The French trees of Liberty have been cut down and the wood given to the poor for fuel. The only liberty which the French have is—to warm themselves.
The French have long been well instructed in Deportment; the President is now giving them lessons in Deportation.
France is still quiet; she is taking her little ap.
EARLY PUBLICATION OF A LIBERAL PAPER IN PARIS.—Time—Four A.M.
SCENE FROM THE "PRESIDENT'S PROGRESS."
(Suggested by Hogarth's Rake's Progress.)
This plate represents the "Prince President" taking possession of the effects of his deceased Uncle. From an old chest he has rummaged out the Imperial globe, crown, eagle, and collar. The Code Napoleon, a pair of military boots—too large to fit the new owner—and a bayonet, make up the remainder of the contents of the chest. The sceptre is surmounted by an expanded hand, the thumb of which comes in suspicious proximity to the nose of a bust of the Uncle. From an open closet the Imperial eagle, reduced to the last state of emaciation, is looking out. In the fireplace is the Imperial chair, to which an old hag, who might pass for the Avenging Nemesis, is setting fire, probably with the wood of the Trees of Liberty. Sundry hoards, left by the former occupant of the house, have been discovered, from which the young heir's ghostly attendant is helping himself. The new tailor, Monsieur Gendarme, is in the act of measuring the President for a suit of "Imperial purple, first quality." Mademoiselle Liberte, accompanied by her mother, Madame France, comes to demand the fulfillment of the promises he has made her, and has brought the wedding-ring; but he refuses to fulfill his solemnly sworn engagement; and offers money to the mother, who rejects it with an expression of countenance that brooks no good to the gay deceiver. "The characters in this picture," says Heir Sauerteig, "are admirably developed; the stupid brutality of the heir, the grief and shame of the poor deceived Liberte, the anger of France, which, it is clear, will not be satisfied with words, the greed and avarice of the peculating priest, and the business-like air of the tailor—perfectly indifferent whether he fits his patron with an imperial robe or a convict's blouse—are worthy of the highest admiration."
