day's work than the witnessing of this performance, | which, with but one hour's pause, had lasted from eight in the morning till five in the evening, cannot be conceived. How the poor peasants managed to endure the burning rays of a July sun striking upon their heads for eight long hours, to say nothing of the heat and fatigue necessarily caused by the close pressure in the pit, I cannot imagine. In the boxes, where the people were secured from the sun by awnings, many a face had, hours before, begun to assume a pale and jaded look, and many an attitude to betray intense fatigue. But now all fatigue must be forgotten in the bustle of departure! There was no time allowed for a moment's refreshment; the theatre was left in ghastly emptiness in an incredibly short time. Horses were being harnessed to carts, stell-wagens, and all imaginable kind of vehicles drawn up before the inn and crowding the village street. There was a cracking of whips, a jingling of horses' bells, a rushing to and fro of travellers; people were once more in their old seats in carts and carriages; there was a hum of voices, a waving of hands to departing acquaintances, mostly of that day's growthmany an anxious, hurried search after some missing umbrella or bag-and now all fairly started! In our moment of hurried departure, however, behold, the sad, pale face of Tobias Flunger, bidding us adieu! He had again assumed his Fez and his gray coat-but the face was yet more gentle and dreamy, as though the shadow of the cross still lay upon it and your eyes sought with a kind of morbid horror for the trace of the stigmata in those thin, white hands, as they waved a parting signal. It was a relief to see at his side the pleasant, bright, kind faces of his wife and little daughter. There was a wholesome look of happiness and common life about them. That we should have spoken with the personation of Christus; that he should have received us into his house; should even after the play have hastened to take leave of us at our departure, created the greatest interest among our fellowtravellers, and inspired them with the profoundest respect for us. I was overwhelmed with questions regarding him, questions which probably his most intimate friends could not have answered satisfactorily. But no wonder that he should have inspired so profound an interest, for throughout his conception and attempt at the embodiment of the awful, unapproachable character of Christ, there had flowed a subdued current of the deepest feeling, a sentiment of true poetry, a piety, an appreciation of the highest heroism-that heroism which shows itself in self-annihilation for the salvation of suffering humanity. We had been greatly struck by this, and by the different spirit evinced in the personation of the Virgin. The young peasant-girl who acted this character had studied her part under a well-known Munich actress, but unfortunately, had brought away with her theatrical affectation, and a most miserable air of conceit. This was the sole departure from that simple, earnest, unaffected dignity and truthfulness which had both astonished and delighted us in this poor peasants' play-but the play was their offering to God! What wonder, then, that it should bear the stamp of truth and fervor, for it came forth, I sincerely believe, from their very hearts' core. Let us not, therefore, call it irreverent or irreligious-depend upon it, that murmur of peasants' voices rose to heaven like the smoke of an accepted sacrifice. There was a certain regret in the thought that though now turning our faces homewards-towards our beloved little art-city of Munich-we were, nevertheless, travelling away from those equally beloved mountains, which had so long called us, as it were, with their spirit voices, and which now glowed in the sunlight with ever-changing rainbow hues. Still, as we caught sight of the two familiar towers of the Frauen Kirche, we were bound to acknowledge that a city for poor civilized human beings was after all a fitter abode than an Alpine peak. More especially did we feel this truth when seated at our breakfast-table devouring our English papers and English letters which were so pleasantly found awaiting us. What further shall I tell you?-That we had not a drop of rain during the whole time, and that our one purse did turn out the purse of Fortunatus. Without sparing, or without borrowing, we reached Munich with yet twelve Kreutzers left. The forgotten purse, with all its full contents of large florin pieces, lay quietly with our papers and letters to greet us on our return. And now adieu, dear Yours ever, A. M. H. From Punch. THE LION HUNTRESS OF BELGRAVIA. BEING LADY NIMROD'S JOURNAL OF THE PAST SEASON. WHEN my husband's father, Sir John Nimrod, died after sixteen years' ill-health, which ought to have killed a dozen ordinary baronets, and which I bore, for my part, with angelic patience, we came at length into the property which ought, by rights, to have been ours so long before, (otherwise I am sure I would never have married Nimrod, or gone through eighteen years of dulness and comparative poverty in second-rate furnished houses, at home and abroad,) and at length monted my maison in London. I married Nimrod-an artless and beautiful young woman, as I may now say without vanity, for I have given up all claims to youth or to personal appearance; and am now at the mezzo of the path of nostra rita, as Dante says; having no pretensions to flirt at all, and leaving that frivolous amusement to the young girls. I made great sacrifices to marry Nimrod; I gave up for him Captain (now General) Flather, the handsomest man of his time, who was ardently attached to me; Mr. Pyx, then tutor to the Earl of Noodlebury, but now Lord Bishop of Bullocksmithy; and many more whom I need not name, and some of whom I dare say have never forgiven me for jilting them, as they call it. But how could I do otherwise? Mamma's means were small. Who could suppose that a captain of dragoons at Brighton, or a nobleman's tutor and chaplain, (who both of them adored me certainly,) would ever rise to their present eminent positions? And I therefore sacrificed myself and my inclinations, as every well-nurtured and highlyprincipled girl will, and became Mrs. Nimrod-remaining Mrs. Nimrod-plain Mrs. Nimrod as Mr. Grimstone said-for eighteen years. What I suffered no one can tell. Nimrod has no powers of conversation, and I am all soul and genius. Nimrod cares neither for poetry, nor for company, nor for science, and without geology, without poesy, without society, life is a blank to me. he could snooze at home with the children, poor N. was (and is) happy. But ah! could their innocent Provided and often foolish conversation suffice to a woman of | Monsieur Doctrinaire, (and was in hopes he would my powers? I was wretchedly deceived, it must have come to me in the footman's suit in which he be owned, in my marriage, but what mortal among escaped from Paris, but he only came with his us has not his or her tracasseries and désillusion- Golden Fleece, his broad ribbon of the Legion of nements? Had I any idea that the old Sir John Honor, and eighteen orders,) Signor Bombardi, the Nimrod would have clung to life with such uncom- Roman tribune, General Prince Rubadubsti, the mon tenacity, I might now have been the occupant Russian general and dear Tarboosh Pasha, who was of the Palace of Bullocksmithy, (in place of poor converted to Islamism after his heroic conduct in Mrs. Pyx, who is a vulgar creature,) and not the Hungary. I have had Monsieur Sansgene, the mistress of my house in Eaton Crescent, and of eminent socialist refugee: Rabbi Jehoshaphat, Hornby Hall, Cumberland, where poor Sir Charles from Jerusalem; the Archbishop of Mealy potatoes, Nimrod generally lives shut up with his gout and in partibus infidelium, and in purple stockings; his children. Brother Higgs, the Morman Prophet; and my own dear Bishop of Bullocksmithy, who has one of the prettiest ankles and the softest hands in England, seated round my lowly board. I have had that darling Colonel Milstone Reid, the decipherer of the Babylonish inscriptions; the eminent Professor Hödwinck, of Halle, author of those extraordinary "Hora Antediluvianna" and "The history of the Three Hundred First Sovereigns of the Fourth Preadamite Period;" and Professor Blenkinhorn, (who read your hand-writing in that wonderful, way, you know, for thirteen round stamps,) round one tea-table in one room in my house. I have had the hero of Acre, the hero of Long Acre, and a near relation of Greenacre at the same soirée-and I am not ashamed to own, that when during his trial the late atrocious Mr. Rawhead, confiding in his acquittal, wrote to order a rump and dozen at the inn, I was so much deceived by the barefaced wretch's protestations of innocence, that I sent him a little note, requesting the honor of his company at an evening party at my house. He was found justly guilty of the murder of Mrs. Tripes, was hanged, and of course could not come to my party. But had he been innocent what shame would there have been in my receiving a man so certainly remarkable, and whose undoubted courage (had it been exerted in a better cause) might have led him to do great things? Yes, and if I take that villa at Fulham next year, I hope to have a snug Sunday party from the Agapemone for a game at hockey; when I hope that my dear Bishop of Bullocksmithy will come. He does not come up to London, nor is he fait pour y briller. My eldest daughter is amiable, but she has such frightful red hair that I really could not bring her into the world; the boys are with their tutor and at Eton; and as I was born for society, I am bound to seek for it, alone. I pass eight months in London, and the remainder at Baden, or at Brighton, or at Paris. We receive company at Hornby for a fortnight when I go. Sir C-N- does not trouble himself much with London or mon monde. He moves about my saloons without a word to say for himself; he asked me whether Dr. Buckland was a poet, and whether Sir Sidney Smith was not an admiral; he generally overeats and drinks himself at the house-dinners of his clubs, being a member of both Snooker's and Toodle's and returns home after six weeks to his stupid Cumberland solitudes. Thus it will be seen that my lot in life as a domestic character is not a happy Born to briller in society, I had the honor of singing on the table at Brighton before the epicure George the Fourth at six years of age." What was the use of shining under such a bushel as poor dear Sir C-N-? There are some of us, gifted but unfortunate beings, whose lot is the world. | We are like the Wanderer in my dear friend Eugene Sue's elegant novel, to whom fate says, Marche, Marche "for us pilgrims of society there is no rest. The Bellairs have been a fated race; dearest mamma dropped down in the tea-rooms at Almack's and was carried home paralyzed; I have heard that papa (before our misfortunes, and when he lived at Castle Bellairs, and in Rutland Square) never dined alone for twenty-seven years and three quarters, and rather than be without company he would sit and laugh and quaff with the horrid bailiffs who often arrested him. one. 66 * I am a creature of the world then; I cannot help my nature. The eagle (the crest of the Bellairs) flies to the dazzling sun, while the "moping owl" prefers the stupid darkness of the thicket. They call me the Lion Huntress. I own that I love the society of the distinguished and the great. A mere cultivator of frivolous fashion, a mere toady of the great I despise; but genius, but poetry, but talent, but scientific reputation, but humor, but eccentricity above all, I adore. I have opened my Salons now for several seasons. Everybody of note who has been in our metropolis I have receivedthe great painters, the great poets, and sculptors (dear dear sculptures, I adore them!) the great musicians and artists, the great statesmen of all the great countries; the great envoys, the great missionaries, the generals, the great every bodies have honored the réunions of Clementina Nimrod. I have had, at the same dinner, the wise and famous *It was not before George the Fourth, but before the Prince of Wales, that Lady Nimrod, then Miss Bellairs, performed at the Pavilion. Indeed, what is there in life worth living for but the enjoyment of the society of men of talent and celebrity? Of the mere monde, you know, one person is just like another. Lady A. and Lady B. have their dresses made by the same milliner, and talk to the same pattern. Lord C.'s whiskers are exactly like Mr. D.'s and their coats are the same, and their plaited shirt-fronts are the same, and they talk about the same things. If one dines with E., or F., or G., or H., one has the same dinner at each table; the very same soup, entrées sweets, and ices, interspersed with the same conversation carried round in an under tone. If one goes to I. House or K. House, there is the same music-the same Mario and Lablache, the same Lablache and Mario. As for friends in the world, we know what they are, stupid frumps and family connections, who are angry if they are not invited to all one's parties, who know all one's secrets, who spread all the bad stories about one that are true, or half-true, or untrue; I make it a point, for my part, to have no friends. I mean, nobody who shall be on such a confidential footing as that he or she shall presume to know too much of my affairs, or that I shall myself be so fond of that I should miss them were they to be estranged or to die. One is not made, or one need not be made, to be uncomfortable in life; one need have no painful sensations about anybody. And that is why I admire and am famil- of lion which they play in these inferior houses.iar with remarkable people and persons of talent Well then!-what must we acknowledge?—that only; because, if they die, or go away, or bore me, persons not in society imitate us; and that everyI can get other people of talent or remarkable per- body has his family circle and its little lion for the sons in their place. For instance, this year it is time being. With us it is Nelson come home from the Nepaulese princes, and Mlle. Vandermeer, and winning the battle of Aboukir; with others it is the Hippopotamus one is interested about; next Tom Sinith who has gained the silver skulls at the year it may be the Chinese Ambassadors, or the rowing match. With us it is a foreign minister, Pope, or the Duke of Bordeaux, or who knows or a prince in exile; with others it may be Master who? This year it is the author of the Memoriam, Thomas who has just come from Cambridge, or Mr. (and a most pleasing poet,) or Mr. Cumming, and Mrs. Jones who have just been on a tour to the Lion Hunter of South Africa, or that dear Paris. Poor creatures! do not let us be too hard Prelude next year, of course, there will be some- on them! People may not be in society-and yet, body else, and some other poems or delightful I dare say, mean very well. I have found, in steamworks, which will come in; and of which there is boats on the Rhine, and at tables d'hôte on the Conalways a bountiful and most providential and blessed tinent, very well-informed persons, really very natural supply with every succeeding season. agreeable and well-mannered, with whom one could And as I now sit calmly, at the end of a well-converse very freely, and get from them much valuspent season, surveying my empty apartments, and able information and assistance-and who, neverthinking of the many interesting personages who theless, were not in society at all. These people have passed through them, I cannot but think how one does not, of course, recognize on returning to wise my course has been, and I look over the lists this country (unless they happen to get into the of my lions with pleasure. Poor Sir C-, in the world, as occasionally they do): but it is surprising same way, keeps a game-book I know, and puts how like us many of them are, and what good imdown the hares and pheasants which he has bagged itations of our manners they give. in his stupid excursions, and if that strange and delightful bearded hunter, Mr. Cumming, (who was off for Scotland just when I went to his charming and terrible Exhibition, close by us at Knightsbridge, and with an intimate Scotch mutual acquaintance, who would have introduced me, when I should have numbered in my Wednesday-list and my dinner-list one noble lion more,) if Mr. Cumming, I say, keeps his journal of spring-boks, and elephants, and sea-cows, and lions, and monsters, why should not Clementina Nimrod be permitted to recur to her little journals of the sporting season? Continually have I been asked, What is a lion? A lion is a man or woman one must have at one's parties-I have no other answer but that. One has a man at one's parties because one sees him at everybody else's parties; I cannot tell you why. It is the way of the world, and when one is of the world, one must do as the world does. For instance, this very Mr. Grimstone-Lady Tollington took him up, and, of course, if Lady Tollington takes up a man he goes everywhere-four or five years ago in Germany I met him at Wiesbaden; he gave me up his bed-room, for the inn was full, and he slept on a billiard-table, I think, and was very good-natured, amusing, and attentive. He was not then du monde, and I lost sight of him: for, though he bowed to me one night at the Opera, I thought it was not best to encourage him, and my glass would not look his way. But when once received-difficulties, of course, vanished, and I was delighted to know him. "O Mr. Grimstone!" I said, "how charmed I am to see you among us. How pleasant you must be, ain't you? I see you were at Lady Tollington's and Lady Trumpington's; and of course you will go everywhere and will you come to my Wednesdays?" Poor young man! Considering his disadvantages, he really pronounces his h's very decently; and I watched him all through dinner-time, and he behaved quite well. Lady Blinker says he is satirical: but he seems to me simple and quiet. Vulgar people, and all persons not of the world, "It is a great comfort, Lady Nimrod," Grimnevertheless, have their little parties and their little stone said, "to be in society at last-and a great great men, (the foolish, absurd, creatures!) and I privilege. You know that my relations are low, have no doubt that at any little lawyer's wife's tea-that my father and mother are vulgar, and that until table in Bloomsbury, or merchant's heavy mahog- I came into the monde, I had no idea what decent any in Portland Place, our manners are ludicrously manners were, and had never met a gentleman or a imitated, and that these people show off their lions, lady before?" just as we do. I heard Mr. Grimstone the other night telling of some people with whom he had been dining, a kind who are not in society, and of whom, of course, one has never heard. He said that their manners were not unlike ours, that they lived in a very comfortably furnished house: that they had entrées from the confectioner's, and that kind of things; and that they had their lions, the absurd creatures, in imitation of us. Some of these people have a great respect for the Peerage, and Grimstone says that at this house, which belongs to a relative of his, they never consider their grand dinners complete without poor Lord Muddlehead to take the lady of the house to dinner. Lord Muddlehead never speaks, but drinks unceasingly during dinner time, and is there, Grimstone says, that the host may have the pleasure of calling out in a loud voice and the hearing of his twenty guests, "Lord Muddlehead, may I have the honor of taking wine with your lordship?" I am told there are several members of the aristocracy who let themselves out to be dined, as it were, in this sad way; and do not dislike the part Mr. Grimstone is a lion now. His speech in Parliament made him talked about. Directly one is talked about, one is a lion. He is a radical; and his principles are, I believe, horrid. But one must have him to one's parties, as he goes to Lady Tollington's. There is nothing which I dislike so much as the illiberality of some narrow-minded English people, who want to judge everything by their own standard of morals, and are squeamish with distinguished foreigners whose manners do not exactly correspond with their own. Have we any right to quarrel with a Turkish gentleman because he has three or four wives? With an officer of Austrian hussars, because, in the course of his painful duties, he has had to inflict personal punishment on one or two rebellious Italian or Hungarian ladies, and whip a few little boys? Does anybody cut Dr. Queen Hawtrey, at Eton, for correcting the boys? my sons, fo' yourn, the Fust Minister to the crown, Victoria's Upper Help, Lord John Russell, like an "I've got a feller-feelin' for you; I have. I should n't like my dollars voted away on them tarms, I should n't, nohow. But don't you see, you gonies, that you ain't got no right to cry out agin this here kinder extravagance so long-as that 'cute old 'coon Henry Brougham and Vaux pinted out to you-so long as you wun't chuse to 'low your princes and dukes ryal, and their gals, to go and marry accordin' to their likins, and speckilate in high menials like the rest on you, for to better theirselves? "Seein' your princes and princesses can't marry none but foreigners, and them Protestants; instead of havin' the run of Europe for a match, they are staked off from all the families of the Continent a'most, exceptin' a few in Jarmany; and your monarchs as is to be, hes or shes, is forced for to send out to Saxy Cobug and Gothy or some one or 'tother o' their Saxies for this or that serene highness, with all their fortins on their backs, to come and take pity on 'em, poor critturs! In the same way about remarkable women who come among us their standard of propriety, it must be remembered, is not ours, and it is not for us to judge them. When that delightful Madame Andria came amongst us, (whom Grimstone calls Polyandria, though her name is Alphonsine,) who ever thought of refusing to receive her? Count Andria and her first husband, the Baron de Frump, "Now what a tarnation set of blind old owls you are the best friends imaginable; and I have heard must be! You don't see no furder afore your that the baron was present at his wife's second noses than a benighted niggar-that's a fact. marriage, wished her new husband joy with all his How was it, in looking out for husbands and wives heart, and danced with a royal princess at the for your ryal family, you never thought of castin' wedding. It is well known that the Prince Greg- a look at our glorious republic, a-blazin, and ory Ragamoffski, who comes out of Prussian Po- a-glarin' in tarnal beauty and brightness, only land (where, I hope, Miss Hulker, of Lombard 'tother side o' the Atlantic, right slick in your Street, leads a happy life, and finds a couronne fer- blinkin' old eyes? There 's stores of our free and mée a consolation for a bad, odious husband, an un- enlightened citizens as has realized dollars enough comfortable, hide-and-seek barn of a palace as it is to keep any princess as ever wore feathers; and I called, and a hideous part of the country)-I say it may say the same of our gals, vicey varsey. If is well known that Ragamoffski was married before you 've got any ryalty to swop, I dessay there's he came to England, and that he made a separation lots on 'em as would be willin' to deal with you, from his princess à l'amiable; and came hither ex-jist to please their fancy. We could play at sojers pressly for an heiress. Who minds these things Ragamoffski was everywhere in London; and there were dukes at St. George's to sign the register; and at the breakfast, in Hyde Park Gardens, which old Hulker gave, without inviting me, by the way. Thence, I say, it ought to be clear to us that foreigners are to be judged by their own ways and habits, and not ours-and that idle cry which people make against some of them for not conforming to our practices ought to be put down! Cry out against them, indeed! Mr. Grimstone says, that if the Emperor Nero, having slaughtered half Christendom the week before, could come to England with plenty of money in his pocket, all London would welcome him, and he would be pressed at the very first houses to play the fiddle-and that if Queen Catharine of Medicis, though she had roasted all the Huguenots in France, had come over afterwards to Mivart's, on a visit to Queen Elizabeth, the very best nobility of the country would have come to put their names down in her visiting-book. CATCHES IN THE NEW WORLD. IMPORTANT TO ILLUSTRIOUS PERSONS ABOUT TO MARRY. PUNCH, MY OLD FELLER.-So it seems you Britishers are riled acause that are little great man to divart you, no ways slow, and spend as much time in gunnin' and huntin' as you thought our wages was wuth. And I estimate, the name of an American citizen flogs all the highnesses in creation, and stumps Saxy Cobug or Saxy Highlow aither into fits. "I am rayther thinkin' of lookin' out for a wife myself, I don't mind tellin' on you; and if so be as you've got any princess on hand, I am open to take her off, without a cent, provided she 's a good gal, and ain't got no objection to turn to and make herself useful. We've rayther a kinder respect for the sooperstitions o' the old country arter all; and I calculate that bein' know'd for nevy-in-law to Victoria would bring custom enough to my store to make the notion pay, partickler if I writ my name as sitch up over the door, and got the Lion and Unicorn painted on my trucks; as to my pretensions, if they ain't good enough, that 's a pity. In pint of highness, I am six foot three; and, 'cept when my dander is riz, give me only my bit o'weed, I guess I'm as serene as Lake Ontario in a dead calm. Maybe you will forrad this here letter to Buckin'ham Pallis, and any answer tu it will be attended to as airly as convenes, by Yours, considerably, "GOAHEAD SPRAY. 66 "New York, Aug. 7, 1850.” Funch. SHORT ARTICLES: Rev. Charles G. Finney, 64.- Costs of the Gorham Case, 65.-Diplomatie PROSPECTUS.-This work is conducted in the spirit of | Littell's Museum of Foreign Literature, (which was favorably received by the public for twenty years,) but as it is twice as large, and appears so often, we not only give spirit and freshness to it by many things which were excluded by a month's delay, but while thus extending our scope and gathering a greater and more attractive variety, are able so to increase the solid and substantial part of our literary, historical, and political harvest, as fully to satisfy the wants of the American reader. 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