manack" for the new year, where, incidentally, we may generally expect to find some records of the year just departed, we find crinolines, flowers, and low-necked evening dresses in fashion, the ladies mostly wearing wreaths, the chevelure covering the ears, and very full at the back of the head; while one or two show it tightly brushed back behind the ears, where it descends in a profusion of curls. An order for cutting off the whiskers has been issued at Aldershot, and of course a hairless subaltern is regretting the absence of one of his greatest amusements. strictly adhered to by the Chinese em- Mr. Punch's fortieth volume (1861) peror. This is shown by the cartoon, No- opens with a preface about M. Paul du vember 24, entitled “New Elgin Marbles." | Chaillu and the gorillas; and in the “AlThe volunteer movement was very much to the front about this time, and Mr. Charles Keene was perpetually sketching amusing incidents in volunteer drill. A small theatre inside Her Majesty's Theatre was opened, called the Bijou. Here Madame Doche performed. It was very badly ventilated, and Mr. Punch justly complained. Fechter was playing Ruy Blas at the Princess's, and the sage of Fleet Street was much delighted with the performance. He alludes at this time to his favorite paper, the Musical World (it was then being edited by "Jimmy " Davison, musical critic of the Times), The sports in the north were the same and he suggests, à propos of a promenade then as now-our authority being the at Baden-Baden having been christened immortal Mr. Briggs, who takes a party to L'Avenue Meyerbeer, that in London we join him in deerstalking. The "swells,' ought to have a " Balfe Square, a Wallace in Highland costume, are all smoking Crescent, a Macfarren Avenue, and a short pipes, while military-looking men Clara Novello Park." By the way, when are wearing full whiskers, moustaches, there recently arose a difficulty about and their chins clean shaven. When ridnaming the new space between the Crite-ing, ladies wore long habits, their hair in rion and the Pavilion, it is a pity that this a net, the "pork-pie" hat, or else somehint of Mr. Punch's was not again brought forward and acted upon. Mr. Punch advises the Southwark electors to take Mr. Layard as their Parliamentary representative. In the same number his cartoon represents "The Eldest Son of the Church" as Prince Henry trying on the papal tiara, while the pope is just waking up and looking on in horrified astonishment. Mr. Punch asks, "Why can the emperor of the French never be pope? " and replies, "Because it is impossible that three crowns can ever make one Napoleon." Mr. Punch's cartoon of "A Friendly Visit," shows the empress of the French taking tea with the queen. Her imperial Majesty arrived in England in the most informal manner, went to Scotland, visited the queen at Windsor, and returned home very much the better for her trip. The "spoon bonnet" becomes fashionable here, and two little boys salute its appearance with "Oh, if 'ere ain't a gal been and put on a dustman's 'at!" Mr. Punch, for the worst conundrum, gives as a prize Martin Tupper's "Proverbial Philosophy," bound in extra calf. This says much for the popularity of the book. Passports for British subjects were abolished (December 16) in France, and the last cartoon of the year depicts Louis Napoleon giving John Bull the latch-key, so that he can "come and go as he likes." | thing like the pork-pie hat, with a feather. The effect of the ladies' walking dresses when hoisted up and showing crinoline and the frill of a petticoat is very absurd. The swells in the country wear caps and pork-pie hats; but there is only one of Leech's swells at this period wearing a "pot-hat." The clergy are beginning to wear beards, and the Bishop of Rochester denounces the fashion, whereupon he is taken to task by Archbishop Punch. We The winter of 1860-61 was severe, and the streets were in a fearful mess. have known similar instances since this date; still there has been a decided improvement in street-cleaning within the last quarter of a century. China has to pay an indemnity to Britannia, which is the subject of the first cartoon of 1861. It is curious to note how slight is the notice bestowed upon the drama and on theatricals generally by Mr. Punch between '53 and '61, but in this first number he has an article about the "slang of the stage," and says that for "curiosities of advertising literature" it is difficult to beat the Era, which was at that time the only theatrical "trade journal." From the specimens given in 1861 the "slang of the stage" appears to be unchanged in 1886, though we believe that the Era has now several successful competitors. There is a protest against the growing magnificence of "transformation scenes in pantomime, to the exclusion of the legit- | but at what theatre this deponent sayeth imate fun which, the writer complains I knew in days of yore: The poker hot, the butter slide, The clown laid at the door. And this was twenty-five years ago, when the "comic business" of the harlequinade was not reduced to a couple of scenes, given at a time of night when the children are weary and longing for bed. Mr. Punch, in a contrast, draws the county gentleman's attention to the healthiness of his stables and the insanitary condition of his cottages. Here there has been a considerable improvement; but it is difficult to educate the laborer up to availing himself of the resources of civ. ilization. The "butts" from time to time are the Rev. Hugh Stowell, an ultra-Evangelical clergyman, Dr. McHale, the Irish Roman Catholic archbishop, "the irrational " Mr. Spooner, and Mr. Newdegate, M.P. Incidentally we find that Lord Wilton has incurred Mr. Punch's just displeasure for his "muffish patronage of street organs." Alas! the race of Wiltonians has not ceased, and the liberty accorded to the Italian organ-grinder and other street banditti is one of the nuisances with which the persecuted London resident is practically powerless to cope. It is noteworthy how Americanisms have crept in since H.R.H. returned from his American trip; for instance, Mr. Punch "liquors up " in honor of Mr. Sidney Herbert being made a peer. There was plenty of skating in January, 1861. Gentlemen in the country were wearing knickerbockers, gaiters, soft wideawakes, and caps; the pork-pie hat still being in vogue for ladies. Stars and stripes divided, and Mrs. Carolina asserts her right to " larrup "her nigger. This cartoon is called "Divorce à Vinculo. Carolina is a virago armed with a pistol in her belt, which is apparently not a revolver. Mr. Punch approves of a proposal to call Holywell Street "Booksellers' Row," and protests strongly against fever patients being carried in four-wheelers, suggesting instead fever-carriages, to be provided by public subscription. Theatricals are now to receive more consideration at Mr. Punch's hands, and he starts a critic, signing himself "One who Pays." From him we learn that "Ruy Blas" in the previous year was successful, and that an Irish actor, one Mr. Drew, is drawing as Handy Andy," 66 not. The Christmas of 1860 and 1861 over, and with the world fairly, but not this time profoundly, at peace, Mr. Punch prepares to celebrate the completion of the first twenty years of his history. A brief record of the following quarter of a century is reserved for a concluding article. F. C. BURNAND. ARTHUR A BECKETT. From The Argosy. EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF A YOUNG LADY. PART II. SEPTEMBER 2nd. — A year has passed since the last extract given. Papa and I are to dine at Lady Freeman's to-night. It still seems strange that Amy is married, and that he and I live tête-à-tête together, and together go to the few parties that ever occur in this neighborhood, Strange, but pleasant. This dinner party has an unusual interest in it, as it is given in honor of poor Sir John Grant's nephew, the present baronet, who has only quite lately come home. Papa hopes he will prove a worthy successor to the good old man, and is anxious to meet him. Sept. 3rd. Oh, what a wonderful evening was yesterday! We were all standing round the fire, at Lady Freeman's, talking, when Sir Marcus Gray was announced; and I think we all looked with some interest towards the door to see what the new baronet, who had come in the place of our old friend, was like. As he entered, my heart gave a great bound, and then stood still. It was not he at all; it was not Sir Marcus. It was my friend, the man who had told me not to forget him. A strange sensation crept over me, reminding me of that terrible night I hated anything that reminded me of it-when for the first time in my life I fainted; but I was only faint now. I soon found I was recovering my senses, before I had lost them; and, while they were still in confusion, I found that Lady Freeman was shaking hands with the new comer and introducing him to papa and other people of any importance there as Sir Marcus Gray. And then I gradually took in the fact that Sir Marcus Gray was the man I had danced with at Westbeed, and in whose society I had spent that blissful summer day. I saw in a moment he was anxiously And the reason why the engagement is looking round the little group that stood only to be a few weeks is this: papa for by the fireside. Our eyes met. The some time now has not been very well. blood rushed over his face. He was at There is nothing seriously wrong my my side in an instant, an eager hand dear, dear father! Ah! what should I do stretched out to me, an unmistakable ex- if there were?—but he has had advice, pression of joy in his face. His blue eyes and the doctor tells him that though there shone with a strange fire in them. is nothing serious, there is that amiss which might become serious if it were not taken in time. So he is to go away and have complete change of climate for a whole year. A long sea voyage is said to be the best thing for him, so he is going to Uncle George in Australia, and Fred's regiment is ordered out there just now. I think that is what made papa fix on Australia, for he and Fred and Amy will sail together immediately after my marriage. For the rest of that evening I felt as if I were in a dream. I looked, moved, and spoke in a dream; I never woke once. Of course Sir Marcus took Lady Freeman in to dinner. Of course I fell to the share of some unimportant bachelor, and sat at a different part of the table. I eat and drank, and talked little commonplaces of the most commonplace description, but it was all in a dream. I was just waiting. I knew what would happen when he was free; I knew he would come to me; and so he did. Of course; it would not have been him if he had not. I sat a little apart when the gentlemen entered the drawing-room after dinner; and some instinct told him where I was, for he walked straight from the door to my chair. He had not given himself time to look for me or see me. He came at once. And then we talked, and another day was added to my life, which now consisted of three. He told me of his disappointment when he called at our house at Westbeed to introduce himself to my father, and he found that we had left. He was only in England for a few days then. He was in the army, and intended to sell out, but his regiment being ordered on service he could not leave with honor, and it was only now he was able to do so. He intended now to settle at home. He looked happier, I thought, than when I had first met him; the expression of extreme sweetness was still in his face, but the melancholy tinge yet mingled with it was less, I thought, than it had been. It was a perfect evening. Oct. 1st. I am engaged to be married to Sir Marcus Gray. My father is delighted and everybody thinks it charming. How can they help doing so? Was there ever such a marriage before? Ever such a man as he? ever such a lucky girl as I? Papa laughs, and says I view all through rose-colored glasses. He quietly informs me that I am in love. He declares it is an excellent match for his little Lucy, but that Sir Marcus is quite as fortunate as I am. He is, he admits, good and religious, which, he informs me further, ninety-nine young men out of a hundred are not. We are to be married very soon; as soon as I can get my trousseau ready. Oct. 20th. - I write very seldom in my journal now. I am too busy. I have to be trying on dresses and choosing pretty things half the day. A baronet's bride, I find, requires a much handsomer trousseau than a captain's; and papa is so kind and generous. Then Marcus takes up a great deal of my time, and I grudge every minute almost, now, I am away from papa. I neither read nor write. I think I am the idlest girl in England, and yet I never have one moment to myself. Nov. 7th. I have been married a week to-day. It does seem wonderful. And soon I dare say I shall feel as if I had always been married, and as if the wonderful thing is that once I was Lucy Lee, not Lucy Gray. Marcus is all I ever believed him and a great deal more. What a happy girl I am! My life is a poem from morning till night and from night till morning, and the deep happiness is that Marcus is so good. I think there must have been some great grief in his life which has made him more thoughtful and serious than young men generally are, and left a tinge of melancholy in his char acter. Jan. Ist. With the new year I will begin my journal again. I have neglected it, but how can I be blamed for that? First, there was the honeymoon, spent in that most delightful of all ways of spending time, travelling; and during our delicious tête-à-têtes how could I find time to write? And then the settling at home, the gradual subsiding into home life, the receiving and returning visits and going to all the parties given in our honor; and then every moment that we could spend tête-à-tête I grudged bestowing on any other occupation. But visits are not so frequent now; they all have been paid and returned, and Marcus, of course, has per. sometimes business in which I cannot | it?" he said in a sort of breathless whisjoin, and that obliges him to leave me for a while; therefore I am going to begin my journal. Jan. 17.- What a wonderful man he is. I did not know a young man could be like him. He thinks so much of duty and doing good, and so very much of not being drawn into temptations, of not giving one self the chance of sinning; and all this not for himself so much as for others. It is a beautiful character, this husband of mine possesses, and the more I study it, the more I see to admire and respect as well as to love in it. Lucky girl that I am! And how good I ought to become in such companionship! Jan. 20.- - We were walking in the shrubberies to-day. The place is so full of evergreens that on a mild winter's day one might fancy oneself in a rich green autumn. The sun shone, the sky was a pale blue just flecked with little clouds, and I was happy. I paused at an old sun-dial to examine it, and turning to speak to my husband I found his eyes fixed on me with an expression I could hardly read. Then again that old impression came over me that I had seen his eyes before I had seen him. Sad folly! I think it must be that when true lovers meet they recognize each other's souls, as what they have been waiting for; and his soul looks at me through those blue eyes of his, and so I seem to have seen the eyes themselves before. That winter's sky I stood under to-day is not so blue as Marcus's eyes. I do wonder whether I have seen any other eyes like them. It seems hardly possible. No one is like my husband. "Why do you I asked gently. "I was thinking of the song 'Strangers Yet,'" he replied. look at me so, Marcus?" "That wicked, false song!" I cried; you know there is not a word of truth in it." "Now I scarcely think I agree with you, there." "I meant that I thought there was. I have fancied you had some past grief in your life." He breathed freely again. "I was a wild young fellow, my love," he said, "and there is much in my life I would gladly blot out of it." "You?" I cried with incredulous tones. "Yes I even I," he replied very sadly. "Would you love me less, dear, if you knew I had sinned?" His eyes were fixed on me, those blue eyes of his, with an expression of desperate entreaty in them. How pathetic they looked! I felt ready to cry, and in some strange way I seemed to recognize their expression. A thrill ran over me, and I felt like one remembering. I had seen that very expression in those very eyes before. And yet I had not, because it was impossible. Then I recollected that he had asked me a question, and I had to reflect before I could answer it. "We are all sinners," I said, with a thought of papa's teaching in my mind; "but don't talk so, dear Marcus. I don't like it. Your beautiful conscience has made you think more of little faults, and I believe all quite young men are silly; but don't get into a habit of calling yourself a sinner, please. It is so unpleasant. Just once for all in church every Sunday does nicely for the week, and we ought to be content with that." He could not help laughing; but even while he laughed there was a sorrowful, yearning look in his eyes as they gazed down into mine. Then he recovered himself and said very tenderly: "What is past is past, and my work now is to make you happy, my own sweet little wife.” March 2nd. My husband has to leave me for a few days. A first separation! How earnestly we hope it may be a last! But important family business calls him to Paris. A brother he loves is in a diffi "What, are we strangers yet?" I ex-culty out of which he can get him by his claimed indignantly. "Are we not?" he answered, smiling. "Do you know me?" "Yes, a thousand times yes!" I cried; "I know you entirely; better than I know myself." "You do?" He smiled again, but it was a sad smile. "No, Lucy, you do not. There is a secret in my life which I have never told you." "Yes, I know that," I replied slowly. He looked quickly at me. "You know personal intervention. I am not very strong just now and the doctor forbids the rapid journey he must take, so farewell must be said. Oh, my darling, how shall I be able to live even a few days without you? How sad and lonely it will be! Alas for the poor women who have to spend the rest of their lives separated from their husbands! How do widows live at all? I cannot imagine it, and the mere thought of them makes me cry. But then, there are few husbands like mine. If he were not so good and noble, if he were not perfect, I should not feel about him as I do. We have been married nearly six months and I have not detected a single fault in him. When we married, I took it as a matter of course that he must have faults, though I had not yet found them out. I may, if I choose, take it as a matter of course still, but I have not yet discovered them. April 25th. I will try to write down calmly the dreadful events of the past weeks. I feel that it may be a sort of relief to do so, if the word relief can ever be used by me again. He was gone, and I wandered about the house so sad and yet so infinitely happy. Oh, did such happiness really exist as mine then? I must not write of it or think of it, or I shall die. He had given me his keys in case I wanted anything, but as he did so he reserved one key from the bunch. I found afterwards he had made a mistake and kept back the wrong key, leaving me the one of the drawer I ought never to have opened. Two days after he was gone came a telegram to me; he had left some things behind that he wanted; and so I went to his dressing-room to find them for him. Among other drawers I unlocked one in his table, a drawer he always kept locked. I did not see in it what I was looking for, but my eye fell on something else. A book a Bible. I knew I had seen it before. The dark blue morocco binding, with the gold edge a little shabby, struck me with a strange familiarity. Idly I opened it, and read in round childish hand my own name. 66 Lucy Lee, from her dear papa on her tenth birthday." What did it mean? How did that book get here? Stay, what is this written underneath it, and written, how wonderful! in my husband's hand: "Given by her to me, Marcus Gray, on the night of the 2nd of June, 18-. From this night I go and sin no more." And there is more still, in different, fresher ink, but the same writing, just below the first sentence: "Nov. 1st, 18-. Married to-day to the beautiful child who gave me this book on that memorable 2nd of June, three years ago. She saved me then and I have lived worthy of her since. To do so and to win her love, has been the one object of my life. God grant that I never give her cause to repent it." What did it mean? For minutes, perhaps for hours - I do not know I stood as one stunned, the was a mur book in my hand, my eyes staring at the words, though unable to read them again. Then through my brain like lightning, the meaning flashed; flashed never to be forgotten while memory remained; flashed with a physical agony such as lightning might perhaps inflict. He- my husband was that sailor lad whom I had hidden in my room and to whom I had given that Bible. He- my husband derer; the murderer of Sir John Gray; of his own uncle. Everything confirmed this horrible impossibility; dreadful thoughts rushed and tumbled one over another into my mind, all making the impossibilities possible. I knew he had not been on good terms with his uncle, and that something had happened that made it painful to him to hear his name. In fact we never spoke of him, as I had discovered this before we married. Then the secret in his life, and his thought of himself always as a great sinner, and then what with the damning evidence of the book which was enough in itself, I recollected him -God help - yes me I did! Those blue eyes that had haunted me, that expression of passionate entreaty, I knew now where I had seen them—why I recognized them. Nay, I remembered the very features now, those clearly cut, handsome features. The slight youth had grown into the strong, broadshouldered man, and the fair complexion and hair had been stained dark along with the sailor's disguise that was all. These terrible proofs convinced me, and as they did so I lost consciousness and fell heavily to the ground. I was aware of a sensation of thankfulness; it was the last thought I was aware of; thankfulness that I died, that the shock had killed me, and all was over. I will think calmly; but it is the calmness of despair. Would to God I had indeed died then! When I came to myself I was in bed and undressed. I looked for Marcus, but he was not there. A strange woman stood on one side of my bed and Dr. Winsley on the other. They seemed busy about me, and I felt surprised, How sounded! "What is the matter?" I asked. faint and weak my voice "Where is my husband? Then they told me I had been ill, but that I was recovering; that I had been in bed some days, and Sir Marcus was in France; that they had not sent for him as they did not know his address. There had, they added, been no occasion to send for him, as there had not been anything dangerous in my illness, though from |