THE FRENCH ALMANACKS FOR 1865.

It is a relief from the perusal of wars and rumours of wars, internecine extermination in the dis-United States, the insurrection of semi-barbarians in New Zealand and Algeria, the battering at the doors of Japan, and Chinese, South American, and Tyrolese guerillaship; it is a relief, too, to pass from the interminable sophistries and perplexities of European diplomacy, projected conferences, cobweb treaties-arrogance here, submission there, duplicity everywhere-to those simple yet earnest manifestations of the human mind which mark the progress or the decline of nations, and give to civilisation the wings which they are as often busy in clipping.

Regretting as we do in the sense of respect for the liberty and intelligence of any one family of the human race, the political ban under which it has pleased the imperial government of France to place the quick-sighted and impressionable people of that country, we cannot help feeling that he has rendered a service in extirpating politics from the annual bevy of almanacks, leaving us to commune with the topics of the day and the French people as they are in déshabille, and not when dressed for parade or attitudinising for glory.

Next to the playing on the stage, and playing at spectators, critics, and talkers in matters theatrical, playing at soldiers constitutes admittedly one of the chief resources of Franco-Gaulish existence. The camp at Châlons, one of the great centres for these out-of-door theatrical displays, comes in, therefore, naturally for a lion's share of literary and pictorial illustration. Cham has been there, just as we once saw our Cruikshank t a Mansion House reception, taking notes to be filled in at leisure. The little boy, pointing to the diminutive tentes-abris, and asking his respected parent if they put soldiers into them, is amusing.

is

Certainly, little stupid, replies papa; what did you expect to find there? Why, ladies; they are all in crinolines just like mamma's. You, says one of the actors in a sham fight to another-you are supposed to be France, I the enemy. Now, as France is rich enough to pay for its glory, it is you to stand a drink. Colonel, a weather-worn Zouave, looking like an elongated scarecrow, intimates to his superior officer, that your bust which the regiment has raised to embellish the camp. Ah! but you have written ci-gît (here lies) beneath it. Yes, colonel; it is Latin-a further embellishment. It rains occasionally at Châlons, to the great detraction of the pleasures of out-of-door performances. How did you know it was going to rain? asks one wiseacre in red breeches of another. By looking at our drum-major; it rains on his head five minutes before it reaches the camp. Is the soup well watered? asks a combatant of a cook. I should think so, replies the latter; and so are we. corps of drummers, not an insignificant one in a French regiment of the line, when obliged to follow their major in the water on a lavatory expedition, is placed in a very unenviable position. By the time the giant of the staff is up to the chest, the drummers are over head and ears, and military discipline forbids complaint. The weather, however, is variable at Châlons as it is in Cochin-China and elsewhere, and we see the actors

The

in the same great drama praying in vain on another occasion for an eclipse of the sun-nay, were it only a partial one, they would be satisfied. Twenty thousand drums beaten simultaneously by electrical discharges, must have added considerably to the effect upon show-days.

This is soldiering upon a grand scale. The soldier himself is not a less important personage in detail-when acting his brief part on the stage common to a general humanity-as when massed in bodies to produce one great and general result. You have reported the man Pinson as having grievously insulted you, says a captain of dragoons to a curious specimen of his company; what was the nature of his insult? Captain, I really dare not repeat it in your presence. Say on! say on! Well, mon cap'taine, he called me biped. Impossible! observes a military gallant of spare dimensions to his friend the cook, who is trying on his sword and belt, the buckle of which will not come to around the welldeveloped waist of the fair but not frail one. Impossible, dearest! But comfort yourself! It is, perhaps, the only thing that is capable of resisting the power of your charms. In another instance by Randon, the inimitable depictor of French military life, the cook is complacently studying her reflexion in a small mirror, decorated with her friend's shako, while the latter is imbibing a glass of the master's wine, but he leaves off to observe: If my shako had been a helmet, and I did not know you, I should take you for Bellona, goddess of war, militarily speaking. Alas! says a bearded sapper to a youth, attended upon by a fair Normande, on whom evidently one eye is turned from beneath that colossal bearskin superstructure-alas! young man, the beard, however fine it may be, does not constitute happiness! Even I, such as you see -I have troubles and misgivings of the heart, just like any simple mortal. If a sapper sauntering in the Garden of Plants, and who had for a moment relieved himself during the heat by laying aside his bearskin, were surprised, on taking it up again, to find a youngster had crept inside, still more surprised must the lady have been who, on visiting her "bonne" at a late hour, found her transformed into a sapeur de la garde. The pompiers, or enrolled firemen of Paris, seem, however, from popular report and representation, to be the greatest disturbers of the peace of families; they have no change of quarters, little to do, many privileges, and they can keep irregular hours.

me

Amuse yourselves whilst I rule, is a very old device. Alexander the Great had a theatre at Babylon; the French played the fiddle (not the second, either) at Fontenoy, thanks to Scotch and Irish mercenaries; and now-a-days the liberty of the theatres-no limits to their number, and almost unrestricted license and licentiousness in the performances-constitute the grand topic of the theatrical world; which is all Paris. This is the manner in which this subject—so full of promises to the Parisian future-is treated:

CHORUS IMITATED FROM THE ANCIENTS.

Long live the liberty of the theatres!

How many people who have long been engaged in the pursuit of a social position, will now arrive at the goal of their desires, and will be able to make money !

Long live the liberty of the theatres !

No end of new houses!

AIR OF THE MAÇON, OPERA-COMIQUE, BY scribe.
Du courage, a l'ouvrage, construisez,
Batissez.

A BOHEMIAN.

Ever since I left college I have not been able to settle down. I wished to be a banker, but no one would provide the capital. Without capital a bank was impossible. I wished to marry, but, as I had not a good coat, I could not be presented to the young person who was destined for me. It is now nigh fifteen years since I left college. The liberty of the theatres has come to my rescue. When I was at school I did nothing myself, but I had a great talent for prompting others. I will now be prompter at a theatre.

A GRISETTE.

Fanny, are you coming to Bullier's this evening?

No.

What, are you ill, then?

I am quite well, but I shall remain at home, to study.
What are you studying?

Comedy. Now that they are building so many new theatres they will want actresses. I might spend ten years of my life in practising steps at Bullier's before the newspapers would speak of me, whilst it will suffice to play one comedy well to win glory.

Well, I think you are right, I will go with you to Professor Bou

deville's.

Do so, I am not afraid of competition. There will be so many new houses opened!

A DEALER IN PARAFFINE.

The Dealer (singing and dancing)—Tra, la, la, tra, deri, dera.
Daughter-Papa, what is the matter with you?

I am intoxicated with joy. The liberty of theatres has thrown me into ecstasies.

Why so?

A new manager has promised me to light up his house with paraffine, and to lay in his stock from my establishment.

I am delighted to hear that.

Yes, child, and, what is more, I have just calculated that if I can get the custom of twenty managers we will make our fortune in three years.

But we have only one to begin with.

The others will come afterwards. My child, in three years, I tell you, we shall be able to retire from business, and you shall marry a young viscount of the Faubourg Saint Germain who has lost his fortune.

IN THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE.

First Loiterer-Do you see that little blonde passing by in her chaise ?

Second Loiterer-To be sure I do.

Well, that is Julia. She spends three thousand francs a month, and yet is always harassed by creditors.

What a little simpleton! She will not always be pretty. She ought to lay money aside for a bad day. By the time she is forty she may want bread.

Oh, she reckons upon the liberty of theatres for subsistence.

How so?

She will become a box-keeper. There will be no end of openings.

The demand for new plays has been much increased by the number of new theatres that have been projected under the new law, and we will give an illustration of the manner in which this operates upon the literature of the day. The story may be entitled

THE CHASE OF THE CARVANA.

SCENE-The Railroad to Nevers.

Montereau! Five minutes allowed! shouts a railway porter.

All the travellers hasten to get out, with the exception of a fat gentleman seated opposite to Neoptolemus, who, shrinking deeper in his corner, draws his cap over his eyes, and utters a deep sigh.

Are you not getting down? he says to Neoptolemus.

Yes, but yourself?

I-I would not move for a rifled cannon.

It is not from hence that I

care to go, but from the frightful position in which I find myself.

Well, what prevents you? Are you chained to the seat as Prometheus was of old to his rock? Have you got the colic, or are you compromised in the assassination of Mr. Briggs?

I should like to ask your advice.

Well, presently. I am only going to get a cigar at the buffet.

The fat gentleman gave vent to a still more formidable sigh than its predecessor.

Really it makes one shudder! You do nothing but sigh ever since we have been on the way.

Listen! I must disburden my mind of its load.

Well, do so. It will help to pass away the time. But I must first get my cigar.

Travellers in their carriages! shouts the porter.

Do you hear? said Neoptolemus, much annoyed; it is too late. Bother your sighs!

My story will compensate you.

I hope so, replied Neoptolemus, politely.

All the travellers having got into their places, the fat gentleman began, in a confidential tone:

How old do you think I am?

I, said Neoptolemus-I should say you were between thirty and fiftyfive.

You are right; I am thirty-two years of age. Such as you see me, I was good looking in my youth; since that I have grown fat-the result of grief. My good looks were my ruin. You see in me a man who has been to California.

Excuse me, interrupted Neoptolemus, your story appears to be a little disjointed. If y you were only to put a little more order into your ideas. It is with pleasure that I find I have to do with a man of taste, and your observations, which I pray you not to spare, will not be wasted upon me. Perhaps monsieur holds the sceptre of criticism in a newspaper ? No! So much the worse. I go on, however. My father and mother died when I was only twelve years of age, leaving me in charge of a bachelor uncle. My twentieth year had just struck by the clock of spring when my uncle took it into his head to marry.

You have a pretty style, sir, said Neoptolemus.

Yes, I succeed well in the line of metaphors. I was saying, then, that my uncle married. My aunt was a splendid woman, with a tragical aspect, a bad edition of Madame Thierret and of Semiramis. In opposition to the conduct pursued by aunts generally towards their nephews, this one looked upon me, alas! with only too favourable eyes. I became alarmed, timid as Hippolytus; I resoved to leave for California. I bore, besides, another similarity to Hippolytus. I was fond of shooting. So I started for California.

It is needless to say that my uncle and my aunt did everything that was in their power to prevent me carrying out my resolve, but it was in vain. One fine morning I stole away from Clichy la Garenne, where I had passed my young days, with a small sum, an inheritance from my father, in my pocket. My aunt had well filled my trunk with flannel waistcoats and worsted stockings, for she had heard that it was cold in the Rocky Mountains. But, before going any further, I should like to know what you think of my history?

Well, replied Neoptolemus, it begins to interest me; only I might venture to observe that it has a vague resemblance to the Phèdre of Racine.

The comparison is complimentary, and I thank you for it. Well, to continue: When my aunt handed me over the key of the trunk, she said: We shall meet again! I hope so, I replied.

Before leaving, I had had the further precaution to obtain all that had been written concerning the sports of California, and at the head of the collection was a work by Alexandre Dumas, in which the Carvana is described. Have you ever heard speak of the Carvana?

Only very vaguely.

But you are a sportsman?

Certain larks shot on the plain of St. Denis give me a right to designate myself as your brother in St. Hubert.

Then I may tell you about the Carvana. This animal, discovered by Alexandre Dumas, and which no other person has seen, is an amphibious monster of the family of crocodiles, and it is supposed to be of the size of two or three elephants. It appears that it inhabits the marshes and inlets of the great American rivers, where it delights to bask in the mud, and where it is fished with hooks of the same size and weight as the anchor of a frigate. Its presence infects the atmosphere for miles around, and when it is hooked its roars make the very mountains to tremble.

I understand. It is something like the marine monster in Théramène ? You are right, only this is called the Carvana. I had resolved to cap