FOREIGNERS IN BAD ODOUR.

THE smell of the Thames is bad enough, Gog knows; but there are other smells in London which are even more offensive. For instance, in the Lambeth Police Court t' other day, the attention of the Magistrate was directed to an odour, which no odour de Cologne could obliterate or equal. According to the Times' report of the proceedings

"MR. MARSDEN, the Vestry Clerk of the parish of St. Giles, Camberwell, accompanied by some members of the Vestry and several respectable inhabitants, attended at this Court for the purpose of supporting a summons against some foreigners who are the occupiers of premises situate at the rear of Wellington Place, Southampton Street, Camberwell, used for the melting of fat, and which business, in the process of manufacture, causes an effluvium which, as it had been represented to the Vestry, is, a serious nuisance, and dangerous to the health of the inhabitants of the neighbourhood.

MR. MARSDEN stated, that from the representations made to the Vestry, it appeared that the premises in question were made use of by a company of foreigners for the purpose of melting fat, a portion of which was packed in casks and shipped off for Holland, for the purpose of being mixed up with butter, and, after the mixture took place, was re-shipped back to London as pure Dutch butter. (Laughter.)"

What there is in this to laugh at we are puzzled to conjecture. It is our avocation to be judges of a joke, but we can see no fun in mixing stinking fat with butter, especially when we ourselves may chance to be consumers of it. Such a joke as this we consider to be no joke, and those who laugh at it may do so on the wrong side of their mouths. As for eating Dutch butter after what we here have learned of it, we can only say, that if we do we're Dutchmen.

That we are justified in using the epithet we have done, to describe the nasal properties of the fat which is in question, the evidence which follows will suffice, we think, to show :

"The first witness called to prove the fact was MRS. GARRETT, a widow lady, who said she lived about 40 yards from the premises, who described the nuisance, and said that for the last three months she had not had the docter out of her house. Her children were all ill, and she suffered himself from sickness and nausea, and all produced by the gross nuisance on the premises complained of. The smell resembled

Strong testimony this that the smell was also ditto. Noses however differ, as much perhaps as tastes; and a nuisance, which offends the sense of other people, may in the nostrils of its maker be the sweetest nasal diet. In proof of this we find that

"A person with an enormous beard, and with a foreign accent, assured the Magistrate that the fat melted was all fresh, and could not be such a nuisance as described."

The effect of this assurance was, we think, a doubtful policy:

"The Magistrate considered it would be a serious proceeding to shut up the place and put an end to the defendants' trade and business at once, and therefore adjourned the summons for a week to see if the nuisance could not be remedied."

Shutting up a nuisance-shop may be a "serious proceeding," but it is surely not more serious than causing injury to health, and sickening whole families who are neighbours to the nuisance. Putrid meat this weather soon induces putrid fever; and although a week is no long while to wait, it may take a lifetime to cure the ill effects of it. We think that had the Magistrate thought twice about the matter, be would, as second thoughts are best, have ordered that the nuisanceshop should be at once shut up, and that the trials made to "remedy' it should be attempted off the premises. as the disease, and when experiments are made to "improve" a putrid The remedy is often as bad smell, we should certainly ourselves prefer keeping out of nose-shot.

HAS SHE CORNS P-The EMPEROR orders that his army shall be

flowed:

THE VISION OF VAUXHALL.
COMRADES, you may leave me sitting in the mouldy arbour here,
With the chicken-bones before me and the empty punch-bowl near.
"Rack" they called the Punch that in it fiercely fumed, and freely
By the pains that rack my temples, sure the name was well bestowed.
Leave me, comrades, to my musings, 'mid the mildewed timber-damps,
While from sooty branches round me splutter out the stinking lamps.
While through rent and rotten canvas sighs the bone-mill laden breeze;
And the drip-damp statues glimmer through the gaunt and ghastly trees.
And the seedy stucco crumbles from the orchestra hard by ;

And the firework-frames like gibbets rear their arms athwart the sky.
And the monster platform stretches blank and bare beneath the moon;
And the night-wind through the boxes wanders with an eery croon.
Let me sit and sadly ponder o'er the glories of Vauxhall;
Sink this mouldy mildewed Present; from its grave the Past recal.
Is 't the Punch that stirs my fancy-or the gooseberry Champagne,
Sets phantasmal shapes careering through the chambers of my brain?
Dimly, as through clouds a-steaming from a thousand fragrant bowls,
Periwigged, pulvilio-scented, CHARLES THE SECOND's revel rolls.

In gay doublet, trimmed and broidered, ribboned shoulder, ribboned knee,

BROUNCKER rants, and NEWPORT roysters, while SAM PEPYS stands by to see

Sounds the nightingale's sweet twitter from the green trees overhead; Shrieks below the City Madam with Court gallants sore bestead.

Hark, 'tis pretty MRS. MERCER, trolling out Tom D'URFEY'S song: Hark, to CASTLEMAINE's loud laughter-brazen'st of the brazen throng. Saucy JENNINGS with COUNT GRAMMGNT bandying the mot pour rire; NELL GWYNNE fondling handsome SIDNEY, spite of BUCKHURST

frowning near.

CHARLES himself, his black face hidden in a vizor blacker still,
Laughing, ogling, and oddsfishing, light of wit, and loose of will.

See the cheesecake blithely broken, and the syllabubs afoam;
Hark at Thames, alive with boat-loads, for Spring Gardens, or for home.
Drugget-aproned drawers bearing Claret and Canary-pottles,
For wild wits and bona-robas to refresh their thirsty throttles:
And through all, sly, smug SAM PEPYS, with a twinkle in his eye,
Taking careful note for entry in his Diary, by-and-by.

Thicker rise the fumes, and faster, but less furious streams the rout,
AS QUEEN ANNE'S decorous following bows the Merry Monarch's out.
See the long, thin-faced Spectator, elbowing his silent way
For SIR ROGER, close behind him, open-mouthed, and eyes astray;
Rapt in wonder at the music, and the movement, and the sights;
Elbowed by the vizored Madams, dazzled by the thousand lights.
This way swaggers STEEL, half tipsy, but still kindly in his drink;
There good-humoured little GAY, to loose MAT PRIOR tips the wink.
SWIFT stalks, rolling indignation in his blazing deep blue eye;
ST. JOHN laughs off state blue-devils with LORD OXFORD Smooth and sly.
They have passed and now the GEORGES usher in a duller race.
Blank the scene, till sudden lighted by the look of WALPOLE'S face.
There he sits-the wizened watcher-cynical and calm and cool,
Ready to note others' follies, or himself to play the fool.
There the PETERSHAM sits blazing with her rouge and saucy stare;
There the crowd applauds the GUNNINGS-fairest sisters of the fair.
Here trots Bozzy all in triumph with the Doctor on his arm;
While, not less triumphant, GOLDY guards "the Jessamy bride" from

harm.

Pass, familiar shadows, trooping to the Land of Long-ago;
Let the Regency's hot orgies set more brimming bowls aflow.
Room for rampant COLONEL HANGER! Bloods and bucks of Carlton
House,
Box the watch, and smash the tables, shiver glass, and wax-lights douse.
Room for PRINCE HAL redivivus-petticoats and pimps and all-
Down before that wig so curly and that coat so creaseless, fall!
Room for ALMACK's maccaronis-room for BROOKS's playmen true,
MARCH and SELWYN, Fox and CARLISLE,-set the punch-bowls blazing

blue!

Masquerade and gay Ridotto blend the cream and scum of town;
Statesman's toils, and senate's glories, with Soho's endearments crown.
While o'erhead the ghost of SIMPSON lifts the ceremonial hat,
In deportment but inferior unto GEORGE the Great (by fat).
With such phantoms for evoking, shall I summon sorrier shades ?
Ghosts of gentish generations,-stray of shops and waif of trades?
Shadows of cheap shilling galas, flickerings of a dying flame;
Straws by desperate speculation clutched at, in its drowning game P
No-amid these wretched ruins, trees all black and walks all green--
Be the ghosts of my evoking such as graced the ancient scene.
Be they ghosts girt with a glory, somewhat sulphurous though it be;
Ghosts of the Vauxhall that hath been-not of the Vauxhall we see.

NOTES ON THE RIVER.

Ir is truly said that fresh-water sailors do not know what sea-sickness is. The effects of a trip on the Thames are no exception to this rule, for the passengers on the silent highway of London, improperly so called because it smells aloud, are certainly not fresh water sailors. The Thames should never be mentioned at meal-times in decent Society. If anybody makes it the subject of remark at table the probability is, that he is a medical student.

A TERRIBLE STATE OF THINGS.

WE have it on the assurance of MR. MAGUIRE (a distinguished brazen player in the POPE's Brass Brigade), that the name of the hon. Member for the City of London is "detested" amongst all Italians, whilst that of the Noble Lord the Member for Tiverton is "utterly abhorred." We wonder how LORDS JOHN and PAM. have so long survived this horrible affliction. Isn't it a marvel how PALMERSTON can, under the painful circumstances, be as jolly and jaunty as he senses, in the happy way that he has done? Can he possibly be is? How can he have lived to the fine old age, and have retained his sublimated also by a like indifference, sleep as soundly as though indifferent to the feeling of Italian hatred? And does LORD JOHN, Rome existed no more than Carthage? We should advise them, if they have any respect left for the POPE, to offer up candles, and have masses said for their souls, at that pretty fancy bazaar of a chapel that has lately been opened, with such pomp and Popery, in Margaret Street, Cavendish Square; and which, in our eyes, is nothing more than a House of Call for Romans."

THE ENCORE SWINDLE.

EXCELLENTLY well done, MR. SIMS REEVES. Remarkably well done, MR. SIMS REEVES. You have Mr. Punch's plaudits, the least whereof will in your opinion outweigh the opinion of a whole Surrey Hall of groundlings, MR. SIMS REEVES.

So there was a great crowd in that Surrey Hall, to hear MISS DOLBY, and MADAME BISHOP, and yourself and others, and the lovers of music permitted themselves to go on as follows:

"The first piece set down for MR. SIMS REEVES was Fra Poco, which he sung with only too great effect. He left the orchestra amidst great applause, which, as usual, was extended to a vociferous encore."

That is to say, that having paid to hear you in one song, and being pleased with you, they endeavoured to obtain a second without paying for it. Well, you did not think proper to accede to the demand, and the amiable audience got into a rage, and would not even listen to an explanation. They "waxed furious," according to the report, because you would not be robbed. However, after a good deal of riot, they condescended to listen to the explanation. It was

"To the effect that MR. REEVES, having to sing two other pieces, could not repeat so trying an effort as that just made."

This, REEVES, was a conciliatory explanation. The crowd had no right to ask it, but it being made, we certainly agree with the Reporter that it

"Ought to have satisfied everybody. It did satisfy all but an excited minority, who, in spite of overwhelming cries of encouragement to the conductor to proceed, per-evered in hissing, groaning, and hosting. This disgraceful scene lasted about half an hour, and was only terminated by the performance despite all demands to the contrary-of the Wedding March, in Midsummer Night's Dream. The drums. trumpets, and violins had fairly the best of it, and the proceedings were tranquil enough till MR REEVES made his second appearance. Volleys of hisses, grans, and catcalls mingled with the vehement applause that salured him. For some minutes he took this unusual reception in good part, bowing and smiling at every outburst of the popular humour as if it were unmixed flattery."

Half an hour of blackguardism, vainly sought to be put down by the

"IT'S A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS!" THE second column of the Times grows daily more amusing. The following appeared in it on the 26th:

I. W. of (never mind the place]. All your DISTRACTyou at the [Blank] Bank. Pray, if you value your own happiness, get

it at once.

If we know anything of human nature, we should say that the effect of this appeal upon I. W. would be to greatly strengthen his resolve to keep away. The notion that a man would be tempted to return by the knowledge that some maniacs were in waiting to receive him, seems to our mind so insane that no one but a lunatic could ever entertain it. Were we blessed (or otherwise) with a lot of mad relations, we certainly should try, unless we thought that we could cure them, to go and live as far away from them as possible. No good could come of contact, and possibly harm might.

As for the letter which awaits him at the Bank, we should say that I. W. would be wise not to call for it. Presuming from the context that this letter has been written by his lunatic relations, we would wager any money it would not repay perusal. So many madmen daily put their nonsense in our letter-box, that we may fairly claim some knowledge of "distracted" correspondents, and our experience goes to prove that what they write is not worth reading. Indeed the maniacal effusions with which we daily are afflicted would be enough to madden the robustest intellect, were it not that, as an antidote, Punch is ever close at hand, and Punch has ever proved a safe preservator of wits.

A Challenge from Father Thames. WHO says Thames stinks, lies foully in his throat: Upon the point Thames to the country goes. The eyes don't prove it: put it to the vote, And you will see it carried by the nose.

A HANDY TAX.

A TAX on Gloves! Let the tax be a penny, or a halfwould finger a nice sum every year, and not a soul would penny, per pair. The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER be pinched by it.

decent portion of the auditory. We are happy, however, to read that they were the majority, and even at the cost of prolonging the scene, they gave battle :

"But this sort of thing soon gets beyond a joke, and when it was evident that a mischievous few, at various entrances of the building, were determined Ma. REEVES should not be heard, a contrary resolution was expressed with equal decision. Dafening peals of cheering were kept up in order to intimidate the disturbers, but still they held out. In vain the great singer tried the effect of his so thing art upon the disturbers. They broke him down in the second verse of When thou will be my Bride' In vain he bowed in his sweetest notes, My breast doth swell with pride. His offended admirers answered with implacable derision. Clenching his music scroll, he exclaimed, 'I am too much of an Englishman to be beaten !" and coolly took a chair."

However, the majority was now determined on having an end to "this sort of thing," and in obedience to angry demands for the expulsion of the offenders, the necessary steps were taken, and divers blackguards were eliminated, receiving a smiling greeting from MR. REEVES as they were dragged away.

REEVES retired amid a tempest of unqualified applause. Half an hour later he sat "Thus by degrees the tumult was subdued, the song was recommenced, and MR. down to the piano to sing My Pretty Jane.' The cheering that followed was im mense, but scarce a single voice ventured to ask a repetition To the universal surprise and delight, the exultant tenor came back and sang to his own accompani ment the Bay of Biscay. Of course this completed his triumph, and MR. SIMS REEVES finally retired from the orchestra a greater favourite than ever."

All very well, and Mr. Punch, as has been said, is pleased to congratulate MR. REEVES very heartily on the pluck he exhibited. But of English persons as to the law of meum and tuum. No doubt that the scene arose, as many similar scenes have arisen, from the ignorance amid that crowd of noisy, ill-bred fellows, there were some who supposed that they had a perfect right to command the great artist before them, or MISS DOLBY, or MADAME BISHOP, to give them as much music as they chose to call for, though they had paid only for what was set down in the bill. them were a tailor, what would he say to Mr. Punch, who, having Now, if there were any such, and one of bought a waistcoat of him, should insist upon having another for nothing, because the first pleased him so much. "But O," comes in