the despair of Napoleon after Waterloo, and
reconciled Madame Poskoggi to her horsepond—
as she called her husband. When Mademoiselle
Shaddabacco broke her engagement with the
management of the Italian Opera, and
retired to Dieppe in the sulks, ostensibly
because Packerlickey the manager refused to
pay for the expense of a foot-page to attend
to her poodles, but really because
Mademoiselle Baracouta, that upstart parvenue—
that prima donna of yesterday—had created
a furore in Nabucodonosore; it was Saint
Sheddle who started off to Brighton by the
express train, crossed the briny ocean,
cleared away all difficulties, and brought the
Shaddabacco back in triumph. His evidence
on the great trial of Packerlickey versus
Guffler, on the disputed question of the
copyright in the music of the ballet Les mille et
une Jambes, was of the greatest value. He
has just taken the affairs of Madame
Garbanati (who has been living too fast) in hand.
When malicious people began to whisper
ugly things about Miss Linnet in connection
with Captain de Prance of the Harpooners;
who but Saint Sheddle went about, defending
the young lady everywhere ? Who but he
vowed he was present when Miss Linnet
boxed the Captain's ears, and when old
Linnet, her papa (a worthy man, once a
schoolmaster, but too fond of cold rum-and-
water), kicked the captain down stairs? Who
but he declared, striking a seraphine in
Octave's shop, with virtuous vehemence, that he,
Saint Sheddle, would call out and fight any
man who dared to whisper a syllable against
the maligned young lady?

Adolphus Butterbrod, Ph. Dr., of Schwindelburg,
who has just passed Bompazek with
so low a bow, although the basso scarcely
acknowledged it, does not like Saint Sheddle:
he says he is "an indriguand." In days gone
by, Butterbrod was confidential friend and
agent to Bompazek, and had free right of
warren over his pipes, his purse, his puddings,
and his shirts; he arranged all the basso's
engagements, and haughtily told concert-
givers that he had roged—or raised— his
terms. But he was detected in flagrant delict
of conspiring with Tunner von Heidelburg,
Bompazek's enemy and rival; and
contemporary history records that the usually mild
Bompazek (the rage of a sheep is terrible)
beat the traitor violently with an umbrella,
and banished him from the domains of
Pickwinkle for ever. Saint Sheddle is Fidus
Achates to the big basso now, and the
Ph. Dr. would like to do him a good turn if
he could.

Place aux Dames! Room for the stately
lady in black velvet, who meanders gracefully
along the pavement. Two smaller
cygnets, in sea-green watered-silk and trowsers,
accompany the parent bird. This is
Madame Perigord, the renowned contralto,
and her youthful daughters. Lesbia Perigord
has a beaming eye, a robe of silk velvet,
long black ringlets, a chain of gold, a
châtelaine, diamond rings, pearly teeth,
faultless hands and feet, in little gloves and
boots as faultless. Lesbia has a voice of
liquid honey and passionate fire, poising itself
for a moment on her ruby lips, and flying
straightway into her hearers' hearts. Lesbia
is a superb creature; but, oh! I will content
myself with Camberwell and my Norah
Creina—my gentle, simple Norah Creina, who
cannot sing contralto, but can make Irish
stew. For Lesbia has a temper. Let me
whisper it; a deuce of a temper. Let me
write it on paper and show it to you
privately; a devil of a temper! I would rather
not be Lesbia's sparrow, if I did not think
my neck in want of wringing. I would
rather not be one of Lesbia's sea-green
children, if I preferred the law of kindness
to the law of kicks and cuffs. I would rather
not be Lesbia's maid, if I valued peace of
mind or body; and I would decidedly not be
Lesbia's husband upon any consideration
whatever.

Madame Perigord was very nearly the
death of Piccolo. Piccolo suffered much
from rheumatism, and happening casually
to mention the matter to the Perigord, she
immediately insisted on sending to Paris to
her doctor, one Mercantori, for a certain
marvellous embrocation, which would cure
Piccolo instantaneously. It was no use
demurring to Mercautori's preparation. It had
cured the Perigord when she was like that
(pointing to a sideboard as an emblem of
immobility), and he must take it. Besides,
Piccolo is so accustomed to do what he is
asked, that had Madame Perigord proposed
sending for a white elephant from Siam, and
boiling it up into broth as a remedy for
rheumatism, it is not improbable that he
would have assented to the proposition. So,
the famous embrocation (for which Piccolo
was to be charged cost price) was sent for
from Paris. In the course of the week a
deal case of considerable size, addressed to
Lord Piccolo, arrived in London at the music-
seller's residence, and he was gratified by
having to pay one pound nine and sevenpence
sterling for carriage. The case, being opened,
was found to contain sundry bottles of a dark
liquid resembling treacle-beer, several packages
of mysterious-looking blue-paper tubes,
closely approximating in appearance to the
fireworks manufactured by the Chevalier
Mortram, and a large pot of pomatum. One
of the bottles being opened, emitted such a
deadly and charnel-like odour that Mrs.
Piccolo, who is rather a strong-minded
woman, immediately condemned the whole
paraphernalia as rubbish, and sentenced it to
perpetual penal servitude in the dusthole:
which sentence was as speedily put into
execution, but not before a cunning document
was found coiled up among the supposititious
fireworks. This turned out to be a facture,
or invoice, in which Lord Piccolo, of London,