among the flatterers of our stork are to be
found, not only those who approach him with
the soothing incense of veiled adulation, but
those also who, if one may be allowed a
hideously familiar expression, "lay it on with a
trowel;" not only those who say in a loud
whisper to each other, as they smile and rub
their hands, "How well his highness is looking
to-day!" or, "Surely the sun shines much
brighter since the shadow of his excellency has
rested on our domain!" Not only is this class of
delicate insinuators represented, but those also
who boldly proclaim what they mean in so many
words, saying: "I always say, and I always
have said, and I always will say, that of all the
mighty intellects, the towering geniuses, the
triumphant wielders of the destinies of
mankind, your storkship is the most glorious, the
most noble, the most benign. Yes, from the
summit of that lofty brow to the base of those
aristocratic legs, there reigns over every
particle of that gracious presence a something
concerning which we are only worthy to say that
we have nothing to say worthy of its princely
nobleness."

Such, perhaps, are the very words of the
address which one of the head toadies, who
looks like a mayor as to his back view, which is
presented to the public, is reading immediately
under the monarch's beak. It is difficult where
all are so excellent to say to which particular
figure in this composition one would give the
preference. There is one especial toady advancing
towards his patron with upturned eyes, who
looks as if he wanted a place for his nephew,
and who has great claim to be a public favourite,
but, after all, he is no better than the two
friendly toadies close beside him, who are falling
heavily forward utterly overwhelmed by the
great man's presence; while he is not so good
as the frantic worshipper, who has actually
flung himself down at the monarch's feet, and
is licking the dust, while with a watchful eye he
notes the effect of his performance.

One would say the stork had moved before
one's eyes, so naturally does the companion
composition to this follow and grow out of it.

His storkship is down upon them now. The
frogs must needs have a monarch to reign over
them, they have paid their court to him and
implored him to come among them, and now
they have got him with a vengeance, and are
paying for their loyalty. The stork has made
a pounce upon one of his subjects—the reader of
the address, let us hope—and has got him across
his beak in a favourable position for mastication.
As for the rest, he who was bawling out the
monarch's praises, is now bawling for mercy; he
who sought a place at court for a needy dependent,
is only anxious to avoid finding a place
himself in his sovereign's stomach; and the
rest are all wriggling and twisting themselves
out of the way as fast as their spindle shanks
can carry them, anxious to be clear out of their
self-elected emperor's neighbourhood before the
meal with which he is at present occupied has
come to an end, and his majesty ready for
another of his subjects. The frogs are not the
only nation upon earth who have invited a ruler
to come among them, and been rewarded by a
coup d'état; and so perhaps that subject of the
empire who designed these groups, and some
of those who pause on the Boulevard to look at
them, may sometimes think.

The versatility of M. Verreaux's powers, and
the way in which he has extracted all that was
to be got out of this new vein of humour, are
perfectly marvellous, as may be seen from a mere
enumeration of the subjects which this wonderful
artist has treated. Besides the great
works already alluded to, we find in his collection
an intensely comical sporting scene called "La
Chasse," in which we have a sporting frog, with
a mouse by his side for a dog, trying to bring
down a bluebottle by way of game. Next to this
there is a group of "billiard-players; then a pair
of pugilistic frogs labelled "Les Boxeurs;" a
solitary smoker with his knuckles resting on his
knee, reading the paper; a pair of dandies
swaggering along arm-in-arm, and properly
provided with canes and cigars; two frogs
evidently much addicted to convivial practices,
one of whom is carrying the other home on
his back. Then, besides all these, there is a
frog-barber shaving a frog-customer, a frog game
at écarté, a party of dominoes, and a terrific
quarrel perhaps growing out of a dispute over
that interesting pastime just named, and in
which the disputants are armed respectively
with a bottle and a three-legged stool.

There is no shrinking from the painful on the
part of our artist. One of his scenes is of a
hideously dental description, and represents a
dentist in the very act of performing upon the
jaw of a patient; this last is holding on by the
arms of the chair, and kicking one leg up in
the air with agony, in a manner that makes the
spectator really feel as if he had just come
himself from the perusal of the Supplement to the
Times (upside-down) in a sombre dining-room,
and had just caught that rattling sound which
Mr. Forceps makes in his drawer in looking for
the instrument.

It has been said by some one that the next
thing to having a tooth out in painfulness is to
sit for your portrait, which may be the reason
why M. Verreaux next gives us a specimen of
his abilities in the shape of an interior of an
artist's studio. The sitter in this case is a young
lady (frog), and is sitting with her head on one
side, and a rose in her hand, while the artist,
breathless with eager scrutiny, is crumpled up
over his work, and perched upon the very edge
of his chair after a manner very common with
those who are absorbedly and diligently at work.
This is a very delicate touch of nature indeed,
and at once proclaims the composer of such a
group to have a fine eye and a true and nice
observation.

Nothing comes amiss with our humorist,
from a game at leap-frog, in which the leaping
is really done by frogs, or the three Horatii
swearing on their swords, to a couple of terrific
duel-scenes in which all the proprieties of the