Chapter 3

CLAUDE. "Leave us, mutter. Have bity on us." (_The old lady leaves_.)

CLAUDE. "Now, lady, 'ear me."

PAULINE. "Hear thee? Her son! Do fiends usually indulge in the luxury of parents? Speak!"

CLAUDE. "Gurse me. Thy gurse would plast me less than thy forgifeness." (_He rants in broken English with unintelligible rapidity for next half-hour, until his mother puts an end to the universal misery by carrying Pauline off to bed. Curtain_.)

_Young Lady, who reads Dickens_. "Oh, how sweetly pretty!"

_Accompanying Young Man_. "Yes. He is even a better actor than MCKEAN BUCHANAN."

_Voices from all Parts of the House. "Let's go home. I can't stand two more acts of this sort of thing."_

One of these voices was the soft, silvery and modest voice of MATADOR, who went out, and sitting upon a convenient hydrant, (not one of the infamous cast-iron abortions with an unpleasant knob on the cover,) contemplated the midnight stars, and seriously meditated upon Mr. FECHTER. And in spite of a previous unhesitating belief in Mr. DICKENS' critical judgment, and in spite of a desire to find in Mr. FECHTER the greatest actor of the age, he could not perceive in what respect that distinguished gentleman deserves his world-wide reputation. Is his manner natural? Is his elocution even tolerably good? Is his pronunciation of English words any thing but barely intelligible? To these questions a mental echo answered with a melancholy negative. And when the occupant of the meditative hydrant demanded to know what single merit could be found in Mr. FECHTER'S acting, his only answer was a suggestion from a prosaic policeman that he cease to put idiotic questions to the unoffending lamp-post.

There are those--and enough of them to fill any theatre--who sincerely admire Mr. FECHTER; but it is impossible to resist the conviction that their admiration is only a dutiful acquiescence in the judgment of Mr. DICKENS. With the utmost desire to do no injustice to a genial gentleman, who conscientiously strives to carry out his theories of what acting should be, the undersigned is forced to confess that Mr. FECHTER in an English play is a spectacle so hopelessly and earnestly absurd, as to call for commiseration rather than for the laughter which it would deserve were it professedly a burlesque entertainment.

MATADOR.

* * * * *

EXCELSIOR.

The _Gold Hill Daily News_, of Nevada, has found a big sapphire--a regular _Koh-i-noor_ of gems. It says:

"While at San Francisco, a few weeks ago, we had the pleasure of seeing the SANGALLI ballet troupe at MAGUIRE'S Opera House, and the artistic, glowing beauties of the Sapphire dance yet pleasurably linger in our memory."

The dance in question, which the Gold Hill editor describes as "a higher order of the famous 'Can-can,'" is new to us. It makes us feel "blue" to think that we have never seen the Sapphire dance. "Higher" than the Can-can! Good gracious! if heels go higher in the Sapphire than in the Can-can, may we not be pardoned for inquiring, "What next?"

* * * * *

Nought for Nought.

Alas! that poor SYPHER should Cipher to gala A seat he must evermore Sigh for in vain; But why should we Sigh for poor SYPHER'S defeat, When his friends couldn't Cipher him into his seat.

* * * * *

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by the PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New-York.

* * * * *

THE FINE ARTS IN PHILADELPHIA.

PHILADELPHIA, April 12.

Dear PUNCHINELLO: A few days since I received a card of invitation for admission to a private view of a very fine collection of pictures, by European and American artists. I visited the galleries, accompanied by an amateur friend who has a fine artistic education, having travelled some six months on the Continent. Being engaged in the picture-auction business, I am not altogether a tyro in art, and determined to send you a few notes taken on the spot, the combined effort of amateur friend and myself. The walk to the gallery, extending over a half-hour in time, was taken up by my amateur friend aforesaid, with an endeavor to give me some general ideas, more than initiative, with reference to art matters. For instance, he said the public liked glitter and varnish in a picture, but it does not follow on that account that the picture is good. He then mentioned the "Mimminee-Pimminee" style, and the "Pre-Raffaelite" style, and the Raree shows of art, and I had the whole subject so jumbled up that my artistic ideas became quite confused. He made a quotation, giving me to understand that it was not original; it ran as follows: "Indifferent pictures, like dull people, must be absolutely moral." I am not sufficiently informed to quite comprehend this selection from another man, but as we were at the time about entering the galleries, I remained quietly ignorant.

The first picture that attracted our admiration was a "Sheep scene," by Lambdin. Every particular hair on the old ram is well made out. The frame on the picture is beautifully embossed, with a rich velvet border of sea-green mandarin pattern.

The next picture worthy of notice is a "Street in Venice," by Canal-etti--a singular specimen of this artist's first manner. The figure at the crossing is rendered with great feeling. It is needless to mention that the street is covered with water, which is beautifully clear and transparent, showing the depth of mud and slime during the dry season. The frame is ornamented with flowers in relief, and gilt in the very best manner.

"A Musical Party," by Bass-ano, is very highly finished, especially the party, who have evidently been inhaling stimulants. This picture is painted on a gold ground, and is considered a rare specimen of Italian art. It was formerly in the Campo-Santo-di-Pisa collection.

The frame is the blue-lotus pattern, very curiously gilt and chased. This style of frame would sell without difficulty.

The picture called the "Star of the East," by WEST, has a scolloped frame in the Tuscan style, with extra fine enamelling. This is a very singular picture. It must be admitted that this frame is finished with great care.

There is a frame made from a curious kind of wood, on a picture by CONSTABLE, entitled the "Midnight Arrest." The picture is certainly a matchless gem, very low in tone. The mosaic border to the frame is quite unique in its design.

Among the works by American artists, we notice some remarkably fine productions. The picture by a lady amateur, entitled, "The Toilet of a Girl of the Period," demonstrates the progress our artists are making in _genre_ painting. The subject is rendered with great purity of feeling, and the smelling-bottle in the foreground adds greatly to the spirit of the composition. The frame is highly ornamented with scarce Japan gold, elaborately chased in a superior manner.

There is a picture by Miss T----n, called the "Blonde's Revenge," that evinces talent of a superior order. This picture has been noticed by various New-York and Western journals, but I do not consider with any degree of justice to its surpassing merits. The color is equal to a beautifully polished Pompeiian brass door-plate; the drawing is immense, though truth must compel us to say that the costumes are rather slighted. The principal figure of the group, which is taken from a French model, seems to stand right out from the canvas; this I consider a very high point of excellence. Visitors should be cautioned against approaching this picture.

I regret that time will not permit me to give you any further notice of this collection, but I will endeavor to get my amateur friend to go often and obtain notes for me. Unless I accompany him, however, I fear he will not pay sufficient attention to the frames.

Yours, G.

* * * * *

"Cometh Up as a Flower." Very likely it does; but there is one thing that don't go down as the Flour--and that's the price of bread.

* * * * *

ASTRONOMICAL CONVERSATIONS.

[BY A FATHER AND DAUGHTER RESIDING ON THE PLANET VENUS.]

NO. II.

_D_. OH, FATHER, what funny things are caused by the revolution of a planet!

_F_. Well, revolutions are not _always_ such funny things, as those wretched creatures on the earth up there must have found out by this time.

_D_. How dry you are, pa! I didn't mean the revolutions _on_ a planet, but the revolutions _of_ a planet.

_F_. Well, a distinction, I admit. But what are you driving at?

_D_. Several things. For instance, seven revolutions of the planet Earth produce a new number of PUNCHINELLO--a funny thing, as you often say yourself.

_F_. Well put, truly.

_D_. And seven revolutions also give rise to the _Revolution_ itself, which (being a woman all Right in head and heart) I regard as about the funniest thing going.

_F_. "Funny," child? Why, I never saw any thing less so. It is _dreadfully_ serious. It is even sanguinary; sadder still, abusive and vulgar. What is there comical about coarseness?

_D_. You don't take my idea, father. It is funny, because it assumes so much. It does not realize that womanly modesty is the great obstacle to its success, and that if it was as well endowed with that quality as the average of American women, it would promptly cease to revolve.

_F_. Why, HELENE! what has set you off? Where did you pick up this nonsense? What can you possibly know of Women's Rights, as I believe they call the new Movement?

_D_. Why _shouldn't_ I know something about it, when it has been in your mouth for months? And ain't _I_ a woman? Besides, don't we women know some things by _instinct_?

_F_. Well, well, child! I wish you could know Astronomy by instinct; for I begin to see I've a job before me, if only to keep you to the point.

_D_. The Compass-point, do you mean, father?

_F_. No; the Study-point. Do you call this studying Astronomy?

_D_. I think, pa, I like the _practical_ part best.

_F_. Ah, that which allows you to study the Fashions in Broadway! Well, woman is woman, I believe, the Universe over! But, come; a short lesson, to begin with. Here is a fine view of Saturn, with his Rings.

_D_. "Rings?" Are they anything like the New-York Rings you have read about?

_F_. Well, yes; no, not exactly; but a Ring within a Ring, is a phrase that applies to both subjects, just now.

_D_. Oh, pshaw! I thought you meant finger-rings! What does Saturn want of Rings?

_F_. And what does New-York want of 'em. They are _there_, and there they'll stay!

_D_. But _I_ mean, what does a _gentleman_ want of rings?

_F_. Don't we find, every where, that the most Saturnine, the dullest, and stupidest, and lowest, are generally the fondest of this sort of ornament?

_D_. Oh, dear! Father, how you _do_ try me! (Do see him, gazing away, when he _knows_ I'm dying to get a squint! He pays me no more attention than though I was a mere ANTHONY! Why, what ails him?) Father! Father, dear! what--what's the matter? Why are you crying?

_F_. Come here, and look; quick! Oh, HELENE; isn't it horrible?

_D_. Why--what is it, father? Console yourself; it is a good way off to say the least! [Looks a moment.] Why, it's those savage Freedmen, I do declare! about to sacrifice that amiable-looking white! A tender-looking man; is he what they call a Ku--Ku--

_F_. Klux? Oh, no. That is a Missionary; and the blacks are not Freedmen, as you suppose, but Cannibals. They are about to roast him. You see the fire?

_D_. Oh, quite distinctly! look, father!--he is making a sign to them. What does it mean?

_F_. [Looking.] It means that he has lost the use of his tongue--probably from fright--but would like to write something.

_D_. Like so many other tongue-tied scribblers! Do they let him?

_F_. Oh, yes; they bring a board, and a piece of chalk.

_D_. How large is the piece?

_F_. The usual size. He is writing.

_D_. What does the poor fellow say?

_F_. He is laconic. He merely writes--

COOK ME RARE.

_D_. Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

_F_. Boo-hoo-hoo-too!

* * * * *

WHAT I KNOW ABOUT FREE TRADE.

DEAR PUNCHINELLO: In a paper of such great influence as PUNCHINELLO, vast subjects should be set before the community. I know of none vaster than Free Trade. You see, every body understands that subject and nobody can explain it. I propose, therefore, to turn the light of my penny dip upon it, and to set forth, in concise language, what I know about free trade.

It must be premised that there is a great deal to be said on the other side, and that nothing can be more abominable than free trade to a protectionist, unless it be protection to a free trader. Free trade is--well--free trade is--well--let me illustrate: cigars made out of cabbages are not nice; not to put too fine a point upon it, they're nasty. We are greater at raising cabbages than we are at sprouting cigar tobacco. Under these circumstances the free trader (he's a smoker, or if he isn't, his aunt or sister is) says we want Havana cigars to enter our lips without the taint of revenue. That's free trade.

Every youth is a free trader. Don't you remember your own youthful follies? If you are of the male persuasion, would you have traded your jack-knife for TOM SMITH'S bull-pup, if there had been a tariff on the pup. Or, if you are of the feminine persuasibility, would you have swapped your crying-doll for BETSY JONSES' ring-tailed cat, if the cat had been compelled to crawl through the custom-house and pay duties? Besides, don't you remember how often your mother deprived you of a second cup of tea, on the plea that it would injure your health? Much as I respect your mamma, I can not refrain from informing you that that plea was false, and that it was the absence of free trade that deprived you of a second cup of China whiskey. Then you know that the lump-sugar, the raisins, the cake, etc., were always locked up in a pantry. All the result, my dear sir, of an absence of free trade.

Now that you have grown up, the result is the same. You must have your soup, and (I do not mean to be pathetic) what is soup without salt? You must travel on the cars, but what are cars without rails? But, alas, salt and rails are in the black list. What do you care, whether or not TOM JONES and BILLY BROWN make money out of their salt and iron mines? You want cheap soup and cheap riding. Then every time that you pay one hundred dollars for your wife's dry-goods, you have the ecstatic pleasure of knowing that you are paying fifty dollars because Mr. JOHN ROBINSON can't make goods as cheap as the English manufacturers.

In the natural state, man is a free trader. When our good Christian brethren give an Indian a string of beads for a buffalo-skin, the Indian charges no custom duties. He don't want to keep beads out of his country. When LOT swapped his wife away for a pillar of salt, the trade was free. When the Americans traded away good ships and cargoes for Alabama claims, not a word was said about the tariff. These, however, are cases in which nature rather gets ahead of civilization.

See the result of the lack of free trade in our country. The brick manufacturers must be protected, so a heavy tariff was placed on the foreign article. Our brick men, finding that they had a soft thing, tried to solve that conundrum which the Israelites gave up: "How do you make bricks without straw?" They made a patent brick, built the Howard Museum in Washington, (was it a museum or a college?) the thing tumbled down, and a Congressional committee sat among its ruins. Poor Gen. HOWARD is in a muddle, and wishes, from the bottom of his heart, that we had free trade in bricks.

Then, morally, see the high position of the free trader. Poor men who must have tea or cigars or English or French manufactures, are never driven to smuggling, where free trade prevails. The free trader would even abolish the tariff of two dollars and a half, imposed on human chattels who land at Castle Garden.

That's all I know about free trade. I thought I knew more. I'm afraid I haven't illuminated the subject; however, I will turn my lantern next week on protection.

LOT.

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* * * * *

OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENCE.

(BY ATLANTIC CABLE.)

Your representative's little speech at the great PUNCHINELLO dinner may be better imagined than described. A few words, however, may give you its _animus_.

"If," said I, "in this illustrious company, one may indulge in a Wellerism"--

"Spell it with a _we_, sir, if you please," whispered SAMIVEL, who stood right behind me.

I resumed. "I have to say, that my feelings at this hour are too many for me. Perhaps I might add, that the courses have been so also. As my friend SOYER used to observe when we were together in the Crimea, astronomical and gastronomical laws are alike fixed. And one of them is, that the precession of the dinner-plates, and the nutation of the glasses, do not promote the music of the spheres. But, Mr. PUNCH and gentlemen, although not one of the heavenly bodies, indeed altogether terrestrial, one feels, naturally, rounder in his orbit, and a little more likely to see stars, after such a dinner as this, than before. Do I not, indeed, see around me now, all the stars of the intellectual firmament? Are not SIRIUS and ARCTURUS here, in their glory, as well as ORION and the rest? As my old friend CRISPIN would say, their name is legion! _I_ would blaze, gentlemen, too, if possible, in honor of the occasion; but, as I can't Comet, meteors fall in lamentation of my poor ability.

"The day we celebrate is truly a great one. Since the time of OLAF, the Northman, our Anglo-Saxon-Celtic race has loved its jesting philosophers. No fools are they, in fact, even when to that name they 'stoop to conquer.'

'The wise man's folly is anatomized Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.'

"The sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sadness.

"But, gentlemen, your walls have, if not ears, tongues, to recall the glorious humor and wit of our race. HOGARTH looks down upon us. ADDISON tells us of dear old Sir ROGER de COVERLEY; I am sure he must have been the grandfather of Mr. PICKWICK. STERNE makes us weep on one side and smile on the other, at the mention of my UNCLE TOBY; GOLDSMITH, at the remembrance of himself. And so does TOM HOOD, the prince of humorists. THACKERAY we all remember; and neither he nor his Vanity Fair will ever be forgotten. DOUGLAS JERROLD, and JOHN LEECH, too--the only tears they ever made men shed were at their graves. And who can fail to feel like a "pendulum betwixt a smile and tear," when he remembers our ARTEMUS WARD? Over the water now we have some yet; of whom we count "the TWAIN one;" and we can get up as good BILLINGS-gate as ever went to market. Then, for right Saxon wit, have we not SAXE himself? And, for the luminous, PETROLEUM, the ex-postmaster of the Cross-roads?

"I represent a name, gentlemen, new with us, yet old in Europe. You are well aware that, in Italy"--

"_That_ might 'uv been tuk for granted; as the donkey said ven his dam called him a hass"--whispered, rather loudly, SAMIVEL, behind me.

Now whether it was the Thames atmosphere that had got into my head, or whether it was SAM WELLER'S unexpected remark, I am unable, to this day, to say. But, somehow or other, my speech had, by this time, gone up. So I went down. If the speech was a rocket, I represented a stick. Perhaps JENKINS may yet wake up to the importance to the civilization of the century of reporting in full CHARLES DICKENS' speech, and BULWER'S, and the rest. If so, I will send them on. PUNCHINELLO, however, was honored as he deserves, at this dinner. Now for a little serious news.

GREAT BRITAIN.

JOHN SMITH, Esq., (son of the _elder_ Smith,) finds it necessary to contradict the rumor that he is going to the United States. He is fearful lest there may, possibly, be another person of the same name in America; which might cause confusion.

_On dit_ that one of VICTORIA'S daughters was to be engaged to be married to a young member of the house of ORANGE. But it is believed now to have been a sour orange.

Rev. Mr. MACKONOCHIE has been warned by the Bishop of London that he must reform his ritual, in some particulars. The Bishop is especially incensed at the censer; and waxes censorious about the wax lights. He insists that Father MACKONOCHIE must use Stearine or Spermaceti. Moreover, when water is mixed with wine, it must not come from the East River; and the wine must be red. Blue wine will do if he can find any.

Church parties are much excited about Mr. MIALL'S Church-liberation scheme. But why so? Will not any Rev. who has a living, say, "Who takes my living takes away _my all!_" A bad pun; but a good argument. They should not _miaul_ about it, at any rate.

FRANCE.

PIERRE BONAPARTE has gone to be king of the Feejee Islands. It has been stipulated that he shall not shoot more than one man in a month; and part of the tenderloin is to be given always to his Majesty's Prime Minister.

M. GUERRONIER'S remark in the Senate, April 19th, requires explanation. He said that "Europe can be tranquil only when France is satisfied." He was alluding to the necessity of an early supply of copies of PUNCHINELLO; without which that excitable population can not be kept in a satisfactory state. I have made arrangements to have them forwarded accordingly.

GERMANY.

POTOCKIS, new Minister of Public Instruction, has offered his resignation. The reason is that a deputation of the professors and teachers called on him to say that it would take their pupils a year to learn how to spell his name. It is TSCHABUSHNIGG. PRIME.

* * * * *

POOR CAPTAIN EYRE.

It is really outrageous to find fault with poor Captain EYRE. If ever a man had a full and perfect defence to the accusations which are made against him, EYRE is that man. Not content with offering one excuse, he offers a large and varied assortment of excuses, any one of which ought to be quite satisfactory. For example he asserts:

That instead of running into the Oneida, the Oneida ran into him.

That his ship struck the Oneida so lightly that he never knew there had been any collision.

That he saw the Oneida just after he had run into her, and that she did not appear to have lost any thing but her skylights.

That he stopped his engines and blew his whistle, in order to show that he was ready to offer any needed assistance to the Oneida.

That the reason why he did not stop his engines and offer assistance, was that the collision had so injured his own ship that he thought best to make at once for the nearest port.

That he never dreamed that any assistance was wanted, and therefore did not offer it.

That he would have gone to the assistance of the Oneida had not one of his lady passengers been so frightened by the collision that she begged him to make all possible speed to land her.

That not a single one of his passengers knew there had been a collision, so light was the shock of the contact.

That it was only a Yankee ship, any how, and that it is all "blarsted" nonsense to make a fuss about it.