you stay a fortnight,A fortune you must bring,For while they serve you like a Commoner,They charge you like a King.Two shillings for a cup of tea,And sixpence more for "honey;"And however light your dinner be,A heavy sum of money.Half-a-crown for wax-lights,Tallowy in smell:So wherever you're admitted,You are taken in as well.

Sing a song of fleecing:

A pocket full of gold

In four-and-twenty hours

Will be quite cleaned out, I'm told.

Would you stay a fortnight,

A fortune you must bring,

For while they serve you like a Commoner,

They charge you like a King.

Two shillings for a cup of tea,And sixpence more for "honey;"And however light your dinner be,A heavy sum of money.Half-a-crown for wax-lights,Tallowy in smell:So wherever you're admitted,You are taken in as well.

Two shillings for a cup of tea,

And sixpence more for "honey;"

And however light your dinner be,

A heavy sum of money.

Half-a-crown for wax-lights,

Tallowy in smell:

So wherever you're admitted,

You are taken in as well.

Following the Fashion.—The French start the Fashions, and the English follow them.

MATERIALS FOR A MUSEUM OF CITY ANTIQUITIES.MATERIALS FOR A MUSEUM OF CITY ANTIQUITIES.

A meeting of the principal metropolitan Statues took place yesterday morning at Exeter Hall. Time was when such an assemblage would have been looked upon as rather an extraordinary event; but recent manifestations have prepared the public mind for the phenomena of statue moving and statue talking: and this convention of sculptures created more interest than astonishment. The object of its attendants was to take into consideration the proposal for the increase of their number by the addition thereto of a monument to His Royal HighnessPrince Albert.

TheStatue of Fergus Mac Ivor—from the shop-front ofMr. Sanderson, tobacconist—having been voted into the chair, stated the purpose of the gathering. Of course the costume of thePrince'sstatue would be determined with reference to the associations of Balmoral; and he should hail the introduction of the illustrious new member to the clan. The only question was, where to place the Statue? For his part he should have much pleasure in affording it a site by vacating his own post at the door, and retiring into the shop.

TheStatue of George the Thirdwould willingly resign to the new comer a position which was painfully conspicuous, and withdraw into an obscurity where a pigtail would cease to attract perpetual derision.

TheStatue of George the Fourth, equally with the effigy of his Royal Parent, would be glad to abdicate in favour of the Statue of thePrince Consort. He was nervously sensible of constituting, together with his quadruped, something very unlike one of the Elgin Marbles. It would delight him to dismount, and let thePrinceget up instead.

King Charles the First's Statueat Charing Cross said, perhaps the taste of the Committee would determine that HisRoyal Highnessshould get up behind.

TheDuke of York's Statuefelt that there were peculiar reasons why, if any site were relinquished in favour of the intended testimonial, it should be his own. The country owed something, anyhow, toPrince Albert; but whateverPrince Albertowed the country, he paid his debts, and his representative would not be exposed to continual banter on that score.

TheStatueof theGreat Duke, fromBurton'sArch, said that he had the honour to representField-Marshal the Duke of Wellington.Field-Marshal the Duke of Wellingtonhad been awarded by the country a Statue during his life. The same tribute was about to be paid toField-Marshal Prince Albert. The Statue ofField-Marshal the Dukehad nothing to say to any estimate the country might think fit to form of the comparative necessity for a Statue ofField-Marshal the Prince. But that point being settled, the proper place for the Statue would be parallel to his (the Statue of theDuke's) own. His own was the top of the arch on one side of the road, andPrince Albert'smight be that of the gateway on the other.

Nelson's Statueconsidered that the suggestion of the Statue of the NobleDukewas founded on the notion that the monument toPrince Albertwas intended to commemorate the Great Exhibition. In that case the gateway at Hyde Park Corner certainly would be the fittest place for it; near enough to the scene of the triumph, and alongside of the memorial to the Hero of Waterloo. But, to speak straightforwardly, the fact was, that the scheme of a Statue to thePrincewas a device of the Corporation of London to ingratiate themselves at Court. The Statue was meant to be a propitiatory concern—to conciliate the protection of Royalty for the City—and the proper situation for it would be over Temple Bar, to serve as a Palladium to that edifice and the interests therewith connected.

GogandMagog, rising together, loudly expressed their approbation of this view; the adoption of which would tend to secure themselves in their own places, which they wished to retain as long as they were able, like all others holding comfortable situations in Guildhall.

A motion embodying the concurrence of the meeting in the opinion that the Statue ofPrince Albertshould surmount Temple Bar was then put and carried unanimously, when, after the usual vote of thanks, the meeting broke up, and the molten and graven images departed to their respective sites.

We hear that an ingenious mechanic at Ipswich has invented a machine to perform perpetual motion, which is described as "self-acting after being put in motion by a screw." So is a bailiff who acts on a usurer's writ. We wonder if the Ipswich automaton would arrest an insolvent?

Motto for the Electric Telegraph.—"Between you, me, and the Post."

SSOMEBODY said that it takes a wise man to make a fool. This stands to reason, like the parallel proposition, that it takes a man to make a beast of himself; for if anybody is rendered either beast or fool by his own act, he cannot have been either the one or the other previously. But, running counter to the proverb, fools now endeavour to make wise men, and the Clown on the stage combines the teacher with the tumbler; is didactic and funny; intermingles philosophy with antics, and moralizes and makes faces by turns. The play-going public may perhaps admire this conjunction of light and shade with motley; if so, its taste will be catered for by enterprising managers. In the preparation of the Pantomimes for Christmas, the Clowns should be got to rehearse their parts carefully, with a view to the correct delivery of those discourses which will constitute the serious portion of their business. When the Clown throws off his great head, and his regal vestments, or doublet and trunk hose, and rushes to the foot-lights, he utters an exclamation and propounds an interrogatory. Tradition requires thus much; but Fashion will demand more. He will have to expand and amplify the old forms of words whose brevity has hitherto been sufficiently instructive as well as amusing, so as to elucidate the fulness of their significance. For example:—Having been transformed from Emperor to Zany,Mr. Merryman, at the tap of the Fairy's wand, jumps out of his robes, and appears in his diversified and proper colours. He turns his toes in, and runs up to one of the stage boxes. He there stoops forwards, resting his hands on his knees, grins, squints, rolls his eyes, thrusts his tongue out, and pulling himself by the ears, draws it back again. He then composes his flake-white and vermilion countenance, and utters the following soliloquy:—

SOMEBODY said that it takes a wise man to make a fool. This stands to reason, like the parallel proposition, that it takes a man to make a beast of himself; for if anybody is rendered either beast or fool by his own act, he cannot have been either the one or the other previously. But, running counter to the proverb, fools now endeavour to make wise men, and the Clown on the stage combines the teacher with the tumbler; is didactic and funny; intermingles philosophy with antics, and moralizes and makes faces by turns. The play-going public may perhaps admire this conjunction of light and shade with motley; if so, its taste will be catered for by enterprising managers. In the preparation of the Pantomimes for Christmas, the Clowns should be got to rehearse their parts carefully, with a view to the correct delivery of those discourses which will constitute the serious portion of their business. When the Clown throws off his great head, and his regal vestments, or doublet and trunk hose, and rushes to the foot-lights, he utters an exclamation and propounds an interrogatory. Tradition requires thus much; but Fashion will demand more. He will have to expand and amplify the old forms of words whose brevity has hitherto been sufficiently instructive as well as amusing, so as to elucidate the fulness of their significance. For example:—Having been transformed from Emperor to Zany,Mr. Merryman, at the tap of the Fairy's wand, jumps out of his robes, and appears in his diversified and proper colours. He turns his toes in, and runs up to one of the stage boxes. He there stoops forwards, resting his hands on his knees, grins, squints, rolls his eyes, thrusts his tongue out, and pulling himself by the ears, draws it back again. He then composes his flake-white and vermilion countenance, and utters the following soliloquy:—

"On this spot of earth, at this moment of time, between the past and the future, that is to say,Here, an aggregation of human entities, animal creatures endowed with reason and conscience, a multitude of Objects that constitute You in relation to the One Individual Subject, Myself: in a word,We, exist in a state of conscious Being, of self-cognisant perceptivity and ratiocinativity; in short,Are!"In what condition, mental or bodily, of suffering or enjoyment, of weal or woe, of riches or poverty, of health or disease, of seriousness or levity, of gravity or mirth, of appetite or satiety, of wakefulness or somnolence, more briefly, How, in respect to the state of conscious being, self-cognisant perceptivity and ratiocinativity, exist, orAre, that multitude of Objects which in relation to my Individual Selfhood, constituteYou?"To condense my meaning into the fewest words by which it is capable of being confined, I would remark that,"Here We Are!"And to that momentous observation, allow me to add the profound inquiry,"How Are You?"

"In what condition, mental or bodily, of suffering or enjoyment, of weal or woe, of riches or poverty, of health or disease, of seriousness or levity, of gravity or mirth, of appetite or satiety, of wakefulness or somnolence, more briefly, How, in respect to the state of conscious being, self-cognisant perceptivity and ratiocinativity, exist, orAre, that multitude of Objects which in relation to my Individual Selfhood, constituteYou?

"To condense my meaning into the fewest words by which it is capable of being confined, I would remark that,

"Here We Are!

"And to that momentous observation, allow me to add the profound inquiry,

"How Are You?"

So saying, the Clown flings a summerset, and proceeds to pick pockets, swallow sausages, and burn himself with the hot poker, varying these practical pleasantries with dissertations on morals and metaphysics.

We have perused this volume with considerable pleasure. We observe that it contains two thousand four hundred and ten pages, most of them comprising three columns of closely printed matter, and but that we found it impossible to take the book up, we have no doubt we should have found it equally impossible to lay it down. As a literary composition it is really remarkable, for the tone which the author takes up at the beginning is preserved to the very end, and the same unflaggingness, if we may be permitted the word, which on page 1 introduces us, with aPalmerstonianjauntiness, toMr. Abbott'scoffee-house in the Whitechapel Road, conducts us, with aGladstoniantenacity of purpose, toMr. William Young, the accidental secretary of deaths, on page 2288. But do not let us be misunderstood. There is no monotony of treatment. We are successively presented with a series oftableaux, or rather tables, of life, of a perpetually varying character. We first find "our warmest welcome at an inn," and Green Dragons, Blue Lions, Essex Serpents, and White Horses, spit, roar, hiss, and neigh before us in all the frightful friendliness of provincial hospitality. Then we are shown official circles, and there is no mistaking the individual who is delineated, whether he lounges and reads theMorning Postin the Treasury, sternly overhauls the national ledger in the Audit Office, or waits upon the tides, or overhauls the travelling baskets of returning young ladies, near the Custom House Stairs. Anon, the mysteries of the streets of London are laid open to us with a minuteness which neitherAsmodeusnorMr. Peter Cunninghamhas ever attempted. But our author is not confined to thetrottoir; trades—whose followers look jealously on the census-paper, and by no means affectionately on the income-tax return—are thrown open, and to him everybody reveals his business instead of telling the prying writer to go about his own. He equally shines in his portraiture of political life, and not a senator, hereditary or accidental, spiritual or temporal, escapes his eye. The next timeLord Naashas to hunt forMr. Keogh, he may be spared the scandal of airing himself eleven times, in vain, upon the mosaics of the Reform Club; and the next time the nation is looking out for a Premier, it need not, for lack of an address, selectLord Aberdeeninstead ofMr. Punch. The voluble actuary of the assurance office, the drab-breeched and white-haired banker, the smart stockbroker and the smarting stockjobber, the parchment-visaged chamber-counsel, and the bold-eyed champion at the Old Bailey, the dowager of Mayfair, the guardsman of the club, the virtuous and self-denying author in hisAndrew Marvelchambers, the post-office clerk, and all the men of letters (ha! ha!) of St. Martin's-le-Grand, the sour bachelor of the Albany, and the gentle Benedick of St. John's Wood, and the other myriads who help to make London, fromHer Gracious Majestydown to—no,Punchis merciful—are all designated here. In short, inapplicable as is the word to the biggest as well as the best book of our acquaintance, the Post Office Directory not only contains all that we want to know, but precise information as to at least a couple of millions of people whom—except as readers, in which capacity they exist already—we sincerely hope that we never shall know.

The following extract gives a good idea of the author's style:—

"Smith John, Hairdresser, 24, Skinner Street, Clerkenwell.Smith John, Hide and Skin Salesman, Bermondsey Skin Market.Smith John, Lamp Glass Warehouse, 25, Stonecutter Street.Smith John, Leatherseller, 31, Hanover Place, Clapham Road.Smith John, Livery Stables and Van Proprietor, 20, Little Portland Street.Smith John, Lodging House, 41, Devonshire Street, Queen Square.Smith John,Luke's Head, P. H. 25, Mercer Street, Long Acre.Smith John, Oilman, 8, Ward's Place, Hoxton Old Town."

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