A YOUNG CYNIC.
Dorothy. "I wonder why Men take their Hats off in Church, and Women don't!"
Michael. "Oh, Dorothy, just think of all the Looking-glasses there'd have to be in every Pew!"
THE YOUNG PRETENDER.
["Immediately after the death of his father, the Duke of Orleans addressed the following telegram to all the Sovereign Princes of Europe:—
'A sa Majesté, &c.—J'ai la douleur de faire part à Votre Majesté de la mort de mon père Philippe, Comte de Paris, pieusement décédé à Stowe House le huit Septembre. Philippe.'
Great significance is attached to the fact that the Duke signs himself with regal simplicity 'Philippe.' His father under similar circumstances, on the occasion of the death of the Comte de Chambord, signed 'Phillipe, Comte de Paris,' thus ignoring his Sovereign rank."—The Daily Graphic.]
Madame la République museth:—
Ah! "Vive la France!" If words were only deeds,
I might perchance secure a new defender.
As Amurath to Amurath succeeds,
E'en so succeeds Pretender to Pretender.
Aye. "plus ça change plus c'est la même chose!" All
Fancy their words "the writing on the wall."
Street-corner scrawls are not the script of fate.
Plon-Plon and le brav' Général, Chambord, Paris,
All chalked my walls; "devotion to the State"
Inspired their schemes predestined to miscarry,
But Bourbon, Bonapartist or what not,
Self ever seemed the centre of the plot.
As "Roi des Français" or as "Monsieur X.,"
Boulanger's backer, or the White Flagwaver,
What has availed their valour save to vex?
Frenchmen and soldiers? Doubtless, Sirs; few braver.
But plots and manifestoes wild and windy
Contribute little to the State—save shindy!
Eh? Right Divine? That old, old weapon still
Pretenders fain would furbish up to fright me.
Would I bear weary strife, or bow my will
To human wrong if "Right Divine" could right me?
No; right divine to rule must prove affinity,
To the divine ere I trust its divinity.