SACRILEGE.

OUT-OF-TOWN TALK.

EDITOR,-An excellent and talented friend once observed to me "The real enjoyment of foreign travel consists in the pleasure you feel in leaving a place," and he was right. A fortnight's holiday sojourn in any town-I don't care where it is-is exhausting. Take a fortnight in Paris, and spend that fortnight in "doing" the city, and see how you feel disposed toward it at the end of the fortnight. You will loathe it: its cathedrals will be to you as ledgers to a bank clerk, its picture galleries as oakum to a pickpocket. You will sigh for the hour when you will be comfortably seated in your railway carriage bound for Brussels, or Strasbourg, or Geneva, or Nice, or Biarritz, or some other place which will appear to you, from your then point of view, as Paradise to the Peri, but which you will eventually detest as heartily as ever you detested Paris.

Pondering these matters, I took my place in the railway carriage that was to convey me from Antwerp to Brussels, after a desperate encounter with a railway porter who, failing to extract a pour boire from me, fell to cursing me in the most emphatic Flemish I ever heard. Englishmen make two mistakes when they avail themselves of continental railways; they tip the porters who weigh the luggage, and they travel second class. Now these porters should not be tipped, the universality of the practice has caused them to demand the pour boire, and when they don't get it they swear openly at you. On one occasion (it was in Paris), a fellow actually seized me by the collar and refused to let me go until I had given him some sous. The departure bell was ringing at the time, and I struck him such a mighty blow beneath the chin that I heard his teeth dance about in his mouth like peas in a drum. So far my conduct was BAYARD-like, but I am bound to admit that my subsequent behaviour was cowardly, for in a mortal fright I bolted into the train and was whirled off to Geneva by an express which wouldn't hear of stopping until it reached the Swiss frontier, where I felt myself comparatively safe. I believe that, in France, to expostulate with a fraudulent railway clerk is galleys for life, and to

THE MONKEY IN TROUBLE.

WAITING, waiting for the halter,
Hoping for release in vain-
Oh! the Rock of Gibberaltar!
Would I saw you once again!

Active, nimble, able-bodied,
Up the tallest trees I ran,
Now I'm taken up and quodded,
Just as if I was a man!

Beating at my prison wildly!
Yelling with a maddened yell!
For, to put it very mildly,

This a condemned sell!

They have locked me in the station,

Just because, when driven wild,

In a fit of irritation

I attacked a teasing child!

Well, of course, the fact before you
With malignity seems rife,
But, indeed, I do assure you

Mine's a very trying life.

When you're treated idem semper,

Thrashed and clothed in dresses tight,

Why, it tells upon your temper,

And you feel inclined to bite.

Just suppose a great gorilla

Came and took the learned beak,

Make him fire a gun for siller,

Beat a tambourine and speak.

Wear a brigand hat and feather,

Sweep the floor and dance and fight,

Play in every kind of weather,

Don't you think he'd want to bite?

P'raps they're now indictments framing
To be signed and stuck on shelves,
Me as human fellow claiming-
Am I then so like themselves?

Let me go-you're sure to mess it-
'Tis indeed your wisest plan,
AS MR. RUSSELL would express it,
"No, by heavens, I am not Man!"
Condemned Cell, Marylebone Police-court.

strike a porter is murder without extenuating circumstances. And second class carriages should be avoided: I know the saying about Englishmen, Princes and Fools, but still I say that continental second class carriages should be avoided. Independently of the fact that the society of Englishmen, Princes, and Fools is decidedly preferable to that of travelling Frenchmen and Germans, the high tariff charged for to bring as many portmanteaus, trunks, carpet bags, hat boxes, and luggage that is placed in the van induces second-class native travellers other impedimenta into the carriage with them as they can contrive to carry. Although this nuisance exists to a certain extent in the firstclass, still the fact that you have a definite allotment of the carriage to yourself prevents the nuisance from attaining serious proportions.

Whether it is that the British tourists who find their way into Brussels are men of better tone than those we meet in Paris and at the French watering places, or whether it is that Belgian officials are not so exasperating in their demeanour towards travelling Britons as those of France, I do not know, but I was certainly pleased with the demeanour of my countrymen in Brussels. Here, in the immediate vicinity of the field of Waterloo, one would expect to find all that is most offensive in the British snob, in a state of rampant vigour. One would expect to find the British alderman and the British merchant's clerk holding forth at the table d'hôte as to what "we" did in '15, and one would expect to find on the Waterloo coach an arena for the display of British Jolly-Dogmatism in its most repulsive form. But no. The English tourists in Brussels appear, for the most part, to be gentlemen, and to act up to the character. I sincerely trust that the Volunteers who accepted the invitation of the Belgian Government a week ago, and who are strutting about the streets of Brussels as I write, will not do more than they can help to impair the favourable impression that their holiday countrymen appear to have created in this "Paris in miniature." SNARLER.

UCH as one regrets that there should have been any unpleasantness about Gladiateur, it is impossible not to be gratified at the upshot of the whole affair. The preternaturally solemn correspondence- very properly described by the press as "official". which passed between the stewards and the Jockey Club and COUNT LAGRANGE has quite a diplomatic air, and is calculated to restore the international confidence, which, nursed at Brest and fostered at Portsmouth, was imperilled at Doncaster. It has been whispered that LORD RUSSELL, delighted at the success of his Gastein letter, has addressed a congratulatory epistle to the EMPEROR on the restoration of the good understanding between England and France. Whether this be true or not, I cannot say, but I hear the EMPEROR was observed to light his cigar with a larger wisp of paper than usual the other day.

I SEE that the inventor of the spiritual writing on the arm-the trick which MR. FOSTER, the Yankee medium, worked in England-has been fined in America for juggling without a licence. I am very glad to hear it. Every small quack who is exploded clears the atmosphere. Foolish-or fraudulentBritish believers won't have a medium left to swear by soon. HUME, their first and best medium, has been detected-the story is too long to tell, but it is very good,-FOSTER's humbug was exposed, and now in Paris the DAVENPORT trick has been shown up. The British believers have been driven gradually to relinquish each of these prophets, and unless the supply is kept up won't have a humbug to swear by. By the way, I see the DAVENPORTS are saying now that the seat was smashed and not released by a spring, and put in a broken board in evidence. As, however, they did not show it at the time and might easily get up such evidence, I don't think they will delude many. For my own part I wouldn't believe them on affidavit, and consider them quite capable of manufacturing this explanation.

Ir appears that the doings of the British Association at Birmingham have excited much interest in France, and that the discussion on Cannibalism especially has given rise to considerable debate. Our lively neighbours, with the true culinary instinct, which makes them the only real cooks in Europe, or the world, have gone straight to the consideration of the suitability of human flesh for the cuisine, and their ultimatum is that after you have turned four-and-twenty you are rather coarse eating, and it is quite impossible to make-oh, truly French notion-soup of you. That's bad news for us old fellows who have got into our thirties!

WHAT is coming to our provincials? Has the increase of the desire to send missions to foreign parts led to our country folk becoming uncivilized savages? The reason of my asking the question is that I see that at a fancy fair (all fancy fairs are mischievous) recently held at Wimbourne, prizes were offered for the best-looking young man, and the best looking girl, to be nominated by a committee of ladies in the first instance, and gentlemen in the second. The natural modesty of the sex, which not even a constant course of fancy fairs can entirely eradicate, prevented the first half of the scheme from being carried out, but the boors and bumpkins actually balloted for the candidates for the ladies prize, and two young ladies obtained an equal number of votes. I wonder whether the girls were exhibited in stalls like beasts at a cattle show, and if the judges discussed their points and punched them about in the approved fashion. Such an exhibition is disgraceful even to a county as low down in the scale of civilization as Dorset.

MR. DISRAELI has made a speech to the Bucks farmers, without any politics in it-except, of course, his attributing the cattle plague to the present Government. The prospects of HER MAJESTY'S Opposition must be circumscribed indeed if the leader of the party could find nothing to talk about but agriculture, about which he knows even less than he does about statesmanship.

THE Sunday School Union, so says a cotemporary, is about to bring out with the new year, a cheap weekly magazine for young people, to be called Kind Words. Of course the S.S. U. teaches children to be honest and speak the truth, so I don't see what better story they could begin their publication with than something in this style: "Once upon a time there was a publisher who brought out a magazine called

Good Words. It was a great success and sold well. But there was a pious society which was always telling little people not to steal, so it cribbed this title and altered it a little, so as to be able to prevaricate and say it was not quite the same, and brought out a magazine to teach its young readers to be honest and tell the truth." I present that little story to the new magazine.

FENIANISM after all was hardly worth the fuss that has been made. about it. A lot of ungrammatical Irish melodies and a little drilling which may be looked upon as the breaking out of the volunteer mania in another form, would seem to be all that has come of it. The silly folk who have been arrested must not be too severely punished. I should advise hard labour-to consist in weeding the celebrated cabbage garden where SMITH O'BRIEN did such wonders for Ireland.

YOUNG ESCULAPIUS.

HURRAH! for October, all sober

The leaves wear their livery of brown, And fresh to his jawbones, young Sawbones Comes merrily up to the Town.

Parental oppression, the session

Will soon put an end to; with glee
He welcomes old faces and places,
And uses the bachelor's key.

He'll soon have had tussles with muscles
And sigh at each long-winded name,
The plexus, called lumbar, a number
Of nerves will bring in for his blame.
No fear of neglecting dissecting,
When merry old comrades appear,
To lay bare the flexor, perplexer

Of young heads bemuddled with beer.
At nine in the morning, there's scorning
Of learning he's pains in his head,
While soda-and-brandy stands handy,
Poor boy, by the side of his bed.
At breakfast the bloater, promoter
Of peckishness, cools on his plate,
So languid his fauces, no sauces

Can quicken them early or late.
No dreams of days after, and laughter

At thoughts of the dreaded exam.;
He'll take his full measure of pleasure

While POWER lives, the lazy to cram.
Instruction that's clinic, a cynic

He mocks at, and all that it brings,
His note-book has traces of cases,
But more of the songs that he sings.
He plays much at billiards, whole Iliads
His friends sing of triumph and praise,
His ball, like a rocket, the pocket

Flies into whenever he plays.

He's famous at cricket, the wicket
Guards well, and his bowling is true,
He bets upon races, and aces

Turns up at unlimited loo.

The landladies prudent, our student

Will welcome, but little they'll win,
He'll make the cat frisky with whisky,
And put something queer in the gin.
Then hail to our doctors, concocters
Of physic that's bad to get down,
Athirst for all knowledge to college
They come, so a welcome to town.

A Shocking In-trews-ion.

WE understand that the kilt is going out of fashion in Scotland. There has long been a complaint against it among the sportsmen who adopted it while deerstalking and grouse shooting. They say they got so cut and scratched about the legs when working for a day in the national costume that when they came home it was a return of the kilt and wounded. By abandoning the habit they hope to have better bags-but a trews to jesting! The subject is too painful.

FROM OUR STALL.

As we predicted, the Prince of Wales's Theatre opened on Monday, the 25th ultimo, and the audience went into raptures at the sight of MISS MARIE WILTON, or rather we should say, at the sight of Marie Edgardo, master of Ravenswilton. And when Miss JOHN LUCY ASHTON CLARKE showed her flaxen ringlets, her breezy bonnet, satin scarf, timidity, sandalled shoes, and blushes, a smilar ovation awaited him-no, we mean her. The new burlesque of Lucia de Lammermoor is worthy of its prolific author. It is full of fun, pun, and parody, and the musical travesties are chosen with more than usual felicity. "Oh! Kafoozlem!" and the new edition of the "Mabel Waltz" are destined to be familiar in the mouths of little London boys. MISS HUGHES, 80 long a favourite actress at the Olympic when poor ROBSON was the hero of the hour, has joined the light troop of the Prince of Wales's, and makes a very sprightly Alice. She sings, acts, and dances so charmingly that it is no wonder Bucklaw and Raymond fall in love with her. And, talking of charming and Bucklaw, MISS FANNY JOSEPHS, in her scarlet coat and shiny boots, looks as if she had just walked off the lid of a French plum-box, having carefully extracted all the sweetness of the plums. Two words of commendation for MESSRS. MONTGOMERY and DEWAR. The former gentleman has a vein of humour which should be hard worked, and we hope will be hard worked, and the latter blusters as Lucy's big brother most effectively. MR. BYRON is an extraordinary man, for he has told the story of " Lucia," certainly with considerable alterations, in four scenes! It must not be forgotten that each of these four scenes is an admirable specimen of the pictorial art; the last, in particular, is a most agreeable combination of gold, silver, gas, foil, paper, and real water. "Lucia" is what the Americans call a "live" piece, and will

run.

The public mind of London has been for some time torn by distracting doubts as to who, what, or which are the "only original and veritable legitimate Christy's Minstrels." FUN being omniscient, naturally knows everything, so of course he knows what party is the 0.0.A.V.L.C.M. (only original and veritable legitimate Christy's Minstrels), and his decision has been awaited with breathless expectation by numerous crowned heads of Europe, the nobility and gentry, the Lord Mayor and Corporation of the city of London, the united body of metropolitan beadles, the ancient order of Odd Fellows, and the public at large, and in temporary durance.

Well, then, FUN knows which are the 0.0.A.V.L.C.M.'s, but from motives which his own large heart alone can appreciate, declines to say. Let it rest in doubt with the authorship of the Letters of Junius.

But FUN will relax, so far as to say that he has been much pleased with the performances of the troupe of Christy's Minstrels now playing at the St. James's Hall, pleased with the songs, the dances, and the dioramic views. FUN would rather look upon the ocean than embark upon it, would rather see a pictorial representation of the Great Eastern than inhabit a first-class cabin in it. Bravo, Messieurs Christy, whether you are Christy's pere, or Christy's fils, or Christy's aine, or Christy's jeune, or Christy's freres. Les Christy's ne sont pas Vivent les Christy's!

morts.

ON ZOILISM.

In a wonderful pamphlet with which we made acquaintance a day or two ago, entitled On Zöilism; an Essay towards Pathological Analysis, by one MR. JOHN POYER, we find the following remarkable sentence:"But the Zöilistic humour, such as it is that is to say, its dreary and silly imitation of wit, what may be called the spasmodic mechanism of the Zöllistic mind convulsively striving to emulate the dynamic spontaneity of humourous utterance— shall now be shown in a concrete form to our readers."

Ah, we have a word or two to say to MR. JOHN POYER on this point. Doesn't it occur to him that the consanguineous homology existing between the periphlogistic antitrinitarianism of transcendental idiosyncrasy on the one hand, and the psychological spontaneity of Cimmerian parallelopipedism on the other, is calculated to disintegrate the physiognomical indicia which may be assumed to exist in the oracular transmutation of all homogonous ephemerals? We pause for a reply.

"Come where my love lies—."

SOME anxiety is being felt on account of the prolonged absence of M. DU CHAILLU. Those who have read his book, however, are of opinion that he is only lying, perdu.

HAPPY SCOTLAND.

We are glad to see signs of increasing prosperity in the North. It is evident from the ascertained decrease of snuti-taking there that there is less pinching than there used to be.

THE MODERN DRAMA.

A PREFACE IN THE FORM OF AN INSCRIPTION.

READER!

The Drama never dies;

But Managers are usually obtuse,
And it is their custom to reject
Works of real merit,

Of noble tendencies and sterling genius,
In favour of

The obsolete

And antiquated productions, Suited only to the infaney of civilisation, That are associated

With

A name so notorious

For sensational effects and quibbling puns,
As that of

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

(Born at Stratford-on-Avon, 1564;
Died at same place, 1616).

We commence our selections with some characteristic extracts from
THE STUDENT;

By SIR G. E. L. B*LW*R L*TT*N.

ADOLPHUS, a footman, who has read the works of a gifted baronet, con-
siders it desirable to marry his master's daughter, ARAMINTA. She is
thirty-three, and plain, but opulent. Fearing that his poverty may
tell against him, he steals much of the family plate, and then declares
his passion to the lady, who is still ignorant of his misconduct.
SCENE.-The Library. ADOLPHUS. ARAMINTA.

ADOL. (quite casually).-Yes, lady, I have loved thee! I have dared
To cast mine eyes so far towards perfection
As up to thy sweet self! The village youth,
Scorning the trammels of his servile state,
And panting forth to poesy from plush,

Has loved thee with the passionate heart of man!
For thee, when all the household were abed,

I burnt the midnight taper; I perused

The thrilling drama of the gardener's son;
The gentlemanly swindler CLAUDE MELNOTTE,
A lover and a liar! So am I!!

He pauses to observe the effect. Not perceiving any, he continues :—
The gilded pomp of palaces-the wealth
That envious misers hold in such esteem-
The splendour and the dignity of State-

What are they all to Love?-To Love, whom erst
The Greeks as Eros named-for I have read,
The village youth has read!—his Lemprière.
It was for Love-it was for Love and Thee,
Who art Love's empress in this passionate heart,
That, if I erred, I erred. Proud beauty, list!
ARAMINTA is 80 delighted at being called a proud beauty that she imme-
diately does list.

ADOL.-The candelabra, with their lustrous light,
The centrepieces, the domestic spoons,
What are they all but gold and silver dross
Dug from the deep earth at the miner's risk,
To swell a rich man's luxury? The poor
May starve upon the threshold of the great,
Or pine in squalid suffering aloof.

I weighed the deed well over in my mind;
Did it; and weighed the proceeds afterwards.
Lady, I prigged the plate !-prigged it for Love-
For Love and Thee! and now, upon my knees,
Which bend reluctantly at morning prayer,
But gladly now, I ask for my reward-
The hand of Beauty, which alone can fill |
And satisfy the passionate heart of man!

[Enter a Detective.]
DETECT.-From information which I have received,
And by a warrant-which I now produce-
I take you into custody upon

A charge of felony, ADOLPHUS SMITH.

ADOL. (as he is being handcuffed).—

Yes; bear me to the dungeon; but reflect-
The Truthful and the Beautiful are one!

A TALE OF A TRAVELLER (COMMERCIAL). SOME years ago, said the elderly man with crimson whiskers and a cast in each eye, as he drew himself proudly up to his full height (four foot eleven), I was travelling for the house of-well, suppose we say the house of BROWN, JONES, and ROBINSON. We were in the mized pickle and potted meat line, and there was no smarter gig upon the road at that period than the one made use of by your humble servant for the purpose of taking country air and country orders.

Now it fell out, in the year 1846, that the small but flourishing town of Didbury, in Shropshire was taken with a fierce and insatiable yearning for mixed pickles. There was only one man in the whole town who escaped the prevailing epidemic, and he, by the most singular coincidence in the world, had never been seen to eat anything but potted meats. Of course, therefore, Didbury was as good as a small fortune to B. J. and R. Many a pleasant and profitable trip to that Paradise of epicureanism it was my fortune to undertake. Many a narrative sparkling with refined epigram was it my luck to relate, in the commercial room of the "Golden Cockroach," to an admiring audience of bagmen, and each story was received with a frequent chorus of "Good again, sir!" and "That'll do, guv'nor!"

On one of these visits to Didbury, I resolved, partly moved by an enthusiasm for business, and partly by a genuine outburst of hospitality, to invite a couple of the residents to a sumptuous repast at the "Golden Cockroach." Dinners were absurdly reasonable at that establishment, and the only condition extorted from each commercial guest was the consumption of a pint of port. This was no hardship, gentlemen, for the port was full-bodied and fruity; besides, our host indemnified himself by means of his wines for the moderate price of his dinners. Well, I despatched pressing invitations to the confidential clerk of JACKSON, JOHNSON, and SMITH, and to the representative of PESTLE and POTBURY.

Would you believe it? Neither J. J. and S., no P. and P. showed up on that eventful occasion. I was grieved, as a matter of course, for

I loved each of them like a customer. Long after the appointed hour I sat gloomily down to my solitary symposium. Then, and not until then, dinners it was absolutely imperative upon me to order three pints of a certain horrible conviction flashed across me. Having ordered three port. The landlord of the "Golden Cockroach" was a harsh, muscular being, with whom it was impossible to trifle. The table was prepared for three, and there were three wine-glasses-three

The strict integrity of the commercial traveller survived all other that I visited some of the leading houses in Didbury. Three pints of sentiments within me. During the afternoon I have reason to believe old port naturally gave me confidence, and I am convinced-though I retain a very indistinct recollection of what passed-that I advocated the interests of BROWN, JONES, and ROBINSON with more than usual ardour. In fact, the amount of business I transacted may be inferred from entries in my order-book, to the following effect:"Dddibly-ember, fourteen hundred and eighty-six. "Potted beeves, 1. 3 pints full-bodied Piccalilli, by passenger train, addressed, A. B. C., Post-office, Ddd, &c.

oil-cloth, labelled Glass; this side up.' "For Mr. Thing. One capsicum, as a sample. To be packed in

large size. No objection to travel. "J. J. and S. Better luck next time. Walnuts X 41, July 23, You know!

"An-6-chovies for the old 'un. No. 12. Not known here. "P. and P. So soft and nasty that they makes him shudder. Try