Three Leaves from Punch.
First Aristocratic Butcher-Boy.—"Hullo, Bill. Don't mean to say yer've come down to a Pony?"
Second Ditto Ditto.—"Not dezactly! Our Cart is only gone a-paintin'."
Omnibus Driver.—"Reely, now! and so the 'lectric fluid takes a message between Dover and Calis. (Inquiringly) Pray, Sir, wot's it like? Is it any thing like beer, for example?"
Flunkey.—"Apollo? Hah! I dessay it's very cheap, but it ain't my Ideer of a Good Figger!"
Ellen.—"Oh, don't tease me to-day, Charley; I'm not at all well!"
Charley.—"I tell you what it is, Cousin—the fact is, You are in Love! Now, you take the advice of a fellow who has seen a good deal of that sort of thing, and don't give way to it!"
Mrs. Smith.—"Is Mrs. Brown in?"
Jane.—"No, Mem, she's not at Home."
Little Girl.—"Oh! what a horrid Story, Jane! Mar's in the Kitchen, helping Cook!"
PENALTIES.
The Penalty of buying cheap clothes, is the same as that of going to law, the certainty of losing your suit, and having to pay for it.
The Penalty of marrying is a mother-in-law.
The Penalty of remaining single, is having no one who "cares a button" for you, as is abundantly proved by the state of your shirts.
The Penalty of thin shoes, is a cold.
The Penalty of a pretty cook, is an empty larder.
The Penalty of stopping in Paris, is being shot.
The Penalty of tight boots, is corns.
The Penalty of having a haunch of venison sent to you, is inviting a dozen friends to come and eat it.
The Penalty of popularity, is envy.
The Penalty of a baby, is sleepless nights.
The Penalty of interfering between man and wife, is abuse, frequently accompanied with blows, from both.
The Penalty of a Godfather, is a silver knife, fork, and spoon.
The Penalty of kissing a baby, is half-a-crown (five shillings, if you are liberal) to the nurse.
The Penalty of a public dinner, is bad wine.
The Penalty of a legacy, or a fortune, is the sudden discovery of a host of poor relations you never dreamt of, and of a number of debts you had quite forgotten.
The Penalty of lending, is—with a book or an umbrella, the certain loss of it; with your name to a bill, the sure payment of it; and with a horse, the lamest chance of ever seeing it back again sound.
The Penalty of being a witness, is to be abused by the lawyers, snubbed by the judge, and laughed at by the spectators; besides having the general state of your wardrobe described in the papers next morning.
Awful Contortion of the Face produced by the constant Use of an Eye-glass.
RATHER SEVERE.
"Shall I 'old your 'Orse, Sir?"
WHAT I HEARD ABOUT MYSELF IN THE EXHIBITION.
I am the original of the "Portrait of a Gentleman," in the Exhibition of last year. I had my likeness taken, because I had a great admiration for the original. I thought my face handsome, and my figure noble, if not elegant—I believed that I had a remarkably grand head. I prided myself on my eyes, not only on account of their color, which I took for a deep gray, but also for a lustre which I fancied them to emit, which I supposed was the fire of genius. I was persuaded that I had a Roman nose and a finely chiseled mouth. Sometimes I thought I resembled Byron, at others Shelley. It is true I could not conceal from myself that my proportions were rather massive than lofty, and that my legs were somewhat curved; but I imagined that these peculiarities imparted a stalwart manliness to my bearing. While sitting to the artist I composed my countenance into the most dignified and intellectual expression of which it was capable. I was represented in full dress, and I thought I presented the appearance of an Apollo—perhaps a little too much developed—got up for an evening party. I was anxious that the public should share my gratification, and had the portrait sent to the Exhibition, where it appeared on the Catalogue as the "Portrait of a Gentleman." As soon as the Exhibition was opened I went there, and stationed myself before my picture; a crowd was gathered around. I thought, at first, that they were admiring it as much as I did. I listened to their criticisms, and was undeceived. "'Portrait of a Gentleman!'" said one, "Portrait of a Snob!" and passed on. I was indignant. "What could possess that fellow; with his unmeaning face, fat paunch, and bandy legs, to have his picture taken?" inquired another. My head swam, I thought I should have fainted. "Vulgarity personified;" "What a silly simper upon the face;" "What a self-satisfied smirk about the mouth," remarked a second, third, and fourth, as they cast their eyes upon the picture. "The head is like a dumpling," said a phrenological-looking visitor. "Why does he show that fat hand so conspicuously?" asked a sixth. I was represented standing with one leg crossed before the other, my hand resting upon a book—which attitude I thought harmonized with my remarkably intellectual countenance. "The figure would pass for Sancho Panza, but the face is too stupid," said a seventh. By this time I was almost stupefied with humiliation; but the worst was yet to come. Among those who were contemplating the portrait was a lady—the loveliest, I think, I ever saw. "Poor fellow!" said she, at last, with a sigh, "how dreadful it must be for him to have those horrid green eyes!" I could bear no more. I rushed from the Exhibition, and slunk to my rooms. What I suffered that night I can not describe. But the next day I recovered my senses; sent for my picture from the Exhibition; and am now reconciled to the fact that I am a very ugly-featured, bandy-legged punchy little fellow, not the least in the world like an Apollo.
Noble Lord.—"Here's this confounded Newspaper speaking the Truth again. Ah! They manage these things better in France."
INTERIOR OF A FRENCH COURT OF JUSTICE, 1852.