That the Pope should have been ordered to play billiards to counteract obesity, is a circumstance suggestive of certain natural remarks. A person who fasts as often as the Roman Pontiff must fast, and yet gets fat, is a wonder; and perhaps the plumpness of Pius, attained principally on red herrings, will be cited one of these days as a miraculous circumstance. Falstaff lost his voice "by holloaing and singing of anthems;" but in the meanwhile he gained flesh, as his Holiness appears to have also done in a similar course of exercise. Many prelates are oily enough; but the unction of the present Bishop of Rome is peculiar. The Pontifical chair has often been said to be filled, but now it is full, and no mistake. Perfidy, the Papists say, never approached the see of Peter; however that may be, it certainly will be difficult to circumvent its existing occupant, as his bulk will baffle any attempt to get round him. Many of the Holy Father's predecessors have been deep, but he is broad also.
We should have preferred rackets to billiards as a cure for the Papal corpulence, if we thought the Pope could stand the rackets, as he will have to do, whether he can or not, as soon as the state of Europe obliges Louis Napoleon to withdraw the French troops from Rome; and that will prove the most effectual proceeding for the reduction of his greatness.
News for the Peace Congress.
The Submarine and European Telegraph pulsates with these glad tidings:—
"Six new steam-vessels, after the model of the Napoleon, are on the stocks, and will be launched about the end of 1854."
Our own correspondent informs us that two of these vessels—in gratitude to the peace-makers—will be called The Bright and The Cobden.
Jesuit's Bark.—This Bark is a small, black, pirate-looking craft, that has fastened itself on, by some hook or other, to Peter's Boat.