The Press. — London, England, 1856-12-20 00:00:00

DECEMBER 20, 1856. --- The advent of the three citadines did not occasion any c hange in his posture ; he did net even wink, an ominous sign indeed to the initiated. " Avez vous les appartemengs?" asked Mr. Paragreen, walking straight up to this composed personage. a ai not shore," replied the gentleman of the shirt sleeves, languidly rising. " Je viens de Mr. Joliffe, alderman of Londres," con tinned Mr. Paragreen. This emphatic announcement made no visible im pression on Shirtsleeves, who shuffled his way to a sort of wooden cage in the court-yard, tapped at its window, ex changed some words with the person on the perch within, and received a key. Ole nay, Sar," and up a stair he pattered. " premier stage, s'il vous plaize, said Mr. Paragreen, be nevolently. " Fust dour he is full," replied Redalippers, who stuck as fast to his English as the retired cork merchant to his French, continuing his ascent as long as there were stairs o allow of the proceeding. Here he ushered Mr. Para green into a tolerably-sized room with two beds, and within which was a light closet with one bed; the furniture of both rooms scanty, and not over clean. •• Trop haut et trop petitte," observed Mr. Paragreen, adding, in an explanatory tone, " manque un lit pour douce." Ponr douze!" cried the Frenchman, startled for the first lime out of his phlegm and hie English. " Pour donee," affirmed Mr. Paragreen, putting out two fingers. " Ah ! I comprehend, pour deux—verry good—we put a matelss to the ground." Mr. Paragreen hesitated a moment, and then asked, " Combien la prix?" " Two guinees for night." " Bless my heart !" exclaimed Mr. Paragreen, in his turn giving up his French in his amazement; " two gui for such a hole !" neas a la.- " It is to take or to leave," said Shirtsleeves, calmly. " Then I leave it, sir," said Mr. Paragreen, tartly, going down the many flights of stairs like an India rubber ball, and repeating to himself, " Bless my heart ! two guineas fur such a hole !—wish you joy of it, my man, wish you joy !" " Yell?" inquired Mrs. Paragreen. " Impudent rascal !" said Mr. Paragreen. "Do you know what he asked? Only two guineas a night! Two guineas, ma'am (laughing irately), for two dirty pigeon- holes at the very top of the house—they would be dear at half a crown. Lucky that lam not one to buy a pig in a poke." " Ou allons nous?" asked the coachman. " Chez I'_l-16te1," replied Mr. Paragreen. " Quel Hotel ?" " Tousles Hotels," answered Mr. Paragreen. Then they went here, there, and everywhere, and, like other foolish travellers (we wore once all "untravelled "), they returned, whence they came, when too late : Shirtsleeves, with his white cravat and red slippers, was sitting on the same chair, puffing away at a cigar as before, in a reverie that prevented his noticing the three citadines, or hearing the voice of Mr. Paragreen calling to him from the coach window. Mr. Paragreen had to drink the dregs of the cup of bitterness, and get once more out of the citadine, and go up to the unruffled waiter. "Je prends des appartemengs," he said. " No apartments now," returned the smoker, laconically. " I mean the rooms you showed me two hours ago." " Gone—taken," replied Shirtsleeves, sending forth a remarkable column of smoke through his nose. " I will give two guineas and a half," urged the Eng. lishman. " Not for a oondred dousand pounds," pronounced the despot in red slippers. Then the streets became quiet, and the Peek hamites had to pass the Light in their hack ney coaches, and were glad in the morning to get into an hotel, which an English family were leaving. That time they took care not to demur about charges. It would be spoiling the interest of our readers if we were to tell them of the mis adventures encountered by the Paragreens. We shall give some specimens of the variety of the author's style. Like other suburban ex plorers of the Continent, the Paragreens were fortunate enough to encounter a real "Prince," and they went afterwards to be formally pre sented to him, when the following scene took place : The Prince's private secretary was a handsome, intelli• gent•looking man of thirty, speaking English fluently, and whose highbred manners attested a familiarity with the best society. N k , Pray be sea t e d," an d h e pl ace d himself at his own desk. ow, Sir, will you kindly favour me with your name?— Sylvester Pappegreen ?" "Paragreen, Paragreen, Sir," protested the owner of that name. " I beg pardon —no title ?—Esquire ?—Sylvester Para. green, Esquire, of Eden Villa, Peckham. And you, Madam?—Mrs. Theodora Paragreen —one of the Joliffes Of Hackney, you say? Ah ! indeed ! Now, then, the name of the person who presented you at Court—at the Court of St. , Tames, I mean." The husband and wife are struck dumb. Mr. Paragreen strokes his nose violently. " Dear me," cries Mrs. Paragreen, recovering her speech, must you have that?" THt PRESS. " indeed I must, it is indispensable," returns the Secre• tary ; " at least—" " How awkward !" sighs the lady. "To tell you the truth, Sir, we have not been presented at Court yet; but my cousin, Alderman Joliffe, has." When I say indispensable," resumes the Secretary, " I mean with reference to admission, according to rule—by the grand entrance : but there is the book door "—laying a great stress on the word. " Is there ?" cries the lady eagerly. " Which opens with a golden key," winds up the man in black. " With a golden key !! " repeated Mr. Paragreen. " Yes, with a golden key," returned the imperturbable Secretary. " I take it for granted, thatyou would not think much of a twenty-pound note or so." " Certainly not," said Mrs. Paragreen, with sharp decision. " Twenty pounds ! " exclaimed Mr. Paragreen ; " pray, air, may I ask what for?" " For smoothing away little difficulties—with the Great Chamberlain," replied the Secretary, winking and smiling significantly. " I understand," said the wife, brightening up. " I don't understand," cried the husband, growing gloomy. But if Mr Paragreen made mistakes about " Princes'' and other mighty personages, fortune gave him amends b) having himself taken for a baronet and an M.P. Mr. Para green went to a restaurant and ordered dinner : The waiter handed Mr. Paragreen the printed " Carte du Restaurant," a pencil and a slip of paper. " Pourquoi?" asked the Enplishraan, staring at the three articles. " Pour ecrire le menu de votre dicer, Monsieur," answered the waiter, and disappeared. " Let us see," said Mr. Paragreen. " Bless my soul ! what a confusion—Potages a la Julienne—au riz—au ver micelle—aux macaroni "—(" Faugh !" cried Mrs. Para green, in dusgust. ) " Bisque aux ecrevisses—what do you say to that ? —good—we'll put it down then. Shall we have anguilles a la tartate ?'" " What is that ?" cried Mrs. Paragreen. " Why, I don't know—it looks well in print." " Suppose it's only another name for frogs." " Oh, frogs, my dear, have only one name, green•owls, you know—however, we woc't have the tartares. Ah ! here's something capital—piite de foie gras." " Ard potatoes, pa," put in Tobo, a great amateur of that tubercle. Pate de foie gras," wrote Mr. Paragreen, " aux pommel de terre." And thus, putting one dish after the other to the vote, for no other reason than its looking well in print, and having it accepted or refused merely as it sounded plea santly or unpleasantly, Mr. Paragreen succeeded in con cocting a menu, enough to have raised Mr. Vatel from his grave, and caused him to commit suicide over again. The waiter cast the glance of a critic over the piper, and uttered these words full of wondering reproach, " Vous no voulez donc pas de roti, Monsieur?" " Oh oui, rtiti, to be sure," said Mr. Paragreen, em barrassed. " vous commander des brochettes d'ortolans ?" " Oui, tres bun, brochettes d'ortolongs—et," proceeded Mr. Paragreen, " cette chose, you know, vous savez, 1 mean—cette chose qui est si grusse et "—and to illustrate his meaning he puffed out his cheeks, and began blowing away as if he wets a pair of bellows. " Omelette souftlee," said this (Edipus, to whom such inquiries had been propounded hundreds of times before, " omelette souillee." Then they heard " a lord " and a French marquis talking with each other : The Paragreens followed this conversation with interest , not because the discourse was of dukes, castles, and parks, but because two noblemen were the interlocutors. To be sure, a mere French marquis could not be of much im portance to people who had a prince, so to say, for their intimate friend ; but to breathe the same atmosphere, to feed perhaps on the same potages and brochettes as a lord, a real English lord, that was a treat they could not hope for every day. As to his being a real lord, that was self. evident, they could have sworn to the fact. Only remark the ease with which he dangles his cane, and the noble freedom with which he scans, through his glass, the features of the grown-up ladies present—such ease and freedom could belong to none but a lord. His lordship having stared at the feminine part of our family to his heart's content, now condescends to cast his aristocratic eyes over their masculine accompaniment; his glance lingers a moment on Mr. Paragreeu, when, lo ! as if electrified, his lordship starts forwards, crying, with outstretched hands, " Sir Andrew !—by Jove !—delighted —how long have you been in Paris ?" The chief of the Paragreens, half proud, half abashed, regrets that be has not the honour—there is a mistake— and, bowing low, he begs to make himself known to his lordship as Mr. Paragreen, of Eden Villa, Peckham. Is it possible? I beg a thousand pardons—really, were it not for the voice, I should itnagine it was Sir Andrew giving me the cut direct—Sir Andrew Narquotick, M.P. for Dunahshire—very likely you know him—l never saw such a likeness. ' Pon my word, it is ridiculous, one drop of water is not more like another drop of water than you are to the worthy baronet." They paid dearly for making the acquaintance of " his lordship," as this veritable history records. We have noticed this little volume at such length because it is one of the light " hits" of the present season. It is extremely pleasing Xl7 and amusing, and its flavour is " Pickwickian:' The characters lack individualism, and the style is more remarkable for its facile flowing ease, than for originality. We think this author might produce a serial novel that would be equal to any of Mr. Lever's sprightly fictions. The Life and Correspondence of Major-General Sir John Malcolm, G.C.B. By J. W. Kaye, Author of the " Life of Lord Metcalfe.' Two Vols. London : Smith and Elder. (Second Notice.) To return to the personal fortunes of Mal colm. Between his second and third visits to Persia he was employed to quell the disaffeo tion (it can hardly be called mutiny) of the Madras army. The office was an ungracious one. Malcolm had much sympathy with the grievances of the officers, and failed to take those vigorous measures which the Indian Government thought were called for. He was soon recalled, and a minute was recorded that he had not acted up to his instructions. He came to England in 1812, bringing his family with him. He had married, in 1807, Miss Charlotte Campbell, a daughter of Colo nel Campbell, who subsequently became Com mander-in-Chief of the Madras Army. At the time of his marriage Malcolm was eight and thirty. He had not, however, lost the capacity of loving, and when his wife presented him with a daughter he was completely happy. His residence in England lasted five years ; he was received with honour, and knighted by the King. His journal during this period contains several most interesting passages. He renewed his acquaintance with the Duke of Wellington in Paris, immediately after the battle of Waterloo : Paris, July 24, 1815.—1 went to the Duke's hotel. . . . We found the Duke with a large party seated at dinner. He called out in his usual manner directly I entered, " Ah Malcolm, lam delighted to see you." I went and shook hands, introduced Lord John Campbell, and then sat down. I mention this trifle because it showed me at once that his astonishing elevation had not produced the slightest change. The tone, the manner, everything was the same. After dinner he left a party he wss with when I entered, and, shaking me by the band, retired to one end of the room, where he shortly stated what had occurred within the eventful month. " People ask me for an account of the action." he said. " I tell them it was hard pounding on both sides, and we pounded the hardest. There wail no manoeuvring," be said ; " liuonaparte kept his attacks, and I was glad to let it be decided by the troops. There are no men in Europe that can fight like my Spanish infantry; none have been so tried. Besides," he added with enthusiasm, "my army and I know one another exactly. We have a mutual confidence, and are never dis appointed." " You had, however," I observed, " mere than one-half of your troops of other nations." " That did not signify," he said," for I had discovered the secret of mixing them up together. Had I employed them in separate corps, I should have lost the battle. The Hanoverians," he added, " are good trcops, but the new Dutch levies are bad. They, however, served to fill gaps, and I knew where to place them." . . . Alan and myself expressed our gratification at seeing the state of the hospitals at Brussels, and told him how delighted we were to find that through the discipline he had established, and the good conduct of the troops, the English character stood so high that the name was a passport to the houses of those they had con quered. Thus, early after Waterloo, the Duke seems to have contemplated that Anglo-French alliance which is now universally accepted as part of our national policy : I remarked that he had taken advantage of an event which staggered credulity—that of an English army occu• pying the capital of France—to act in a manner thc. was calculated to soften the asperity and lessen the hatred of two great rival nations. " That very observation," he replied, " was made to me some days ago by Talleyrand." The whole of Malcolm's journal at this time is excellent. The Duke was accustomed to drive himself through the streets of Paris in a gig at a rapid rate. "He drives so fast," said Malcolm, "that T am astonished he has " not been upset." Here is an observation of the Duke, which may servo to account for the disaster of the Balaklava death-ride : Nothing is so difficult to manage as cavalry. They slip through your hands (he added) whether you advance or retreat rapidly. Changes should be made (he concluded) with reserves, or misfortune is always certain. It w•as during this residence in England that Malcolm finished and published his " History of Persia." He went back to India a renovated man, and, fortunately for his repu tation as a soldier, was appointed to command a division of the army of the Deccan sent against the Mabratta force under Uolitar.