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226 Mr. Jolly Green's Visit to Paris since the last Revolution.

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Gouache nodded in reply, and with more piety than I had expected to meet with in a club of this description, made the sign of the cross on his left breast and significantly pointed at me.

“ A la bonne heure !" growled Tête de Requin, then, turning towards us, he spoke again :

“ You are acquainted with the true principle of r-p-bl-c-nism, as expressed in the motto which you see written up there ?”

"Oui, citoyenne," said I,"" comprenny perfectly – Liberty, Egality, Fraternity!'

“ Vous en aurez donc assez,” shouted he, and as he spoke he jumped from his chair, made a rush at me, and fastened his devilish claws on my windpipe. In an instant I found myself surrounded by a ring of blue cut-throats, and perceived that Podder was similarly environed. Taken by surprise by the suddenness of this assault when I expected a brotherly salutation, I was for a moment deprived of my presence of mind, and the thought shot rapidly through my brain that we had been entrapped into a genuine maison de santé; but the president's next act convinced me that he was a r-p-bl-can. Gouache had not made the sign of the cross for nothing. With instinctive sagacity, Tête de Requin removed one hand from my throat and plunged it into my breast-pocket, speedily withdrawing it with my note-case firm in his clutch. With the other hand he then made a tug at my guard-chain, but I was now alive to his purpose,

and battered with my clenched fists on his pasteboard head, till I made it sound like a drum. I hammered away so effectually, indeed, that the string broke which confined the head, and it was fairly knocked off, when, to my utter astonishment, I beheld the sinister countenance of my former persecutor, the scoundrel Paradis. He had evidently recognised me when first I came in, and hence his eagerness to have the first pluck at me. The confusion now became terrific—the whole gang closed in upon me, my guard-chain snapped-my pockets were rifled-my coat was torn absolutely off my back, but still I held my own, dealing out facers right and left in exchange for the scratches I received, and spoiling more than one r-p-bl-can countenance. Podder, too, fought manfully; his forte lay chiefly in kicking (being an accomplished foot-ball player), and loud were the howls of the Blue Cut-throats as his well-nailed boots came in contact with their shins. We shouted lustily, too, to encourage each other, and it was well for us that we did so, otherwise the Memoirs of Jolly Green must have been written by his ghost, instead of by his secretary, for numbers began to prevail against us, in spite of the pertinacity with which Podder pummelled his principal antagonist, Gouache, and I made head against Paradis. They had driven us into a corner, and there we stood at bay in our shirt-sleeves, with our pockets turned inside out, hair streaming, noses bleeding, and words of defiance issuing from our lips. Suddenly, our antagonists raised the cry, “à la fenêtre !" the shutters were driven outwards, daylight penetrated into the apartment, and, notwithstanding my struggles, I was seized and borne aloft, my destiny being evidently the street.

Luckily, the room in which the meeting had taken place was on the ground-floor, and instead of our finding egress by the open window, others, attracted by the noise, forced their way

in. Our English voices had reached the ears of three of our countrymen, attracted like ourselves to P-ris, and when I mention that one of them was the T-pt-n Sl—sh-r, and that the others were J—hnny Br-ine and Ben Ca-nt,

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I leave the Br-tish public to judge how long it was before the thirty Blue Cut-throats were served out. Five minutes is an age compared to the incredibly short space of time that elapsed before they bolted, -not a man amongst them but carried the marks of the triumvirate on his

person. Unfortunately, the rascal Paradis escaped, though not without a black eye, and with him went my watch and money.

“I shall bring this outrage before the N-t-nal Ass—mbly,” exclaimed I, as soon as I had recovered breath.

“ You'd better bring yourself along of us," said the T-pt-n Sl—sh-r, “we're agoin' to 'ave a rump-steak on the Bully-vards, close agin the Maddylin ; arter that we shall be ready for another turn-up with as many on 'em as likes.”

We shook hands with our gallant countrymen, and putting our damaged garments in as good order as we could, quitted the club. I saw nothing as we went out of the fat porter in tights, whom I strongly suspect was my old acquaintance Ventre-bleu.

FRANCE AND ENGLAND COMPARED.* If this clever work had had the good fortune to be published three months ago, it would have caused a great sensation. The whole tenor, as regards France, is to show republican institutions inevitable, and revolution imminent; and events have overtaken the author in the accomplishment of his undertaking. No wonder, when now-a-days they will even overtake the writer in a magazine. Yet, the author is no Hibernian Cassandra—not one of those prophets after the events, that abound at all times and places, and who, the moment any memorable event takes place, either in public or private life, are always ready to exclaim—“I told you so !” Independently of other proofs, the work bears internal evidence that, with the exception of the introduction, it was written before the events of the 24th of February. It is not necessary, therefore, in the present day, to revert to ought but what has reference to the new state of things. The author candidly acknowledges, that in what refers to the past, that the bitterness of allusions, directed more against the monarch and the minister, than the man, would not have escaped him, if directed against adversaries expiating their political envy in exile.

In that which refers to the present—the work keeps two great and laudable objects in view,—first the connexion which there exists between the liberality of national institutions, and the amount of a people's material prosperity, enlightenment, and real power. This question is illustrated by a chart, which is more ingenious and amusing, like the French educational and statistical charts, than solid. The actual position of France, at least as yet, by no means illustrates the deduction, that in proportion as man shares in his own government is the quality of his food, the cultivation of his intellect, the amount of luxuries and comforts he enjoys, the trade he carries on, and the extent of his ability to contribute towards the burdens of the state.

Analogies and Contrasts ; or, Comparative Sketches of France and England. By the Author of “ Revelations of Russia," “ The White Slave,” &c. 2 vols.

T.C. Newby.

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The second object we can go better along with. It is to denounce the interference of England in continental politics, an interference which, in the present temper of the continental mind, is replete with danger.

That the French will seek to recover territories of which they have been curtailed, as Belgium and the Rhine, our prophet has no doubt; but in the face of such appropriation, he argues that Great Britain has no right to enforce the treaty of Vienna, which is, indeed, already torn to tatters.

At a moment (he observes) when the balance of power we had endeavoured to establish by treaties is proven a chimera- when every stipulation of these treaties is successively broken through when the legitimate princes of Europe, throwing off all restraint, scramble scandalously in the confusion for each other's spoil—when Charles Albert of Sardinia strives to snatch Lombardy from Austria, still holding Cracow undigested in the maw of her stricken eagle—when Frederick William, whose Prussian diadem is slipping through bis fingers, grasps convulsively at the Danish Duchies, and strains ludicrously after the imperial crown-clearly the most egotistical policy for Great Britain, according with the dictates of philanthropy the most cosmopolitan, points to non-interference in the concerns of the continent.

Possibly, our prophet says, France may cross the Rhine in aid of German liberties, or of Germanic and Polish nationality. This we doubt. Germany is opposed to the French idea of liberty, which is republicanism and anarchy ; and although there is a great outcry made among French anarchists concerning Polish nationality, Poland, it is to be remembered, is a long way off, and is divided between three powers, which are not so fallen yet, as to crouch before Gallic-republican dictation. We will, however, turn from politics to matters of more general in.

The sketches of politicians in France are exceedingly graphic and amusing. Take for example the sketch of Dupont de l'Eure, which has also the advantage of being a prophecy fulfilled.

Foremost in this republican opposition stands the venerable figure of Dupont de l'Eure, who since Lafayette and Benjamin Constant's removal from the scene—far superior in foresight and firmness to the one, and in character to the other, inherits all their credit in addition to that which his own antecedents deservedly inspire. Last and most imposing relic of all that was estimable in a period of eventful changes, when the virtues and the vices, the wisdom and the follies of mankind, jostled each other in chaotic confusion, still hale and vigorous, though past fourscore-eighty years of an irreproachable life, of unflinching fortitude and unswerving rectitude, have given him a claim to be regarded as the patriarch of the revolution.

He had hailed with enthusiasm its auspicious dawn-he had seen it with regret deviate into crime and folly ; but though men and words had changed, true to its unalterable principles, he bad continued unwearingly to vindicate them through good and evil fortune, since the first opening of that great drama at the close of the preceding century, of which-after sixty years,—the curtain has hardly risen yet on the last act.

Though approaching the extreme verge of old age may Dupont de l'Eure yet live to witnessits concluding scene!

During the three days of July, Dupont de l'Eure courageously identified himself with the popular movement. Persuaded by Lafitte, with some misgivings, to trust the revolution to a crowned president, he became minister of justice in the first and second administrations under the citizen king ; but detecting the real nature of his policy, and surprising him in direct prevarication, the uncompromising old republican charged the writhing monarch straight out with falsehood, and retired soon after for ever from his councils in disgust.

When stammering and embarrassed Louis Philippe said to his minister, You are wanting in respect to me, you have given me the lie,”

Dupont replied, “Sire, when the King of the French shall have said Yes, and Dupont shall have said No, France will know which to believe.”

A heavy domestic calamity a few years after overtook Dupont de l'Eure in the fate of Dulong, his adoptive son, a youth full of enthusiasm and promise, in whom centered all the affectionate hope of the old man's declining years. In the course of political discussion Dulong, who though naturally of republican opinions, had seen fit to stigmatise the indecent parade which had been made of the Duchess of Berri's pregnancy, made an allusion to General Bugeaud-governor of the citadel of Blaye, in which she was imprisoned, and officious director of all the preparations for the exposure of the princess- -as her jailor.

Bugeaud, a sort of epauletted ruffian, unable to answer his antagonist, and anxious to show his zeal in the cause of the citizen monarchy-after some negotiation, which, through the instrumentality of M. de Rumigny, the king's aidede-camp, was purposely envenomed-called out the youth, who, though of pacific habits and utterly ignorant of the use of arms, was too chivalrous to decline a hopeless encounter, in which unhappily he allowed himself to be butchered.

Bowed, but not broken, by this affliction, Dupont has since continued undauntedly to protest by word and act against the government of Louis Philippe. Prompt to profit by any active means of opposition, he is seen sustaining electoralcontests, sometimes, as recently, fourtimes repeated in one department-going to the circuit to take part in such demonstrations as the reform banquets, and in all seasons at his post, notwithstanding the fourscore years, which, though passed in honour-sans peur et sans reproche-sit not the less heavily on the Nestor of his party.

The sketches given of the other republicans, with the exception of some of the ultra-democrats or anarchists, are equally favourable ; that of De Lamartine most especially so. In speaking, however, of the poet-politician's Ibero-gallitalian theory, of which a detailed account has been given in this magazine, the author justly remarks that he (M. de Lamartine) falls into the error, common to foreigners, of comparing England with Tyre, Carthage, Venice, and Genoa, which were exclusively commercial, thriving in fact by a mere carriage trade, whereas England, great as a commercial, is no less so as a manufacturing country. In an able article on the national defences, the author estimates the power of Great Britain in a manner which must be highly flattering to national vanity. The fact, he says, in discussions upon this point is neglected, that a vote of the British Parliament, by embodying every other male adult, could in a day give us legally our 4,000,000 of soldiers, that our workshops could arm them in six months, and that a like period would suffice to bring them into a higher state of discipline than the hosts which figure in continental war-lists. In fact, he concludes, and that in italics, that the whole of Europe, inclusive of France, would be overmatched in a serious struggle with Great Britain.

There are some curious and suggestive remarks upon the state of the press in this country and the evils of anonymous political writing, which we should have wished to extract, but space will not permit us so to do. Upon this subject, however, he justly terminates his remarks by observing that

Douglas Jerrold, the most remarkable of our dramatists--Howitt, the Michelet of England -and Ainsworth the novelist-by resorting to the periodic press, and boldly heading with their names the publications they have estabjished, have opened a new era, and vindicated a principle of so much public importance, that all connected with literature, however individually adverse to them in political opinion, have a vital interest in their success, which is indeed of

little less moment to all who read than to all who write.


THERE is, in truth, something Titanic about Etty. You might fancy Prometheus at work, not unroughly modelling out his primitive men,

and allowing them still to retain something of their clayey nature. That great figure of St. John, what a mass it is of fleshly opacity, what a ferocious vigor in the conception, what unbridled freedom in the handling! Do not search too closely for ideality; do not require the heavenly impress to be written on the countenance with serene characters. No, no, accept him as Ettyian-as earthborn- the strong Autochthou of Etty's Atelier, who earthily reviles the earthly. He is the big brother of those scantily clad nymphs, whom, oh, reader! you have contemplated in many preceding exhibitions—those lazy, fleshy forms, who lolled on ragged verdure before a splendid back ground, and won your heart not by their faces, for


had no clear notion of their features, while at the same time you were not altogether pleased with the obscure termination of their fingers, but altogether there was something wonderfully luxuriant in the ensemble. The colouring of the flesh, the sweeping curves of the formhow unique! If Etty had refinement in detail, what a painter he would be! In the present exhibition we have some of our old friends the nymphs, and there is such a head of Aaron the High-preist! The breast-plate opens a field for all Etty's magical use of colour, and if he does not put out the eyes of all spectators with the brilliancy of the gems, he has done his best towards that end.

Edwin Landseer goes on telling strange secrets about animals. He has tasted of the dragon's fat which enables men to understand the language of the brute creation. Others know something about the hides of animals, and their eyes, and their teeth, though even here they are ignorant in comparison to the great Edwin--but Landseer penetrates deeper ; he can propose difficult problems respecting brute psychology and answer them triumphantly. We have not the slightest doubt that he knows the precise degree of sorrow which is experienced by a spaniel when it has lost its cousin. The “Stray Shot” is a most touching representation of the last state of despondency to which a fawn can be reduced, and “ Alexander and Diogenes” shows a marvellous power of narrating an anecdote of human beings by means of canine agents, without sacrificing the nature of the animals. And do not let the mild venerable head of Edwin's father be passed by without remark.

Mr. Maclise makes up his mind to be the painter of chivalry, which he has done to its minutest details. His are the brilliant armour, the undulating scarf, the stalwart form in the fore-ground, the back-ground full of meaning and of movement. His large picture has all his attributes of correct drawing and fertile invention, and he appears to advantage in the portraits of Mr. John Forster, and Mrs. Dickens.

By mastery in the art of rich colouring, and by exquisite finish, Mulready has succeeded in giving an ideality of his own to subjects taken from the commonest events in life. He goes not to recondite places to find scenes for his pencil, he takes what comes to hand, and whatever he touches is improved by his treatment. Starting from the Dutch principle, he has worked upwards, and soared over Netherland vulgarity.

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