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MRS. WIGSBY ON THE WAR.

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IGGER battaliums always gains the wictory, is it? May be so. Bigger battaliums and better generals, and better manidgement may account for it all. There mayn't be nothink more whatsomedever that have had to do with it. Your fust class styptical newspapers may be right for what anybody knows, or the notions of a old 'ooman. But 'tis curus, if you comes to think, to see how things has 'appened just as they med ha' bin expected to 'appen supposin' there raly is a will as orders battles above them as orders the battaliums; as if the battles was actilly hordered a good deal accordin' to right and wrong. Now, just you look back. How did this rumpus, which it's fearful to think of, all begin? In the fust place the Prooshans and Austrians together unjustly attackted and plundered Denmark. To be sure, what the poor Danes had done to desarve to be attackted and plundered, I don't know. No more I don't know what the old gentleman had done as was murdered t' other day-but he as murdered him was 'ung for it. Very well: and what 'appened to them as plundered and murdered the Danes? Direckly, a most, Austria and Proosha fell out. They quarreled over their beauty, and the Austrians and Prooshans set to and massacreed one another. A few years goes by, and then the French, out o' mere pride and wain-glory and envy of their neighbours, without any cause to justify 'em, whatsomedever, inwades the Prooshans. See what they've got by it. Sartingly the Prooshans suffers pretty nearly as much; and when they considers how they made the Danes suffer, p'raps it may come 'ome to 'em. There! Suppose I was a Judge, and 'ad to pass sentence on them there peoples, Austria, Proosha, and France, and order 'em to be whipped all round, the whippins I should measure out to 'em each one o' the three, would be exactly as near as could be in propotion to the punishment, more or less, they've bin a givin' one another. As fur as appearances goes, anyhow, it do seem as if there was a will and power at work directin' big battaliums otherways than them as makes war by means of 'em could or would. Perhaps 'tis only a 'old 'ooman's fancy; but you must own that, leastways, appearances is in favour on it. Wery true they that has egged and led their countries on to fall that 'ere slaughter and misery suffers least of all for the present, so appearances may deceive, as the sayin' is; but if so be that ideer's true as they'd make think you possible, what can them that's responsable for sitch wickedníss expect in the end?

"BLOOD AND IRON."

"By Blood and Iron," quoth BISMARCK,

Must Germany be made:"

And with blood and iron his mark

On Germany he has laid:

And in France's flank, too, is mark

Of his keen two-edged blade.

Strong is the welding power

That blood and iron wield

When the Man comes, with the Hour,'
And the righteous battle-field,
Where the iron's hail and shower
Of blood, their harvest yield.

Harvest of self-devotion,

Of faith in a noble cause,
That holy and high emotion

To which death gives no pause-
This of blood is worth an ocean,
To this men's lives are straws.

Nor this the only harvest

Thou, Germany, shalt reap

With the sword, wherewith thou carvest Thy path to the Gaulish keep;

What though on thy way thou starvest,
Or wadest in blood knee-deep?

Beyond this blood and brattle

Lies sunshine for thee and calm:
Through the mitrailleuse's rattle
Thou hear'st Peace chaunt her psalm ;
On the red wounds of battle,

Feelest her shed her balm.

With "iron and blood" thou 'rt paying
The toll that clears thy road,
To fields where the sun is playing

On the harvest thou hast sowed,
To be reaped 'gainst all gainsaying
Of foes, to the final load.

The harvest of patient Learning,
Of Peace's crafts and arts;
Of Science's sharp discerning,
And Labour's busy marts;
Of home-affections yearning,
And law-abiding hearts.

A harvest worth thy sowing
With "blood and iron" seed,
Though sown by hands unknowing
The harvests' mighty meed,
Who saw no green blade growing,
Or scorned it for a weed.

But before blood and iron

Can yield this harvest rare
Right soil must the seed environ,
And nurture of breezes fair.
That seed heap filthy mire on,
Or give it poisoned air,

And in the germ unquickened
"Twill die, a barren thing,
Or with such nurture quickened,
In a warp'd growth it will spring,
Where blood to mud seems thickened,
And where iron hath no ring.

How oft with blood and iron]
Hath not France sowed her soil,
While Hope sang, like the Syren,
Swift harvests of her toil,

Till the sowers France wreaked her ire on,
And their labours made a spoil.
What blood and iron sowing

In Ninety-Two shot hate;
And lo! their harvest growing
In France's humbled state.
With civil strife o'erflowing,

The conqueror at her gate!
"Blood and iron" Europe over,
Broadcast NAPOLEON shed,
From the sea that guardeth Dover
To the Neva's icy bed!

Could the chieftain's harvest cover

His island prison bed?

And what harvest reaped the nation
Of his "blood and iron"

But war and desolation,

seed,

Spent fields, and stunted breed; The invader's proud dictation,

And the vanquished's bitter meed'?

After uncle nephew soweth

His "blood and iron," too,

In the Boulevard volley that moweth
The fools, who take for true
The mask wherein he goeth
The Republic to undo.

What, France, shall for this reaping
Of "blood and iron" grow,
Wasted in false men's keeping
On fields won by the foe?
What harvest, but the weeping
Of shame and wrath and woe,
And strife and hates unsleeping,
And utter overthrow!

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"LITTLE PODGERS" 18 STAYING AT "GRENOUILLEVILLE DANS LES MARAIS," AND COMPLAINS THAT HE CAN'T "GO TO NATURE" WITHOUT BEING CLOSELY WATCHED BY THOSE CONFOUNDED GENDARMES. HE ASKS, DOES HE LOOK LIKE A PRUSSIAN SPY?

THE WORST OF SAVAGES.

AFTER having read the descriptions of the carnage and the state of the wounded, sent us from the seat of war, it is comparatively cheering to read the details of the late massacre at Tien-Tsin, although the Times most truly says of them :

"The details are too horrible for repetition. It is enough to say that all the cruelty and barbarity of which the Chinese [nature is capable were wreaked on the Frenchmen and the helpless Frenchwomen who happened to be within reach of the mob."

But the number of the killed amounted altogether to no more than twenty-two Europeans and about forty natives at the outside; and there were no wounded at all, or few if any. The Chinese, too, had some shadow of provocation, if not excuse, to extenuate, in a measure, the atrocities which they committed. They had reason to suspect that the French Missionaries attached to the Orphanage, were accustomed, through bribery, to kidnap native children, as the priests at Rome kidnapped the Jew-boy, in order to keep them from growing up in Foism or Buddhism, and train them up in Romanism. To ascertain the truth or fallacy of this suspicion the local authorities besought the Missionaries to allow their Orphanage to be inspected, which those reverend gentlemen, with the secretiveness characteristic of their cloth, refused. Of course, it was as ridiculous of the heathen: Chinese, as it is of the British Protestant Public, to suppose that, in the case of any Romanist establishment, systematic concealment can mean that there is anything to conceal. But bigots are bigots, and barbarians are barbarians, British and foreign; and what can you expect from a hog but a grunt? Something worse, if the hog is a savage boar; and the Chinese at Tien-Tsin behaved after their kind under the fury excited by their sense, however imaginary, of outraged love of offspring. And then the Chinese are, as aforesaid, heathens. Altogether, therefore, the massacre at Tien-Tsin, although perfectly diabolical, contrasts most favourably with the war now raging between two Christian nations, and the conduct of the Chinese mob appears to immense advantage in comparison with that of the aggressors responsible for that disgrace to both Christianity and civilisation.

MOUSETRAP! MARRY, HOW?

NEVER may Mr. Punch have to publish a cartoon corresponding to the work of humorous art thus described by a correspondent of the Times in Paris :

:

"The Parisian is intensely hopeful, and a caricature published yesterday is a perfect image of his thought. There is a huge mousetrap, on the raised doorway of which is inscribed 'France.' A regiment of mice dressed as Prussian soldiers are marching towards it. Their leader points with his sword to the cheese inside, which has the tempting inscription-' Paris.""

May timely provision of a more than sufficient Navy, and of an amply sufficient Army, secure Punch against the sorrow of being ever obliged to illustrate the national situation by representing_foreign troops as mice marching on the Cheese, that cheese being the Cheshire Cheese, Fleet Street, and, though over the way, situated near Mr. Punch's Office.

Well, but when our Parisian friends have trapped the mice, what then? Perhaps the cat will be let out of the bag.

Autumnal Reflection.

THE reapers now with scythe in hand Amid the yellow corn-fields stand: What pleasure 'tis to watch each cutter, And think of future bread and butter!

A LITTLE STORY.

WHEN COBSHOTT was presented with a handsome silver tankard, in recognition of his valuable services as Honorary Secretary to the Becclesham Bowling Club, his friends congratulated him on having something which could be "handed down.' COBSHOTT, who is not always in the easiest pecuniary circumstances, made this brief but impressive reply-" Melted down, more likely."

THE BOOMPJE PAPERS.

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says, BUND, our Commodore, sticks to. MAULLIE does to Hollanders what the Hollanders did to their own country when they made it what it is; I need say no more. Boompje! But Maullie, R.A., is eager for pictures, and swears to see every public and private collection in

THE CLUB VISITS LEIDEN-NOTES BY THE WAY-OBJECTS OF IN- Holland; even if he has to lug out private collectors by the collar. TEREST-JÖMP IN THE VEIN-RETURN TO THE HAGUE. "Now, JöMP," says BUND, "have you ordered the carriage? O yes," replies JöMP, deprecating the Commander's insinuation that he had allowed such a command as that to slip his memory, "O yes; the carriage vill be ready- He thinks it out; and, without committing himself to a positive moment for the appearance of the carriage, adds, "Ven the 'orses shall be in it."

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Quel espèce" begins GOOCH, and then corrects himself, as if he 'd really quite forgotten his native tongue, and run into French so easily that it was a difficult matter to get out of it again-"I mean, what sort"-he emphasises this, as his translation-"what sort of a place is Leiden ?" Then, by way of a relapse," Triste, n'est-ce pas ?"

66 Bien triste," answers MUNTLEY.

As for GooCH, Holland is not Paris; and to him Paris is the Continent. But why did Murray lead me to expect so much in Holland? Why does he say (quoting, perhaps, but no matter, he adopts it) "that here the order of Nature is inverted." Here, in effect, fishes swim into your bedroom window. That here you live two thousand feet below the level of any known sea. Why am I given to understand that my drives are to be under water. By Murray I am led to expect that for the shooting season one must take out a licence to fire at red herrings, but sprats are vermin. IZAAK WALTON, if here, would have to angle for jackdaws, troll for cocksparrows, and bottom-fish for larks. We were to be in a sort of dry Red Sea land with water walls on either side. All the trees would be (I expected) of seaweedy character, and I was to be (I had fondly hoped) awoke in the morning by the piping of a fresh cock salmon on the upper branches. But what is the fact? Why simply that the country is flat, and canalled, instead of tunnelled, as it would have been if mountainous; that in the towns you are as much above the side of the canal, name of which I don't know, never did, and never the canals as Londoners are when walking along the Harrow Road by

"Vous avez raison!" says FINTON. They are immensely pleased with themselves after this, which is what they call airing their French for practice. When they want to keep up a conversation in this language, they explain their meaning to one another in English, and so get along excellently. JOMP polishes his head with his handkerchief ("That-Boomp-je!-shall, but it seems to me to rise somewhere in Paddington, to meander old rag!" growls GooсH, for the hundredth time, "I must get him a new one!"), looks at MAULLIE, who is sitting in an arm-chair at the window, "taking a bit," and replies,

"Vell-Leiden-O yes!"-here he ruminates, as if recalling happy scenes of his childhood passed in Leiden-" Vell-um-um-O yes! Then, having thought it well out, he adds, "O yes, you can go to Leiden," and looks round upon us with the air of a man who has removed an almost insurmountable difficulty.

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Murray says," observes BUND, referring to his guide, as a means of refreshing JöMP's memory, and rather as if JöMP had written this tion of Murray, and was to be held responsible for it. "Murray saysah-where's the place?" BUND has got about a dozen different markers in Murray, and generally exhausts the Rhine before finding what he is really looking for-"Ah! here it is! Now let's see. 'Leiden,' "" he reads at intervals-"was called Lugdunum Batavorum. JÖMP smiles at this, as if he didn't believe it. BUND proceeds: "There's a fragment of a round tower'-hem-'DRUSUS'-yes Anglo-Saxon HENGIST'-nothing that concerns us particularly." JÖMP looks on in an attentive attitude, but with the fixed inane smile of a big head in a pantomime. BUND, having skipped over some paragraphs, as we suppose, continues: "It stands in a tea-garden- "Here he pauses, puzzled.

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"What stands in a tea-garden?" asks MAULLIE, who is cross because he considers that every minute spent out of a picture-gallery is so much time wasted.

"What sort of a place is the tea-garden?" asks BUND of JöMP. "Une espèce de Mabille?" suggests GoоCH.

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A sort of Mabille, is it P" translates MUNTLEY. "Or Rosherville ? " Amendment from FINTON. JÖMP thinks it out. "Vell-um-um-um-you can 'ave tea dere, if you like." He shrugs his shoulders as much as to say that he, personally, couldn't recommend it.

But," urges GooсH, who sees a café chantant looming in probability, "is there any fun there ?"

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66

Any band?" throws in the Commander, thinking of his violoncello at home. "Vell," replies JöMP, considering his evidence in a way that would drive a Judge and Counsel wild, and give a Special Jury the fidgets; "vell-dere's-dere 's a-garden for tea, you know-O yes!" Any pictures?" demands MAULLIE, sharply. "Vell-um-um," JöMP, becoming very warm from some interior conflict, mops his head with the handkerchief, and finally, putting his hands behind him with the bearing of a man prepared to die a martyr to his love of truth, says, "C I do not know. I'ave never been dere." "Then, why the-Boompje!--" from everybody. "Carriage ready!" the Waiter announces, and Jöмp escapes. On the road to Leiden BUND proposes to read Murray's account of it to us. The country is monotonous, and the new entertainment of a reading from Murray partakes of the same character. In half an hour all are asleep. I employ the remainder of the drive in making the following observations:

My impression of Holland-up to now (N.B. Confirmed hereafter).From first to last all is Boompje, utter Boompje, unmitigated Boompje. Understanding that Boompje be always used in our accepted Club sense. Murray's travellers, be they who they may, from lucky Number One, who does all the good hotels, to poor Number Five, who only lives to tell others what to avoid, are all robustious, periwig-pated fellows.

In five words (that is, in threepennorth of modern post-office telegraphic expression), I am disappointed with Holland. BUND is not; for he believes in Murray, and the blameless Bradshaw. What Murray

at right angles about the pleasant vale of Maida, to disappear somewhere at a small outpost of London (where mortuary stone works are made, suggesting the idea that those mighty efforts of the sculptor's art in the New Road had come down here for an airing), and to lose itself finally in the country, probably in the Uxbridge direction. This repeated, without any undulation of country, is Holland: that is, an eternal canal, and something to walk on on either side, with bridges to cross it when you want to vary the monotony of being on the left bank by changing it for the right.

There is a good deal of bright polished brass about Holland, as you might expect in a Boompje land.

While writing the above it occurs to me that a free translation of "Boompje," as settled and fixed by the Club Dictionary, would be "Bounce."

Leiden at last.-What shall we do? Evidently to begin with waking up. We wake up. Here is Leiden. Ask the coachman. Can't, he's a Dutchman. Tell JöMP to ask Dutch coachman what we're to do here. No use. JöMP tries. As usual, Dutch coachman can't understand a single word. JöMP shrugs his shoulders pityingly. We manage, between JöMP's Dutch (limited), our French and English, to make an intelligent Baker understand us. The process is a long one, and all Leiden is out-of-doors to hear and see, and, if possible, join in the conversation.

"Pon my soul," exclaims Gooch, in a tone of unmitigated disgust, "We're being mobbed wherever we go. We might as well be that cracked Chinaman, or the Japanese ambassadors, in London. Confound it, it's too bad." He is very wrathful with BUND and JöMP, but settles down ultimately on MAULLIE. "If he was only dressed like a civilised Christian, and not in that Boompje hat and tourist suit, they wouldn't stare at us like barbarians. Hang 'em!"

"Are there no objects of interest here?" asks MUNTLEY, in the rumble. Yes," growls GooсH, "we are: confound it."

We try to gather information from the intelligent inhabitants of Leiden. "Is there a church to be seen here?" This puzzles them for ten minutes, during which time we repeat the question in all sorts of forms, and in ingenious variations of languages. The intelligent Baker, assisted by our intelligent coachman, who rouses himself for an effort, suddenly grasps the meaning of our question. He explains to the populace (a crowd of about forty people of all ages and sizes), who take up the reply as a part-song for several voices. Hopelessly unintelligible. We demand a solo by the Baker, or the Coachman. They insist on making it a duett. (GOOCH, writhing, says, "Boompje 'em-drive on: do! but we don't stir.) From a solo by some one we are given to understand that there is no church open. ("It's a Protestant country," says GOOCH; "they don't keep 'em open. Hang it! let's drive back again.' but we don't stir.) We insist that there must be a church worth seeing. The populace (after five minutes allowed to reduce this to intelligibility) ridicule the idea of our being driven over from the Hague to go to Church. ("They think we're mad. Do drive on!" says GOOCH, piteously.) MAULLIE asks boldly for the Stadhuis. They don't know it. "Not the Stadhuis?" reiterates MAULLIE, surprised. No: not the Stadhuis. "Then isn't the University worth seeing ?" Populace take this up as a riddle (it seems as if we are a travelling company for conundrums), and after considering it in parts as before, put the puzzle together, and the answer is No. "O" exclaims GOOCH, "you be Boompje'd. Here, let's get out and walk about the town."

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We discover the University at last. Down a street: very retired. It could be put into Trinity Hall's waistcoat-pocket. There are some comic drawings on the wall of the staircase, representing a scholar leaving home for the Academy, and his return therefrom. Dutch boy's humour. We yawn about the place. We ask about JEAN OF Leiden.

We inquire for (Murray's) Botanical Garden, the Egyptian Museum, the Churches of St. Peter and St. Pancras. Nobody knows, nobody cares. It is vacation time. Leiden is asleep. Our conundrums are all given up, and we return to our carriage.

Dull road home. BUND reads extracts from Murray as to what we ought to have seen. BUND turns on JöMP:

You ought to have known all about it. It's your business. You said you'd been all over this country before. And if you hadn't been, you ought to have made all the inquiries, or sent somebody with us who could take us everywhere."

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"Vell," replies JöMP, deeply injured, and almost shedding tears, "I dat I'ave not been in Leiden. I cannot tell you vot I do not FINTON, in the rumble, is humming the march from the Prophète inspired by Leiden. Suddenly, he stops, and addresses us: "I say, what a capital match JEAN OF LEIDEN and JOAN OF ARC would have made! Almost the same dress, too."

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This induces meditation, and we wake up at the Hague.

A ROMAN POSTER.

A LETTER from CARDINAL ANTONELLI, forwarded to ARCHBISHOP MANNING, and published by the latter, states, with reference to the Apostolical Constitution," constituting the POPE infallible, that:"The Constitution in question had the most solemn publication possible on the very day upon which, in the Vatican Basilica, it was solemnly confirmed and promulgated by the Sovereign Pontiff in the presence of above five hundred Bishops; for it was then, although such was not necessary in this case, put up with the ordinary formalities in the usual places of Rome; in consequence of which it was, according to the well-known rule, made obligatory for the whole Catholic world, without need of any other publication

whatsoever."

:

Thus, PIO NONO, though he claims to be a greater man than MOSES the Lawgiver, condescends to advertise himself after the fashion of MOSES AND SON, and, albeit professing infinite superiority to the Prophet SAMUEL, disdains not recourse to means 'of obtaining publicity such as those employed by SAMUEL BROTHERS. In short, the HOLY FATHER bills the town of Rome, and sticks up posters about the Eternal City. Fancy a specimen of one of these papal (not to speak profanely) puffs :

PIUS P.P.

Paternally solicits the attention of the Faithful to the fact that he

was on

JULY 18, 1870,

In the Sacrosanct and Celebrated

Church of S. Peter at Rome,

and in the presence of above FIVE HUNDRED BISHOPS,

Unanimously acknowledged and solemnly voted and declared to be endowed with the most stupendous Attribute of Absolute

INFALLIBILITY!

WAR NEWS.

DATE.-September. PLACE.-All over the Shop.

I'm obliged to give you the above evasive answer, your Noble Washup,'cos a Cockalorum who lets out where he is and when he is, might right, too, says the Duchess, as I told the Hereditary Grand when he be told off to Chokey as a gay spy any morning. And sarve him warned me.

rather like it than not.

a story, my noble Lord and Marquis," says I.
"What Duchess ?" asked the Hereditary Swell in command. "It's
Hereditary Grand, meaning, to this intelligent Militaire, that he'd
"Forwards," says the
sitting down to tea. Hullo!' says the Dook, looking in., 'What's
"The story's only this," says I, so on we goes: "The Duchess was
up F' says the Duchess, sugaring. Why,' says the Dook, 'I'm —.""
Here Young SINGYMARINGY (as I call him, and he likes it now)
looked in, and the Hereditary Grand says, "Captain," to me, "to be
continued in our next."

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I'm on the Staff (sort of supernumerary with the chill off) of the
Crown Cockalorum Commander-in-Chief. The careering Gee did it.
The Hereditary took a fancy to it. 'Captain," says he, "I like your
tit."
"Yours truly, your Washup," says this gay Cavalier, “and I'll
back him against any Gee of his own size, weight, and age, head and
tail screwed on the right way, for a trotting match, or a hurdle race;
jump over an umbrella, or a barge pole on a high road, for money."
"As a charger?" says he.

neutral B. and S. together, and in half an hour I'd a Uhlan's sabre by
"All there when the bell rings," was Your Own's reply. We split a
my side, ready to show what gimlet means to an unfriendly Cockalorum.
Since then I've been careering.
They stick on somehow like gum, through a line of gates, but across
These Gay Prooshans ain't quite the noble sportsman on horseback.
the open after the Wily, pounded's the word, my Noble Marquis, for
the lot of 'em.

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Up, Cockalorums, and at 'em! We're on 'em in spadefuls. Never was such times. Pay as we go," is the order. I am chiefly billeted with SINGYMARINGY. He pays and I go. He's a well-meaning Cockalorum, but rather cornered here. He was inclined to be nasty at first, when I chaffed him with, "Thou art the cause of this here anguish, my SINGYMARINGY," but a look from me soon convinced him that I could double up his perambulator.

This Gay and Gallant ain't, as you know, in the habit of quarrelling with his wittles. But-though in the Champagne country we don't bustle the sparkling, and the wine of this place is so uncommon like the vinegar of any other place that just now grapes is sour, your noble

Having been, by the universal Agreement of the Most Reverend Fathers Washup. There's nothing round in the mouth to cross your poor in Canonical Assembly,

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Soldier's lips. SINGYMARINGY goes in heavy for goat's milk. It's enough to make your hair curl for a twelvemonth to look at him sucking it out of a wooden bowl. Gently does it with this gay Militaire in that quarter, as your Own Cockalorum can't afford to have the Herr Doctorum dosing him for the papsylals.

As for the cheese, it will wake you up a mile off; and my name's grinders over what they call a filly.

Duty calls. The spirited Gee is at the door. "ARDY, 'ARDY, kiss me, 'ARDY!" and "England expects," &c. Hold on! Do you get this distinguished Correspondence, or don't you?

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"THE KING OF PRUSSIA Proposes the PRINCE OF HOHENZOLLERN [Communication stopped. READING a capital letter in the Telegraph, our friend MRS. JONES as candidate for the Throne of came on the words, "France is pullulating." Meaning of that word, quick ?" she demanded of her nephew SAMMY. Germinating, aunt," promptly responded the "well-educated infant." After some thought, AUNT JONES observed, "Very right; if I were French I should be German-hating, too." SAMMY hooted, but bolted in time to escape a box on his irreverent ears.

KEPT IN STOCK.

THERE is one place which the French agents, who are said to be travelling about buying up all the bacon in this country should not fail to visit-Dunmow.

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Shuddering Wife of Charlie's bosom. "PROMISE ME, CHARLIE, DEAR, O PROMISE ME, THAT YOU'LL NEVER GO AND LET YOURSELF BE ORGANISED INTO A SOLDIER! AND THAT IF EVER THE ENEMY WANTS TO COME AND TAKE ENGLAND, YOU AND I AND MAUD AND BABY WILL FLY TO OTHER CLIMES, AND LET HIM!!!"

His Mother-in-Law. "DON'T TALK SUCH UNWOMANLY NONSENSE, MATILDA! WHY, IF EVER THE FOREIGN INVADER DARED TO SET HIS FOOT ON BRITISH GROUND, IT WOULD BE SOME COMPENSATION, AT LEAST, TO ME, TO KNOW THAT MY HUSBAND WAS AMONG THE VERY FIRST TO CONFRONT THE FOE!"

THE BRITISH BLUNDERBUSS.

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A PROGRESSIVE OFFICER," in a letter to the Times, quotes a statement by MR. CARDWELL, to the effect "that the arming of the Militia with Snider breechloaders is to be gradually completed, after which the Volunteers are to be gradually armed with the same weapon." Gradually; "a good phrase," as Justice Shallow says. It comes from gradus, a step, and, considering how likely we are, in the event of invasion, to be gradually invaded, may we not venture to use military language in so far as to name that step a goose-step?

The PROGRESSIVE OFFICER moreover avers that, several years ago, he had pointed out in the Times that " at the best, the Snider was only a makeshift;" and adds:

"That was in July, 1866, and here we are in August, 1870, with the question of a small-bore breechloader still unsettled, and the prospect of further experiments, and consequently further delay, before anything is done."

If the question of a small-bore remains unsettled, the question of a great bore has been placed beyond doubt. It is evident that the Head at the administrative Head Quarters is wanting in brains; which is a very great bore. Behind foreign troops in respect of his weapon, can even the British Grenadier be expected to stand before them in the field ?

INVADERS INVADED.

A CORRESPONDENT of the Constitutionnel, writing from Metz, makes a remark about the Prussian troops which is rather ingenuous :

"It is true that when they penetrate anywhere they take everything, and live at the cost of other people. We learn this every moment from the unfortunate inhabitants of the frontier, who flock hither with the little property they have been able to save, and not only do the Prussians lay violent hands

on provisions, cattle, horses, carriages, forage, &c., but on money also, after which they set fire to the country."

As a matter of fact it is somewhat doubtful that the Prussian soldiers actually return evil for evil, when, in so doing, they would act contrary to orders. But suppose they did plunder or burn everything in their way on their march into France. Such conduct, although opposed to the injunction which requires people absolutely to love their enemies, is not very unnatural, in an enemy's country, on the part of invaders advancing in repulse of invasion.

MARS AGAINST BACCHUS.
RIVAL hosts, avoid the Rhine;
Shun the region of the vine.
Do not let your battle-plain
Be the district of champagne.
Ruin not, with shot and shell,
All our prospect of Moselle.
True, e'en though, in human shapes
Fiends should devastate the grapes,
Something, yet, from vintner's shop,
Will, at races, fizz and pop,
That shall ne'er be drink of mine,
Far be warfare from the Rhine.

Intelligent Animals.

MRS. MALAPROP had no idea that the Monkeys in India were such clever and important creatures, until she heard MR. MALAPROP read in the paper that "The natives of Bengal intend to send an influential Baboon to England to advocate the cause of the natives."

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