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RECOLLECTIONS FROM ABROAD. (A STUDENT'S DUEL AT HEIDELBONN.)

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Printed by Joseph Smith, of No. 24. Holford Square, in the Parish of St. James, Clerkenwell. in the County of Middlesex, at the Printing Offices of Messrs. Bradbury, Evans, & Co., Lombard Street, in the Precinct of Whitefriars, in the City of London, and Published by him at No. 85, Fleet Street, in the Parish of St. Bride, City of London.-SATURDAY, January 8, 1870.

JANUARY 15, 1870.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

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THE VALUE OF "PROPUTTY."

THE celebrated LORD CHESTERFIELD, clever as he may have been in some respects, was obtuse in others. He had not the sense to appreciate the pith of our good old proverbs, and instructed his son, whose stupidity needed no enhancement, that they were vulgar. He would have turned his finicking nose up at the wise and venerable saying, that one man may steal a horse whilst another must not look over a hedge. This, indeed, is now seldom quoted, having fallen into disuse since horse-stealing was made no longer a hanging matter. Horse-stealing is still, however, punishable with a degree of comparative severity quite sufficient to render that adage about it intelligible.

At the Middlesex Sessions, the other day, THOMAS EVANS, aged 38, pleaded guilty to stealing a horse, value £5. He was sentenced to seven years' penal servitude. On the previous day another thief, who had pleaded not guilty, ELIZABETH BARRY, aged 39, was adjudged, at the Berkshire Epiphany Quarter Sessions, to fifteen ELIZABETH calendar months' imprisonment with hard labour. The difference between these two thieves was essentially this. THOMAS EVANS had stolen a horse; BARRY had stolen a child. To be sure, the man was proved to be an habitual criminal; but then, on the other hand, the woman was a nurse in the service of the gentleman whose child she stole. Thus she was guilty of robbing her employer, and she robbed him of an object which he valued indefinitely more than he could have prized any horse: moreover she had, according to evidence, ill-used the child, and all this with malice prepense. And she was liable to seven years' penal serBut the child could not be assessed at the specific value of £5, and vitude too. the horse could. To that difference between the two cases corresponded the difference between the sentences of fifteen months' imprisonment with hard labour, and seven years' penal servitude. So the dear old proverb which implies the relative atrocity of horse-stealing is no anachronism. For your horse is that thing to the sound of whose name he canters, as TENNYSON'S Northern Farmer "marketable "proputty," and your child "Proputty, Proputty, Proputty," isn't. Judges and Justices think more of "proputty" than even what it is thought of by the Northern Farmer.

says,

66

A BETTER READING.-A Contented Mind is a Continual Bore.

BOB LOWE'S NEW YEAR'S GIFT.

WHO's that knocking at the door?

'Tis I, says ROBERT LOWE,
With the bill of what you owe,
For house and for assessed tax,
And income-tax, that best tax-
'Tis so charmingly elastic,
So pliant and so plastic,
And falls upon so many;
"Tis a million to the penny-

Then inspection I invite

That your licences are right

For keeping, if you can,

Dogs and arms, and trap and man,

So no wonder I am knocking at the door.

There used be two knockings at the door:
In April and September,

As you probably remember,
The collector used to sack,

For Lord knows how far back

For traps that you had dropped

Arms on plate that you had popped,

Dogs that had cut and run,

And flunkeys that had gone,

For which to your disgust,

Charge they did, and pay you must

And if you didn't kick

The man out pretty quick,

You felt you'd like to do it,

If at law you'd not to rue it.

In the aggravating day-
Now happily past away-

When they knocked twice at the door!

Now, when I knock at the door,

'Tis on licence, where, confest,

Stand dogs, arms, traps, and the rest;
For your income-tax and eke
Your house-tax l've to seek,
And from the New Year's day
Rates and taxes beg you'll pay,
In accents bland and winning,
For the year that is beginning.
And you must feel, if one axes
For assessed and income taxes,
'Tis impossible to do so

In a way that should suit you so,
While it certainly suits me,

And Her Majesty's Treasurìe-
And that's how I knock at the door.

True, this year there's rather more

To pay than may be pleasant
In bad times like the present:
For this year I must combine
9-
Taxes for 1, 8, 6,
With the licences you've bought
For 1, 8, 7, 0.

Which certainly appears
Like paying for two years
And is what it doth appear-
But it's only for this year:
And you will not be so done
In 1, 8, 7, 1.

For then we shall be straight

The year's back with the year's weight-
And you will not have to pay

Two years' taxes in one day

When next year I come knocking at the door.

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Death "Sans Phrase." TROPMANN, the Pantin murderer, has been thought, even by a French jury, too bad to admit of "extenuating circumstances" in their verdict. This settles his place in the annals of murder. Even his advocate could find no better defence to be shut up, as we shut up tigers, in a cage out of for him, than that he was too bad to behead-and ought harm's way to others. He is not too much of man, but too little of man-being evidently a brute-and a dangerous brute too-one to be "stamped out" of life, as mad dogs are.

LVIII.

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knighted by the King for raising a troop of horse in the heat of summer.

OLIVER CROMWELL'S first love was a little milliner's apprentice at Huntingdon. He certainly would have married this young girl, and become her Protector for life, had not his friends sent him away to Saffron Walden to be with a vintner there, in whose establishment he imbibed those republican opinions which afterwards led him to make short work of the Long Parliament, and to bury the Mace and the Great Seal, by torchlight, in the Tower Ditch, the celebrated GUIDO FAWKES holding the lantern (with matches warranted to light only on the box), and SIR CLOUDESLEY SHOVEL handling the spade.

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It is a natural and pardonable curiosity that seeks to know what have been the favourite viands of those we reverence and admire. LORD CHESTERFIELD supped every Saturday night, on tripe and onions, with CAPTAIN CORAM and GAINSBOROUGH, at the "Blue Boy" in Leather Lane, then a fashionable part of Town, and inhabited by the learned KIDD, the Ambassador from Morocco, &c.

GEORGE THE THIRD preferred Windsor Beans to any other vegetable; QUEEN ELIZABETH doated on Spanish onions; MARTIN LUTHER and JOHN KNOX were alike in their fondness for the Pope's Eye; BACON invariably, winter and summer, spring and autumn, had fried sausages for breakfast, and pork-chops for supper; DANIEL LAMBERT was continually getting stout (Dublin); to the discoverer of the circulation of the blood we are also indebted for HARVEY'S Sauce; ROGER ASCHAM, who has left us the beau idéal of a book in his Toxophilus, took a bowl of arrowroot every night before going to bed, flavoured with rum and molasses; SIR WALTER RALEIGH was passionately fond of early potatoes; DR. MEAD drank nothing but metheglin; Beau" NASH swore by spruce beer; and Old PARR's life was prolonged by elder wine.

DR. JOHNSON's favourite dish was a sucking-pig stuck with blanched almonds. and stuffed with macaroons, and Chocolat Ménier, and served with a rich sauce consisting of currant jelly, chutney, anchovy paste, vanille, the yolk of an egg, some horse-radish grated fine, mushroom-catchup, and several other ingredients. MRS. THRALE took care always to have this dish at table when JOHNSON dined at the Brewery in Liquorpond Street, along with MISS PORTER and HALES of Eton.

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AND IN COUNTRY.

NEW CURIOSITIES OF LITERATURE.

THE loves of eminent men have often been romantic and remarkable. DR. BUSBY's early passion for the lady who afterwards became MRS. TRIMMER, and by whom he was refused three times in a travelling menagerie, at MADAME TUSSAUD's, and in BIRCH's shop on Cornhillwas never mastered. He always remained in bed on the anniversary of her wedding-day, eating nothing but stewed prunes and charcoal biscuits, and reading all the letters he had received from the lady, which he kept at his banker's during the rest of the year in an old pocket-book given him by GRAINGER, who wrote The Sugar Cane.

ALEXANDRIA TO SMITHFIELD. COMMENTING on the account given by the Times of the exportation of bones, taken from mummy pits, from Egypt to England. to be manufactured here into manure, the Echo says

"The rich fields of turnips and mangolds that CHEOPS' subjects will in turn become prime beef will spring from the desiccated skeletons of and mutton, and Newgate Market will represent the final stage of this curious transmigration of

bodies."

PALEY was constantly in love, and as often, with an excess of fastidiousness, discovering some imperfection which deterred him from proposing marriage. One lady sneezed three times What a journey for our imagination to in three minutes; another looked too stout on horseback; a third horrified him by partaking take, from Egyptian CHEOPS to London twice of liver and bacon; a fourth could not tell what Caviare was; and a fifth, who really Chops! thought she had hooked the Archdeacon, lost him by his coming in unexpectedly from one of his fishing excursions, and finding her sucking a large-sized orange.

From Our Paris Correspondent.

WE hope the new French Ministry will be

Unmolested by the mounted patrol, WALLER carved Saccharissa's name, by moonlight, on the Maypole in the centre of Paddington Green (with the clasp-knife which she had given him when they parted for ever in the brewhouse at Penshurst) .the night before he emigrated permanent; but with LEBEUF and BUFFET to Sydney, where he took a sheep-walk, and wrote some of the most beautiful of his pastoral in it, no surprise can be felt if it is regarded poems, prior to his marriage with the wealthy widow of a retired sugar-baker, who had been as only provisional.

HYMN TO SAINT TROFIMUS.

BY EPICURUS ARTHRITICUS.

"The 29th of December is the Feast-day of an Archbishop of Arles, called St. Trofimus, whose bones repose in the church of St. Philip Neri, and have the peculiar virtue of curing people of gout, lumbago, and the rheum, or, as the Italian sacred diary has it, of podagra and chiaragra. Think of that, ye gouty old gentlemen of England, who sit at home in anything but ease."Standard's Correspondent from Rome.

SAINT TROFIMUS, Saint Trofimus, assist me, I implore,
Your saintly and respected name I never heard before:
Excuse me that I write to you, although we've never met,
You're far too kind a gentleman to stand on etiquette,

My dear Saint Trofimus, don't mind my swearing, but my groans,
And make no bones of lending me the virtue of your bones.
I own I am a Protestant, my light is small and dim,
But who can help protesting when podagra claws his limb?

And you've been off, Saint Trofimus, quite long enough to know
How paltry the dissensions that embroil us here below-
Still, as you 're claimed by Catholics, as Catholic I sue,
Confiteor-I'll confess: if that's the proper thing to do.

Yes, culpa mea! I have loved, and fear may love again,
Hock, Sherry, Chablis, Burgundy, Moselle, Yquem, Champagne,
Lafitte, Old Port, Noyeau, Chartreuse, Madeira, Punch in ice;
And, golly! good Saint Trofimus, ain't Maraschino nice?
Yes, mea magna culpa! "when the Turtle's voice is heard "
I always take three plates, not always stopping at the third:
When other soups are going, and I'm puzzled to take which,
Richesse oblige, I make a choice of that as looks most rich.
And when they bait for me with fish, a capture I must be-
(I'm sure your friend St. Antony will say a word for me)
Dressed fish, Saint Trofimus, that sendeth transcendental steam,
With luscious soft concomitants, and sauce-a poet's dream.
Truffles, Saint Trofimus, I take in every given form,
Enriching other viands, or in paste alone, and warm:
They keep me humble, dear Saint T., upon my word they do,
They preach a lesson that a man's himself a fungus too.

I eat of each entrée, dear Saint, in part because I like,
(Clean is the breast I make on which in penitence I strike),
But one little good intention to my credit place, I pray,
A hostess does not like to see her dishes sent away.
And on through stately dinners (and I go to all I can)
To eat and drink of everything is my poor simple plan,
And pastries and confections, all the things that ladies take,
I take 'em, too, and fancy 'tis for those dear ladies' sake.

Reluctantly, good Saint, I let or dish or wine go by,

We should prove all things-can I tell what's best until I try?
But then at night, to counteract aught that might disagree,
I swig two jolly brandy-grogs-sometimes, I fancy, three.

I take but little exercise, it really seems so hard
From honest gains a cabman should unkindly be debarred.
I don't much care for riding on the horses that they job,
And my weight would be oppressive to a steady-minded cob.

And I have gout! Saint Trofimus, which makes me wince and roar,
And wonder what I've done to earn a punishment so sore,
And then the doctor comes, not kind, but grinning like a Ghoul,
"I told you how 'twould be," says he, "why are you such a Fool ?"

He ties me up in flannels, says I'm not to drink or eat,
He gives me beastly drugs, and Vichy water for a treat;
And when I cry for opiates, the fiend without remorse
Says, "No; the gout's a remedy, and it must take its course."

I am so stiff, I am so cross, no living tongue can tell,
If my foot touches aught that's hard, incontinent I yell,

My wrists have caught it too, dear Saint, which tempts me oft to swear;
I cannot fold a journal, write a note, or comb my hair.

One's utter helplessness is, perhaps, the worst thing in the gout:
These very lines I dictate to my nephew (who's a lout)
And instead of writing rapidly when once my word he's got,
The stupid donkey looks at me, and fatuously says, "What?"

The world's a blank, all folks are fools, and everything goes wrong,
The very hours have got the gout, and now are twice as long.
O cure me, dear Saint Trofimus, and send me back again
To Hock, Moselle, and Burgundy, Yquem, Lafitte, Champagne.

AN AWKWARD NAME.

WHAT a very nice letter was that one quoted by the Pall Mall Gazette from the New York Independent, the composition of the junior King of Siam-for Siam, like the Brentford of other days, has two kings-addressed to an American lady, formerly a missionary among the Siamese, who had known him when a child! A note which he had received from her, he said, called up many refreshing memories of childhood." Here is phraseology that might be supposed to have been acquired at a diocesan training school. "Numerous changes have taken place, and you would barely recognise Bangkok could you be transported here." This might have been written by any of our contemporaries' own correspondents. So might all this :

"Treaties were made with nearly all the great Powers of the West. Europeans and Americans resorted hither for trade. An extensive commerce has been the result. This city has greatly improved in its appearance, its buildings, roads, and canals. Beautiful square-rigged vessels and steamers are now owned by the Siamese Government and Siamese merchants. The industry, produce, and wealth of the country have correspondingly advanced. Peace and prosperity exist throughout the length and breadth of the kingdom, and long may it continue, will doubtless be yours, as it is my earnest wish."

His Siamese Majesty sends his old acquaintance a set of coins of his realm and a gold and silver cigar-box, whence we need not infer that she smokes, but may surmise that the Siamese ladies do. He affectionately requests her to accept this present as a keepsake from your once baby friend." His epistle concludes with a salutation quite becoming the pen of a Christian gentleman :

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And then follows His Majesty's signature. It is a remarkable one :— "K. P. R. PAWAR SATHAN MONGOL,

Second King of Siam, &c., &c., &c. Everybody must be struck with the incongruity of the KING OF SIAM'S fifth name, with his style of writing. The intervening aitch makes no difference in a word which looks like a mere abbreviation of SATHANAS. Who gave him that name? No godfathers nor godmothers, one would think: yet his letter, written in the terms above-copied, to a missionary, seems to indicate that he had both, and that probably, in his infancy. Had he been converted at riper years, he surely would have repudiated a name which sounds so strange for a Christian one. If he was actually christened thereby, there is perhaps no help for it, unless MR. JAMES BUG was canonically warranted in renaming himself NORFOLK HOWARD, discarding not only BUG for HOWARD, but, JAMES for NORFOLK. But then, in like manner the KING OF SIAM could alter SATHAN to MICHAEL.

BISHOPS IN BONDS.

WHAT has become of the "DAVENPORT Brothers ?" When last we heard of them they either were, or were in the way to be in gaol, according to United States' law, for conjuring without a licence. The following passage in a letter from the Times Special Correspondent, may be taken to show that those DAVENPORTS are in some degree matched by certain performers at Rome. It refers to the Council :

"Within that body the POPE acts by a machinery and by procedures slowly elaborated and perfected beyond a chance of miscarriage. On the other hand, the opposition, be it one or only a name, cannot act for a hundred various objections. It enters the Council not as we Anglicans were mockingly invited to enter, with ropes hanging round our necks, but with the ropes tightly twisted and knotted round their limbs, and closing their very lips."

There is, however, a material difference between the spiritual opposition in the Pope's Council and the Spiritualist pretenders. The latter did usually contrive to wriggle out of the ropes they were tied with, whereas there seems to be no extricating themselves for BISHOP DUPANLOUP and his companions.

Subject for a Cartoon in the Hotel de Ville.

A THEME for Parisian pictor

By Parisian approval endorsed

OLLIVIER the Paladin, Victor

O'er HAUSMANN, unhoused and un-horsed!

VIRTUE ITS OWN REWARD.

BARON HAUSMANN, we are told, refuses to accept any compensation for his loss of office. He cannot help receiving one compensation-the universal satisfaction of Paris at his deposition.

UGLY LANGUAGE.-Plain English.

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Papa. "ALAS! I CANNOT TELL HOW DEEPLY IT PAINS ME TO FIND THIS Blasé AIR OF INDIFFERENCE-THIS ICY, HEARTLESS DISDAIN, IN ONE SO YOUNG-SO FAIR! NOR ARE YOU THE ONLY PERSON IN WHOM I HAVE PERCEIVED THESE SYMPTOMS! THEY ARE RAPIDLY BECOMING THE FASHION OF THE DAY!"

[Papa is not mad, but has been left a few moments in charge of his baby, and is learning his part in a piece for a private performance.

BISHOPS TO MAKE! BISHOPS TO MEND!

"By the death of the BISHOP OF MANCHESTER another mitre is placed at the disposal of MR. GLADSTONE."-Ecclesiastical Intelligence.

"I have always felt from the beginning that those who differed from me, and who thought it their duty to express that difference, doing all that in them lay to oppose both my Election and my Consecration, were actuated by nothing but a sense of duty, and a desire to fulfil God's will, as far as their conscience showed it to them."-Bishop Temple's Speech at Exeter.

HERE'S GLADSTONE has got a new Bishop to make-
The task may well cause e'en his courage to blench:
If Cabinet-making some trouble must take,
What's Cabinet-making to making a Bench?

For Cabinet-work, free from priestly control,
You've but to determine the right stuff, and get it;
And when you've the peg that will best fit the hole,
Stick the one in the other, and keep where you've set it.

On Cabinet-work party judgments we know

The sarcasm and sneers, and high-toned indignation-
But a Broad Bishop's choice calls to arms High and Low,
And clerical wrath takes the form of damnation.
These shepherds of souls will fight over a straw,
On what we call hairs see an eternity hanging:
For the Church defy Charity, Logic, and Law,

Turn their pulpits to prize-rings, their sermons to slanging.
The sounds of spent fight around TEMPLE still blend,
The air is still murky with smoke of the battle:
Still the sulphurous whiffs of Priests' powder ascend,
Still their protests explode, their anathemas rattle.

Still TROWER parades in his sackcloth and ashes,
Still DENISON calls Convocation to arms;

DR. WORDSWORTH his teeth o'er the Fathers still gnashes,
PUSEY pules, and the Record sounds shrilly alarms.

'Gainst such fury of High Church and frenzy of Low,
Such passion of Priests, and Priests' press party-fired,
What use is the witness a life's work can show,
The love and respect which that life has inspired?
As against Priestly shriek, and Episcopal groan,
That his courage condemn, and his manhood bewail,
What import lay affection, and reverence shown
In the farewells that follow, the welcomes that hail ?

To the clam'rous confusion of orthodox herds,
The terror that rouses their bleats, baas, and lows,
What's the calm Christian spirit that speaks in these words
Of respect for opponents, forgiveness for foes?

At Large.

APPROPRIATE names (and considerate acts) should always be recorded. The Keeper of Whitecross Street Prison, from which a large number of debtors were liberated on the first of this month under the New Act, is-MR. CONSTABLE; and it is pleasant to note what is said of him, that he "acted in a humane manner [by giving a large number of those in his custody leave to go directly the Act came into operation] instead of prolonging the imprisonment of the persons until applications were made to a Judge at Chambers on Monday."

A GRAMMARIAN'S THOUGHT.

WHAT a contrast there sometimes is between the adjective and its adverb! Reflect, for example, on the wide difference that exists between the man who is constant in love, and the man who is constantly in love!

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