and "Mr. Staples supplied the supper," | appears after Doyle's withdrawal. We says an editorial note in explanation of come upon an article of his in the Septhis couplet: tember of 1851. Bloomerism is still struggling. ProtecTherefore I'll sing, free and full, as improvisation's ghost has appeared to Dizzy. Bartore of Naples, Something for love of my Queen, and much ry's "new houses for regard to my Staples. Evening dress for men was practically the same as it is now. The ladies' crinolines were gradually growing. The ball dresses were as low as they are now, showing a lavish display of bust; but then they had something more than a bit of riband an eighth of an inch wide to sup. port them over the shoulders. Most of Leech's young ladies are short and buxom, with fine eyes. In 1851 were most young ladies like this? The "Mr. Briggs" series provides us with pictures of English sport- fishing, shooting, and hunting the principal features of which naturally remain un changed. The Scottish fête in Holland Park was one of the sensations of the season. There is evidence of the ferment caused by the "No Popery" scare not having yet subsided. It crops up perpetually about this time in the pages of Mr. Punch, who seems to be still angry with the pope, Cardinal Wiseman, and Lord John Russell, for having robbed him of Dicky Doyle. The sage was undoubtedly the honest exponent of the popular Protestantism of the hour; but, on the other hand, he is equally on the alert to second Mr. Horsman's bill for inquiry into the revenues of the Estabblishment's bishops, whom he depicts, in a cartoon by Leech, as running away with all the valuables they can carry in their aprons. The lord mayor and aldermen visited Paris, and were magnificently entertained by the president; but the aldermen complained that the lord mayor (Sir Richard Musgrave), had kept them is the background. The occasion was a great one for Mr. Punch. are mentioned. Mr. Punch sees the last night of the Great Exhibition and bids good-bye to all the wonders of the world. Paxton becomes Sir Joseph, puts twenty thousand pounds in his pocket, and the question is, "What shall become of the Palace of Crystal?" The question is being raised once more in 1886, we believe. Kossuth visits London. "It was not," says Mr. Punch, "Louis Kossuth whom the thousands gazed upon and cheered; it was Hungary bound and bleeding, but still hopeful, resolute, defying Hungary." It is as well to remember that after this Kossuth was presented with an address from republicans, revolutionists, and socialists, men, as they said, "not attracted towards you by either the éclat of your title or the renown of your name." Mr. Punch certainly threw up his cap for "the popular exile," whom America subsequently wel comed with open arms. St. Albans is disfranchised, and Jacob Mons. Jullien recommences his celebrated concerts for November only; and the cartoon shows John Bull standing on the cliff at Dover united by an electric wire to a French soldier on the opposite side of the Channel. Lord Palmerston makes his first appearance in Punch's cartoons as the "Judicious Bottleholder" in the affair between "Nick the Bear" and "Young Europe." The style of the article, in imitation of the sporting article of that time, proves that prize-fighting had not yet died out, and that the "cribs " (public-houses) kept by the pugilists were still frequented by not a few "Corinthians" and patrons of the noble art. There was a circus this year (Fran- The year finished with the coup d'état, coni's) at Drury Lane Theatre, "which and Mr. Punch expresses the popular place," says Mr. Punch, "answers very English opinion at the time, in his cartoon well for nearly everything but the purpose representing the republic bound and to which it is conventionally assigned." helpless, and guarded by a French soldier. The "national drama". - whatever that The legend is, "France is tranquil." may mean-seems never to have been Jeames of the Morning Post is reprein a perfectly satisfactory condition. sented in a small cut by John Leech, as Throughout the "history in Punch," it is cleaning the emperor Napoleon's boots. pretty generally the same story of the Lord chamberlain Breadalbane interferes success of "adaptation from the French," with the liberty of pantomime, and is conand the failure of the original English. siderably chaffed in consequence. The By the way, Thackeray's hand very rarely | last cartoon of the year represents Louis Napoleon recklessly galloping a blind The political subject is still Protection, horse towards the edge of a precipice, until it is buried and the undertakers rewhich a finger-post indicates as the road joice. The great Duke of Wellington's "to glory." It is by Leech, and is called portrait appears as the cartoon, and the "A Beggar on Horseback, or the Brum-attitude of the British lion tells us that magem Bonaparte out for a Ride." the hero of Waterloo is at rest forever. The date is "September XIV. MDCCCLII." Mr. Punch's collection is invaluable as a history of fashions for both sexes. In 1852 the ladies wore their hair in bands, or in a profusion of curls; large sleeves, plenty of lace, shoes, and very moderate crinolines. The gentlemen went in for big bows to their ties, cutaway coats, and short sticks. This year Dizzy is coming to the front, and for the first six months there are very few political cartoons in which Disraeli does not figure. When it is not Dizzy it is Louis Napoleon. Pam and Lord John Russell are less prominent than heretofore. But Mr. Bright appears in Quaker costume, examining through an eyeglass the new-born baby (New Reform Bill), of which Lord John is the father, and which John Bright pronounces to be" Not quite such a fine child as the last." The next event that catches the eye is the coronation of the prince president as emperor of the French. Mr. Punch draws attention to the insanitary state of London slums we have been a long time improving them and utters a warning about cholera. In one of the October numbers of this year there is a lament for the decline of the historic equestrian drama at Astley's (now quite a thing of the past), and an excellent likeness of the celebrated ringmaster, Widdicombe. Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe's ro. mance, "Uncle Tom's Cabin," provided Mr. Punch with a cartoon subject, in which Dizzy appeared as Topsy. Cobden is now brought prominently before the public, and in one of the latest cartoons of the year he is represented as Queen Eleanor offering the Free Trade cup or resignation dagger to Dizzy, who is the Fair Rosamond. In the picture finishing the volume, Mr. Punch complains of that absurd measure, the British pint, "which," he said, "is a bottle that wants looking into." It was looked into accordingly. The imperial pint was one result of the inquiry; though in 1862, ten years after this cartoon, Mr. Punch records sadly that "the British pint has not yet attained its proper size." Among the novelties in amusements at this time was a marionette theatre of puppets, which was started in the Adelaide Gallery out of the Lowther Arcade. Leech had a funny picture of a short-sighted old beau flirting with one of the puppet ballet dancers. In foreign affairs there was no friendly feeling on the part of the English people, as represented by Mr. Punch, to wards the prince president. In domestic politics, the fight is between Protection and Free Trade, and Mr. Punch draws attention to the disgraceful state of the The camp at Chobham was held in débris of the Crystal Palace and of the 1853, and Punch signalizes it in his London statuary. The operas contend preface to the half-yearly volume. Long for the new prima donna, Mlle. Wagner. frock-coats and big coats with enormous Cook asks housemaid if she thinks "wes-sleeves came into fashion this year. kits is to be worn this season?" which see now the original of the Lord Dunindicates a novelty in ladies' fashions; dreary aristocratic swell, with weeping and on Derby Day Tenniel draws por whiskers and military moustache (he is traits of the proprietors of Punch, the evidently in the army), and, like his proeditor, and entire staff, including his own totype, Sir Fwedewick Blunt in Bulwer's likeness, among the figures in the bur." Money," he refuses to pwonounce his lesque bas-relief of "the Epsom marbles." After a considerable respite the familiar face of the prince consort once more appears in Punch's cartoon, looking out of the window of the House of Lords' Derby drag. Mr. Punch made a raid on the betting. office nuisance, and satirized "the young man who was going to make a fortune by betting," and "the respectable capitalist who will bet a thousand to one against everything." The latter is of the Bill Sikes type. We r's, and assumes a languid haw-haw manner of speaking. This type culminated in Lord Dundreary. "Turkey in Danger," a cartoon representing the Russian bear hugging a turkey in a fez, is the first hint given by Mr. Punch of the Eastern difficulty, and later on, in "The Emperor's Cup for 1853," he shows what trouble was brewing for Europe. At this time Albert Smith, whose contributions to the earlier numbers of Punch we have already noticed, was now at the height of his success at the Egyptian Hall, and his St. Bernard | pictures we can measure the unpopularity mastiff was immortalized by John Leech of Lord Aberdeen. The peace party were as the pet of the ladies. "The lucky not in public favor, and, of course, the dog" had a large share in the fame of the czar was the guy of this period. We may Mont Blanc entertainment. note that in stiff collars the young swell then bore a strong resemblance to the mordern “masher," and the present evening overcoat belongs to the "poncho " family, which was worn at night in 1854. Cantabs are sketched in a series of academical portraits, and university life then was apparently much the same as it is now, In June the Chobham Camp was actually" Faust and Marguerite" was produced formed, and in July there are plenty of military subjects for Mr. Leech's pencil, which has just been turned to account in ridiculing the table-turning phenomena. Mr. Punch raises his voice against the enclosure of Hampstead Heath, and protests against its "becoming a common for the private and particular grazing of Sir Thomas Wilson," who was trying to get a bill through the House of Lords to enable him to build on it. The sage, by giving a portrait of Charles Kean as Sardanapalus, "with a winecup of the period," records one of the most carefully got-up and most archæologically correct spectacles that had up to this time ever been seen on the stage. Fashions for men: the large ties are becoming smaller and the collars are growing larger. In women, the bonnets are being worn farther and farther back off the head, until one of the artists, neither Leech nor Tenniel, shows a gentleman of the period in large collars and small tie, facing a lady with her hair smoothed down in bands and surmounted by a plait, the bonnet being quite off the head. Another young man is wasting away because she is lost to him forever!" "Who?" He answers, "The woman who starched this collar!" by Charles Kean at the Princess's, and Mr. Punch loses no opportunity of justly ridiculing the uniform of the British soldier, and contrasting it with the ease and freedom of the sailor's dress. Whether his Royal Highness Prince Al. bert was also of Mr. Punch's opinion is not on record, but an any rate, as already said, the prince consort had another attempt at improving the Guards' headgear. Mr. Punch devotes one quarter of a page to showing the "New Albert Bonnet for the Guards," and another to an absurd figure supposed to represent "the British Grenadier as improved by his Royal Highness Prince Albert, decidedly calculated to Foreign affairs mainly provided the sub-frighten the Russians." The police are jects for the cartoons about this time, but allowed to grow beards, the militia are there are two or three attacks on City cor- ordered out, Mr. Punch " werry much poration abuses, and a daring proposal to applauding" their readiness to serve; and stow away Gog and Magog in a museum in order to hurry the authorities into doing of City antiquities. something to ameliorate the sufferings of the private soldier in his absurd uniform, Mr. Punch gives a single figure of Tommy Atkins, half choked by his stock and unable to move on account of straps and buckles, dropping his musket because his "head's coming off!" | Once again after a long interval the prince consort reappears on the scene; and so it is clear that up to this time he has not been doing anything calling for notice. However, in 1854 the year opens with a cartoon in which we see Mr. Punch warning Prince Albert, who is skating, off The bonnets were now worn so much a part of the ice which is marked "For-off the head that Leech represents two eign affairs - dangerous." And after this his Royal Highness disappears from the pictures for a few weeks, until he takes it into his head to invent a hat (according to Mr. Punch his Royal Highness seems to have had a weakness in this direction) for the British soldier. From Punch's ladies out walking with a footman behind carrying them. In May this year the Crystal Palace is opened at Sydenham, and Mr. Punch indulges in a reverie in the Egyptian Court. A good French dra. matic company, with Regnier, perform in London, and are much commended by ciotto. Mr. Punch, who regrets that he cannot than a villa; and looking into a piazza in see "our Charles Mathewses, our Wi-a level corner of the mountain-side below, gans, our Websters, and our Keeleys, all he could see a village, with a small church acting together, instead of being distrib-standing at the end, as if it would beseech uted over several theatres. But there that no evil thing might pass that way. were not so many theatres then as there Everywhere, the world!" thought Ric are now, and the number of first-rate actors has not increased proportionately. Thackeray takes up his pen once more and writes some letters "from the seat of war," illustrating them with his own peculiar burlesque vignettes, and signing himself "Our Own Bashi-Bazouk." Mr. Punch records the Cochin-China craze in a very funny picture by Leech showing the great excitement of an entire family on hearing that the Cochin-China had laid an egg; and the volume for the first half of 1854 ends with a cartoon exhibiting the Earl of Aberdeen polishing the czar's boots a re-adaptation of an idea previously treated-the legend be ing, "Not a Nice Business." The second half commences in July with a frontispiece representing the Punch staff playing. Since they last appeared in a picture a new boy has been added to their number; it is Shirley Brooks. Thackeray is taking an innings at cricket, and the others are playing battledore, leapfrog, and hobbyhorse. This completes, in a somewhat sketchy fashion, the record of the first thirteen years of Mr. Punch's exist F. C. BURNAND. ARTHUR A BECKETT. ence. From Blackwood's Magazine. As Ricciotto reached a corner, he heard a bell, not a great booming bell of a city church, but the tiny clamor of a treble voiced bell, beating fast. Probably of some private chapel, or small church, built by the devoted exertion of some solitary priest for an outlying hamlet, just to keep the people in mind of the mystical spiritual presence of the Creator of all the material wonders around them; or else a votive the feeble voice of a human heart, calling the very mountains to bear witness to the gratitude that some great mercy had called forth, and had thus been demonstrated. Ricciotto looked round, and up and down, and still saw nothing, but walking on, found that about a mile of narrow, rough pathway brought him to a point from which he could see that he had been walking by the walls of a great villa — more like a castle | He sat down, not only to rest, but also to think where that mountain path could be which would lead him to the fair place he had imagined, away from scolding voices and hard words, and within reach of the chariots of angels. While he sat on the broken bit of wall that protected the corner of the rock, looking down, he saw a small procession passing along-four little boys carrying a bara, in which he knew a dead child must be, for a priest was leading the way, with another small boy at his side carrying a small cross and lantern. Then he knew why the bell had rung so fast. Ricciotto felt no regret, no grief, but a very decided repulsion. He got up and turned away. It was not a village, where men lived and little children died, that he wanted. He wanted some wild place. He must have come the wrong way, for the pathway led down, down, to the plain; and the mountains ranged themselves apart looking over the valley-looking over the whole world, it seemed here and there holding up a great tree, as a giant might hold up a small child to peep over the beads of the crowd. Far overhead he could see a speck, near the sun. It was no lark. So far off as that a lark would have been lost. It came lower, and swooped with long, angular curves, ever nearing the mountain, and then rising again. Ricciotto was too much of a village boy to know much about it. He watched it with some curiosity. It was an eagle; but eagles seldom came near the inhabited hills, and he had never noticed one before. It was now attracted by some goats and kids, on the point that towered high, with a divided crag at the top, and a ravine in its side. Years ago this rock had been quarried and deserted, the quality of the stone not compensating for the immense labor of taking it to market. It looked quite close, but it was not easy to get at, for the mountain paths are difficult to thread — and, in fact, the hills themselves are not easy to count in regular sequence, the plain road often leading to the second before what had seemed the first could be reached. Ricciotto had made this mistake; he had walked many Now he must skirt the smaller lower hill, which bore the sentimental name of the Wounded Dove. In truth, it was not unlike a dove with its head thrown back to plume the wing that drooped at its side; and when the sun sank behind it, it stood out like a solemn heavenly grey dove, resting after its flight through the world to find a spot where it might brood in peace, and lament over the sadness that it met on every hand. It was a good thing for the boy that he had strayed, for he thus came across a fig-tree, and a man in it gathering figs. With the very first glimmer of morn he awoke - very cold and rather stiff, and so tired that he would have been glad of more rest; but this was foreign to his experi ence or idea of duty. To be awake was to be up and doing; he therefore roused himself, dressed, by putting on his hat, and looked about him. Then he found that he was not alone -a great black raven was perched on a piece of rock, looking at him attentively. Ricciotto laughed, he was so pleased to see him. The raven came a step or two nearer, and looked up at him. He did not attempt to fly away, but showed himself to be, not only a bird of reflection, but of education, able to discern how very innocent this small child was, how free from unkind purposes. "Where do you come from?" said he. "Across there," said Ricciotto, pointing back, which satisfied the man, though it would have seemed vague to some. "Who's your father?" said he. "Have none," said Ricciotto. "Dei innocenti ?" said the man. Ricciotto nodded his head gravely. He moved his head from side to side, "Eh!" said the man, stretching out a and Ricciotto puzzled over him, and at lot of figs to him. "Child of the Madon-last awoke the sleeping echoes of the Da!" said he, in a whisper to himself. mountain by a shrill cry, as he ran forThus the appearance of that stray waif ward, holding out his arms to the bird, gave him an opportunity for the exercise and saying, of the three great virtues - - faith, hope, and charity and also of sending a prayer to heaven by a little outcast child; and Ricciotto had his courage revived. It was a great walk on. Of course he had to go down the hill through several borghetti, and pass on to the side of the Wounded Dove, and round the base to the long range of mountains that were united till near the top, where they were divided into cones, varying in height and verdure. He felt the freedom to be delightful, and sang a little at times; and being hailed as the Madonna's child was a new earnest of the possibility of his scheme to live near heaven. As evening drew near, he began to wonder at his position, and feel that he must look out for a place to rest and sleep in. On the bare rock, exposed to wind and dew, it was scarcely prudent or inviting; but higher up he might find a place. The field salad grew in plenty at his feet, there were many birds about, and a stream was running past through some low bushes. He was sleepy, though he had already had a long sleep in the afternoon; and he determined to lie down in a sort of grotto, less flinty than the surrounding ground. He said his simple prayers, with as much "Cecco! Cecco! come, come! Are you not Cecco?" The bird made a strange guttural noise, and fluttered to the ground, walking with short hops till he came near the child. Then, gravely producing small pebbles from his throat, let them drop from his black beak, one after the other, in a run. Then Ricciotto fairly cried with delight. He had found a friend! Why, Cecco was there! How he came there was, of course, unknown to him, but there he was -one of the most noted characters of St. Antonio, a bird known to every man, woman, or child in the place — to some by his spite, to others by his amusing quali ties, to others by his weird affection. Ricciotto was a favorite; it was only to great favorites he showed his accomplish. ments; and this trick with the pebbles was a sign of affection. Possibly the poor fellow was almost as lonely as the wandering child had been, and as glad to meet a friend. He came very near, and cawed gravely. Ricciotto went down on one knee with outstretched arms; willingly would he have embraced him; but birds do not like being touched, and Cecco did not invite any familiarity of that kind. |