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From the Literary World.
THE CARNIVAL IN EUROPE.
9
BY ATTIC, OF THE COLONEL*S CLUtf.
Have you ever seen tbe Carnival, at Paris, or at
Koine 1
Have you quaffed its cup of merriment when it
sparkled at its foam 1
Have you caught its lively jest, and its stinging
pasquinade 1
i lave you jostled with the masks in the motley mas
querade 1
Have you whirled along the Cors’o, ’midst the tor
rents ot confetti ?
Have you marvelled at the beauty of the faitw mo
cholclti ?
{), merrier than this, and ivilder in its play,
I the Carnival they’re keeping on the Continent,
to-day !
.sot the idle rabble only, nor the shiftless, gay buf
foon,
Hut the monarch plays the clown, and the prince the
pantaloon;
With his subjects for spectators, as it suits to clap
or hiss,
The sovereign of the last year is the Harlequin of
this
’Twas France that set the fashion, ’tis a year in
Februaiy,
Fouls Philippe led it off, this Carnival so merry,
To save himself from shooting, and his populace to
please,
lie took the funny character of poor old Char-ks
Dix;
And so popular it proved, and so very full of fun,
That in this famous character he had a famous
run !
Then perforce with every Frenchman was the Car
nival in vogue;
Then poet.s played the Statesman, and Statesmen
played the rogue :
Then the wisest proved the weakest, and the weak
est proved most strong;
And still goes on this Carnival; but who may know
how long 1
< >r, when the masks are taken off, pray who can tell
us yet,
Hut what seems the Goddess Liberty, may prove a
mere g risette ?
i
Hut the Germans joined the Carnival, that race of
steady smokers,
And they took it up in earnest, too, like practical
old jokers ;
And of ali their madcap plans, what did most exe
cution,
Was a monstrous Punchinello, whom they nick
named Constitution ;
Fnderneath the palace-windows they bring the
dreadful fellow,
And all the kings and dukes must dance around this
Punchinello!
There was Louis of Bavaria, that royal, old Maece
nas,
A Sovereign in the morning, and at midnight a Si
lenus ;
lie tried to still this Carnival by coaxing and by
curses,
For though himself a poet, bo didn’t like reverses ;
But at last he joins the ring, and nothing could be
droller.
Than his abdicating pas dc deux with that famous
danseuse Lola!
Nor was the joke forgotten, nor was the fun the
least,
In brilliant, bright Vienna, the Paris of the East!
There, by the rushing L'anube, and in the shady
Prater,
The peasant played the patriot, and the student
played the martyr;
Then rang Saint Stephen's arches with shouts of
bloody revel,
While the altar steps were stained with the orgies
of the Devil!
And though the Emperor Ferdinand frowned on his
Kaiser-stadt,
And called the frolic treason, and rebellion, and all
that;
And though he sen£ an army for the public taste to
cater,
Vnd shot poor printer Bin u for playing Legi-lator :
Yet, after all, he couldn’t keep from giving up him
self,
So he dances from his throne, and his crown is on
the shelf!
But the Carnival is always the merriest at Rome,
In the shadow of the Pincian and St. Peter’s gor
geous dome;
While half the world is merry, shall they join the
other half 1
O no, the Romans only wait to have a louder laugh !
Around the Quifinal they cry, “ Shall other lands
outvie us 1”
“ Come out and join the Carnival, thou reverend
Father Pius!”
O, when his turn was come, who joins the Carnival
quicker
Than the Pontifex Supremus, and universal Vicar ?
Not long it takes his Holiness to practise the deceiv
er,
He doffs the saintly cassock, and he dons the mod
ern beaver,
And whirls in footman’s livery, and a frightful false
moustache,
Through the Porta San Giovanni, and across the
Pontine Marsh.”
Now surely to good Protestants right pleasant must
it bo,
In such a state of things as this, to see the Holy
See,
flie Head of all the Church, they think, a tonsured
old buffoon,
St. Peter’s chair, a rocking-chair, the Keys all out
of tune;
The Vatican at last for good by the man of Sin va
cated,
§©l3 t fff£HEM 0a HTF 818 A IB’ST SMBTFIFB*
SAL At ON SPEARING.
SPECIMEN ENGRAVING—FROM “THE SCHOOLFELLOW,” FOR FEB’Y,
An l that groat toe that bothers them so, forever
dislocated.
So gees this merry Carnival, and who of ns that
guesses
Where it will stop, or what ‘twill do, in all its wild
excesses 1
Tut it’s evident there's something in the joke that’s
very taking,
For with it’s fun- old Europe in all her sides is shak
’ ing,
And surely to good Democrat?, th ‘joke is not amiss,
That the Sovereigns of the lust year are the llaile
qu;ns of this!
-
THE PERIL OF A BUTTON.
13 Y HANS CIIR IS TI A N A N DEKS £N .
‘•The music is excellent—it even sets the
old Excellencies’ legs in motion, and they
think of dances in days of yore. The lac
queys move like Caryatides, with refresh
ments, through the closest circles; in a re
cess of the window stands Clara, prettier,
perhaps, than she ever was before. She is
in a white, transparent dress, which falls in
full, vapor-like folds, as if it were woven of
air and snow. Small bouquets of moss and
violets seem as if they were thrown on it.—
There is, as it were, a transparency in the
face, in the arm, in the whole figure. There
is an expression of bliss in that youthfully
fresh, charming face—a smile that owns more
magic than music and poetry; never before
has she been so beautiful—never before has
she smiled more happily; she is in conversa
tion with one of the princes, who leads her
to the dance. Frederick stands not far from
her, in a blue velvet court-dress, with large
diamonds. He sees her happy smile; he is
angry with her, without even being able to
account to himself for it.
“They meet in the dance and part again.
Holger enters just at this moment. Clara
has promised him her hand for the third
dance, and yet he is the last that arrives.—
But we must know the reason.
“ Holger was yesterday made a gentleman
of the bed-chamber. His tailor has been
sewing the whole night and day at his uni
form-made impossibilities possible—got it
ready for this ball, and only half an hour ago
was it delivered.
“ The red, gold-embroidered coat sits well
—the tight kerseymere trowsers are made to
admiration. Holger is strikingly handsome,
and he knows it. This is the first uniform
he has ever worn; it is the first title he has
received, except that of baron by right of
birth; and Clara has already discovered him,
and smiled to him. How much youthful
spirit and happiness can one heart not find
place for!
“Count Frederick, on the contrary, ap
pears all at once to be quite dissatisfied.—
The ball tires him;’ Clara’s smile is not pleas
ing to him, and not one dance has she for
him. ‘ Fourteen days ago, I was engaged
for them all,’ has she said, with a smile, which
he, in his present state of feeling, thought
was coquettish; ‘and now she dances with
Holger !’
“ They are a handsome couple, and they
are noticed. There is to them both a present
feeling of, ‘ The whole world is ours—all
the rest only figure around us!’ Is it Clara’s
smile, is it the music, or the new uniform
that fits so well, or, perhaps, all three, that
have their influence ? At this moment, it is
clear to Holger, as it never was before, that
he loves Clara —that he must tell her so—
that he would dance with her thus through
life—there is no sorrow, no sickness, nor
death!
“They now retire to a saloon; the cham
pagne explodes. Holger is happy as a god ;
eloquent and gay; and as lie again enters the
ball-room with Clara, his resolution is form
ed ; before the ball is ended, she must know
his feelings—know that he loves her—that
this is the first, all-powerful Jove.
“He has spirit, and he has a will that
must be acknowledged; and at this moment,
Herman sleeps quietly at home; at this mo
ment, Frederick is meditating if he shall, or
if he shall not, drive Clara to-morrow, at
noon, with the great sledge party, to Belle
vue. The music of the dance is, to the low
spirited wretch, like surging waves, that
make his spirit still moie a wreck; but the
glad and happy they only lift still higher.
Clara had quite forgotten Herman's amusing,
genial pictures—forgotten Frederick’s lively
sketches of his sea-trip—which she had be
fore listened to with so much delight. Hol
ger is the best dancer, the most attentive of
all, the most amiable. In the dance which
is now to begin, he will lead her out.
“With the “whole expression of a happy
being in his eyes and mien, he stands before
Clara, his blood and thoughts like cham
pagne; he bows low; with a jesting smile,
he then raises himself a full inch higher than
his wont, and then—is there magic at work 1
One would think so. Are men accompanied
by an invisible good or bad ? At the mo
ment that Holger rises, there occurs, sudden
ly, as it were, a transformation in him : his
lace becomes deeply crimsoned ; his move
ments are forced ; his words are no longer
buoyant; something of importance has hap
pened; his whole thoughts are divided be
tween Clara and—nay, it would sound too
terrible to pronounce the word suddenly.
“The least causes have often the greatest
effects. Holger no longer moves as before—
he even returns quite preposterous answers.
“This night he will not propose. Clara
still exists for Frederick, for Herman, for
him whom no one knows —for anybody. In
the midst of fascination’s brightest moment,
on the eve of love’s bold revelation; yes,
perhaps more than one, who has been in the
same situation, knows the agony with which
a man loses all his moral courage at such a
moment —and this Holger has lost: the joys
of youth, the pride of his new title, of his
well-made uniform—all are vanished. Clara
regards liim with an anxious look. The
thought strikes her—the unjust thought—it
is the wine !—-he has drunk too much cham
pagne !—and the halo around him is extin
guished! She knows not what injustice be
does him ; her eloquence becomes mute —she
involuntarily seeks Count Frederick—her
eye meets his; it is as if he smiled, as if he
understood her position; inclination is re
newed, and she inclines for Frederick. Hol
ger creeps behind the window-curtain for a
moment, and makes his appearance again ;
but he is no longer the same man. The
whole affair has been the most unfortunate,
but most innocent situation at a ball, that ev
er happened. It is reality’s most fearful
prose that has sverwhelmed him. When a
man is to be executed, it is the custom to
say, ‘ he is to lose his button.’ that is, to lose
his head ; and Holger has lost a button, and
with that his head. The brace-button behind
has come off his bright kerseymere inexpres
sibles ! Now the word is out, and now we i
can conceive his sudden blushing, the forced ;
deportment, the distracted thoughts, and the 1
preposterous answers. With that button
went courage and happiness, and Clara's
rapture. She accepted Frederick’s invita
tion, and they boih drove next day in the
sledge together to Bellevue. The train, con
sisting of forty-seven sledges, went from
Amalienborg, the royal residence. Princes,
diplomatists and young noblemen formed the
cortege. The bells tinkled, the variegated
nets fluttered over the horses’ backs and the
whips cracked. Frederick, in a bear-skin
cloak, with seal-skin boots and fur cap, had
Clara in his sledge, and they were ikion out
of the city. The crows flew over the white
snow, ‘caw, caw!'—every one greets in his
own way. Where the snow was deepest,
there these two were upset. It was like a
play It was a little adventure—it was a
splendid trip. ‘lt was an important trip,’
said the admiral’s lady. And why !
“The same evening, Frederick wrote to
his father that he loved Clara—that she had
accepted him. and that her excellent mother
had no objection to the match, provided his
father sanctioned it.
“‘That button!’ said Hoiger, when he.
heard it, ‘that —*— button is the cause of
the whole!’ anil he fell into deep musing.
“ Herman tore ali his drawings to pieces ;
they were too ideal. Everything was far
more discordant—far uglier. Copenhagen
was the most insupportable place; the men
and women, with very few exceptions—in
fact, without any—a collection of caricatures
and tediousness. Nay, not only Copenha
gen, but Sealand, Funen, the whole country,
was insupportable to him.
“ Was it Clara’s betrothal that cast this
shadow over the country and inhabitants or
had that poisonous seed his grandmother’s
words had sown in his heart, now shot up
and become an upas tree, that poisoned all
around him ? Such moments, in a mind
like Herman’s, nourish thoughts and deter
minations that often decide one’s whole fu
ture life.
“ The ball-room, on a winter’s forenoon,
after a ball, is an uncomfortable place: its
lustre is extinguished ; the music is mute ;
all the fresh joys of youth are gone; the
curtains hang heavily with dust; the candles
are burnt down in the sconces; the bass-viol
and such like mammoth instruments, lie like
mummies, and point to a life that was.
“Thus it looked, next morning, in the roy
al hall-room. In the middle of the floor there
lay a shining button, which the woman swept
away. That button it was, that had caused
Holger’s heart to look like the ball-room now
—void, uncomfortable, a mausoleum for a
button !”
A YANKEE ATTORNEY ON CAPITAL
PUNISHMENT.
The following oration was delivered some
where in Wisconsin, by one of the profession
who would seem to have quite an aversion
to capital punishment :
“May it please your Lordship and Gentle
men of the jury—The case is as clear > ice.
and sharp to the doin’as no from your sweet
-1 heart. The Scripture saith, “Thou shalt
! not kill;” now, if you hang my client, you
transgress the command as slick as grease
and as plump as a goose egg in a loafer's
! face. Gentlemen, murder is murder, wheth
er committed by twelve jurymen, or by a
humble individual, like my client. Gentle
men, I do not deny the fact of my client’s
having killed a man ; but is that any reason
why you should do so? No such thinggen
; tlemen. You may bring the prisoner in
“guilty;” the hangman may do his duty:
but will that exonerate you? No such
thing. In that case you will all be murder
ers! Who among you is prepared for the
brand of Cain to be stamped on his brow to
day ? w'ho, freemen, who, in this land of lib
erty and of light? Gentlemen, I will pledge
my word not one of you has a bow ie-knife or
a pistol in his pocket. No, gentlemen, your
pockets are odoriferous. You can smoke
the tobacco oi rectitude in the pipe of a peace
ful conscience; but hang my unfortunate
client, and the scaly alligatorsot remorse will
gallop through the internal principles of ani
mal Vertebras, until the spinal vertebrae ot
your anatomical construction is turned into a
railroad for the grim and gory goblins of des
pair.
Gentlemen, beware of committing murder !
Beware, l say, of meddling with the internal
prerogative ! Beware ! 1 say. Remember
the fate of the man who attempted to steady
th ark, and tremble. Gentlemen, l adjure
you by the manumitted ghost of temporal
sanctity, to do no murder. 1 adjure you by
the name of woman, the mainspring oi‘ the
t-eking timepiece of time’s theoretical trans
migration, to do no murder: I adjure you
by the love you have for the esculent and
co;i li.nental gusto of our native pumpkin, to
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