The Sun.
London, England, 1866-01-26 00:00:00

THE BOUDOIR.

Mildred seemed brighter, and comparatively better, and
her white cheeks had picked up a little colour, as she
jumped off her horse (with unnecessary haste, Malvern
thought), before he could assist her, at the door of Farn-
brook House. What a metamorphosis ! What improve-
ments weie the beautiful new ceilings and cornices and the
large bay windows ; and how proud and delighted were the
masters of the house to show their renovations. The prin-
cipal rooms were still unfurnished, and great discussions
were taking place—or rather harangues ; for, to say the
truth, neither Mr. Fawkener nor his daughter could find
many words, though they tried hard to exert themselves.
" Come with me, Mildred,will you ?" said Malvern, lead-
ing the way through a swing door by a narrow passage,
into what appeared the only furnished room of the new
apartments. It was a fairy little spot, and the girl gave
Utterance to an exclamation of delight, as she entered a
small circular room like a little temple, opening on one
side to a little conservatory, blazing with flowers, and
heavy with perfume. The walls were pale grey, of a
silvery hue, with the silver cornices, arabesque designs and
ornaments which combined to produce an effect of opaline
tints. A frieze of Amorini representing the arts and
sciences, beautifully designed and executed, ran round the
top; and the curtains, sofas, chairs, and table-covers were
of a brilliant yet tender rose colour, which harmonised
with the china ornaments, that were all of the Rose de
Barry tint. Two Venetian looking-glasses, a candelabrum
with crystal drops, and a carpet, of the two prevailing co-
lours charmingly mingled, completed the decoration of the
new boudoir at Farnbrook House.

" How beautiful, bow exquisite !" said Mildred, as if
speaking to herself.
" With a pianoforte, and some books, and some luinta-
tures, and a dear, dear little lady to sit at the writing table,
or lie on the sofa—will it not do, Mildred ?" he half whis-
pered ; for now what Ernest had called the calm nature,
seemed agitated.
Had she heard aright ? Was her cup of bitterness quite
full. She did not dare speak or move, lest word or move-
ment should hasten a crisis.

Malvern went on speaking; but he did not look up to
her. "Do you know," he said, "my father was so hopeful,
so sanguine, that he wanted the two initials, the two M's
wreathed into a monogram with the little cornet above ;
but of course, darling, I did not dare. I had no reason to
feel quite so certain as poor Babbo did : he always believes
what he hopes. Still I flatter myself I have remembered
every word of a description you gave me some years ago—
grey and silver, and rose—will it do for you darling ? Is
it good enough ?—Will you come and pass your life in it,
if I try to make that life a happy one ?"

" Malvern !—friend, brother—what can I say—what can
I do ? How can I answer you! I have already so much
to bear : spare me this fearful, this awful trial. Oh, Ido
not believe there is on God's earth a living being more
miserable than I am."

What an answer, to a man who had looked for happy
smiles and loving words, breathing blessedness and hope
for his future life !

Here, too, we shall not give a hint as to the disen-
tanglement. Assuredly, so gallant a contrivance
deserved a worthier recompence! We take leave of
the fair Mildred, commending her, like the yet
more attractive Companion, to the favourable at-
tention of the novel-reader.

THACKERAY'S CHRISTMAS BOOKS-or at any rate
two of them, each having been long since out of print
—have just now been issued afresh from the press by
the Great Novelist's publishers, the Messrs. Smith,
Elder, and Co., of Cornhill. One of these two ex-
hilarating little volumes is that famous story about
a Holiday Excursion in Germany during the long
vacation, The Kickleburys on the Rhine—the best
thing in regard to which we still conceive to be that
most happy after-thought, consequent, in point of
fact, upon the onslaught directed against the first
edition of the work itself by a reviewer in the Times
—a reply prefixed since then to every subsequent
edition of " The Kickleburys" under the facetious
title of " An Essay on Thunder and Small Beer."
Better, however, by far than " The Kickleburys on
the Rhine," better even than that most delightful
apology for them, "The Essay on Thunder and
Small Beer," is the other Christmas Book here re-
published with it as a companion, the last of all
Thackeray's Christmas Books—that fantastic, ridi-
culous, and utterly preposterous Fireside Panto-
mime for Great and Small Children, The Rose and
the Ring, being the history of Prince Giglio and
Prince Bulbo. 0 the fun, the frolic, the laughter-
moving, side-splitting absurdities of the book, who
that has once dipped into it can have forgotten them.
The incongruity of the work—as one of the effusions
of a genius as tender, sand virile, and vigorous as
that of Thackeray—is a phenomenon hardly to be
described. It is Adonis laughing through a horse
collar. It is Hercules disporting himself in the
contortions of an acrobat. It is St. Leon dancing
a pas-seul in hob-nailed boots. It, is Edmund
Kean at Richardson's. It is d'Orsay in a shock-
ing bad hat. It is Eclipse harnessed between the
shafts of the sand-cart. It is the very tom-foolery
of genius—touched off alternately with incom-
parable quips of the pen and inimitable quirks of
the pencil. 0 the charming extravagance of the
nonsense of the ridiculousness of the tale here told
to us, here prattled to us, by the fabricator of this
Fireside Pantomime " 0 Mussy ! O Jemmany !
O Ciel 1 My Eyes ! What a' pretty girl"—for
instance—" is Betsinda !" Whether regarded as a
blooming chambermaid armed with a warming-
pan ! Or, as we first see her and hear her,—
dancing her dance, and eating her bun, and sing-
ing her song (the prettiest little baby song surely
that ever was penned!) in the Palace Garden—

O what fun
To have a plum bun,
How I wis
It never was done !
Gruffanuff, too, the royal porter, straddling with
his great calves on the palace, doorstep, making the
most odious vulgar sign (with his outspread fingers
and his thumb to his nose)—insolently jeering
the Fairy Blackstick until his impertinences die off
into dumbness with a " O—o —ll'm !P—At a wave
of her wand, when he is caught up and collapsed

and solidified into a brass-knocker ! The King,
again, smacked down by a blow from the warming-
pan (at the hands of Prince Giglio) as flat as a pan-
cake ! And Prince Bulbo tearing quantities of hair
out of his head, until it covers the room like so
much tow ! And the ravening lions roaring out--

Wurra wurra wurra wur-arr-aw-aw !
and gobbling up the Count Hogginarino bones,
boots and all, until there is an end of him !

From first to last it is altogether too ridiculous to
think of, to speak of, to write of, in any way seri-
ously. And yet—like the prettiness of Scrooge's
niece by marriage—that was " provoking you
know"—but, for all that, satisfactory, 0 perfectly
satisfactory.

tart titular.

HER MAJESTY•

OSBORNE, Thursday.
Their Serene Highnesses Prince Christian of
S€hleswig-Holstein and Prince Hermann of Haw"
lohe, attended by Lord Alfred Paget, visited the
Royal Victoria Hospital at Netley yesterday
morning.

Her Majesty drove out in a carriage and four in
the afternoon, accompanied by Princess Helena,
Princess Hermann of Hohenlohe, and Prince
Christian.

Sir George Grey arrived, and had the honour of
dining with the Queen and royal family.

The Prince and Princess of Wales.
LILLESHALL, SALOP, Thursday.
The Prince of Wales and party had a capital
day's shooting yesterday in the. Large Wood. This
is one of the finest coverts in the midland counties,
being upwards of 800 acres in extent, and yielded
the royal and distinguished sportsmen some excel-
lent shooting.
Shortly before two o'clock the Princess and the
Duchess, in her grace's pony carriage, proceeded
to join the shooters, her royal highness driving ;
they were preceded by Lady Gertrude Talbot and
Lady Adelaide Talbot, and followed by the re-
mainder of the ladies. The luncheon party in the
duke's shooting-box comprised the Prince and
Princess of Wales, the Duke and Duchess of Suther-
land, Earl and Lady Grosvenor, Lord and Lady
Hill, Lord and Lady Vane, Lord Shrewsbury,
Lady Gertrude Talbot, Lady Adelaide Talbot, Lord
and Lady Lichfield, the Earl of Dunmore, Earl
Sefton, Hon. T. Bourke, Major G. H. Grey, and
the Countess of Morton. The shooting box Was
tastefully decorated, and outside was a large motto,
" Welcome the Prince and Princess to Shropshire ;''
and others of a like character decorated the
interior.

At the conclusion of the day's sporting it was
found that a bag of nearly 800 head had been ob-
tained, which was considered a very fine bag for the
district. The Princess of Wales with the Duchess
walked in the beautiful grounds in the afternoon.
The party at dinner were the same as on the pre-
vious day.
This morning the Prince of Wales, Earl Grosve-
.nor, Lord Hill, Lord Shrewsbury, Lord Lichfield,
Lord Dunmore, Lord Sefton, Major Grey, and the
Hon. T. Bourke have joined the noble duke for
day's shooting in the Abbey Wood.
There will be a mall this evening at Lilleshall
House, and to-morrow (Friday) the Prince of
Wales, with the Duke of Sutherland, will proceed
to Crewe, and thence to Trentham, where the
Princess and Duchess will have arrived by road,
probably escorted by the Shropshire and Stafford-
shire Yeomanry.

A Sketch Evidently of Sir Wm. Ferguson.

-+-

On the black board by the door of a London hos-
pital there is attached by four wafers a simple an-
nouncement. Simple as it looks, it meets with a
very great notice, for as the students keep dropping
in, some in little knots, others singly, a good many
in pairs, the first thing they look at is the little sheet
of paper with but few words in print, and fewer in
writing upon it, " Has it begon - "-Is Mr. ---
here yet ?" are the constant questions addressed to
the important man with the zed collar on his coat
of blue. This functionary is the porter, whose chief
business consists in keeping order among the crowd
of people in the out-patients' room and in letting uP
and down a wooden bar to allow them as
their turn arrives access to the celebrities they
have come to consult. Let us follow the students as
they pass through the various passages and corridors
of the building. The out-patient practice has ne
charm for the students to-day. The physicians are
going their rounds alone ; for, however often the
theory may be enunciated that in rank the practice
of physic takes precedence of the practice of Bur"
gery, yet the fact remains patent that a brilliant
operator creates more enthusiasm than the best
physician, his test-tubes, stethescope, and microscope
notwithstanding. Passing up a narrow staircase,
we find ourselves at the top of a tier of steps, at the
bottom of which is the room proper. The bright rays
of the sun pass through the ample skylight, and dis-
cover a densely packed mass of people filling the gal-
lery. We are in the operating theatre of the hospital;
Around us we see, let into the walls, medallions 01
the great surgeons of old times—the apostles
of the art, whose names are held in veneration 11
their clever, eager followers of to-day. Here and
there among the students we have pale-faced, an-
xious looking men, who have called in during their
round of so-called " general practice." They have
come to see their former master operate—the our;
geon who is at the pinnacle of the profession and
who has earned fame, wealth, and now a title, 11
his talents, and who has been the instrument in God'O
hands of alleviating much human suffering and dis;
tress. In the area of the theatre there are signs °l'
the approaching operation. There is the peculisf
table that can extend and fold in all directions, wit',
its straps and appendages. There are the cans ecl
hot and cold water, the basins, the sponges, an
many other things. The surgical dressers flit about/
anxious that nothing shall be forgotten, and the
house surgeon, with ligatures ready in the button'
hole of his coat, is examining for the last time the
glittering array of knives and other instrunieutO
preserved in a case as delicately lined as a lady
jewel-box. By degrees the minor luminaries of the
medical and surgical staff of the hospital arrive, and
the students ranged above, so noisy of their college
in awarding approval to their favourite teachers,
only show here by a half-stifled buzz their reeegni-
tion. At last the lion of the hour arrives, a strong!
stalwart man, placid, cool, and smiling, the least
anxious of the whole assembly. A smothered roar
of approbation meets him as he lifts his eyes and
nods to the assembled crowd. A gesture of 134
hand checks any unseemly noise, for now the
patient is being carried in and laid tenderly ~
the cushioned table. The latter gives a sharP'
half-frightened glance above at the dense mass of
hushed, eager, and expectant students. The time
has at last arrived which has been in his thoughts
for days and weeks—aye, may be months. It is
moment of agony for the' poor man, in spite of
the care and kindness shown him. The great sur-
geon whispers in his ear and pats his back kinclll. ;n
The patient grasps the hand of his friend, and
o;
stantly another medical man fits the apparatus
inhalation of chloroform. In a little he is wander
but
ing in his talk, he gesticulates with his hands,
soon he drops off like a sleeping child. Qnjetll
turning up his cuffs awl giving a scrutinising glatijils
through the gleaming instruments spread on „ea
white-clothed tray,-the surgeon turns to the disea;be
limb. There is a dead stillness throughout
theatre as with steady hand the operator coolly „,,c1
rapidly proceeds. His knife is crimson now/
1";nd.
the warm red blood wells up and spurts arn
The saw is quickly used, and a few more dexterioo.
movements with the knife perfects the operstod
All the pumping arteries are caught and tied, i
tity
the parts are skilfully adjusted. Then the still bed
conscious patient is carried off to awake in ,ul;,,ge-
and find himself surrounded by all that skill'
eying
nuity, and wealth can bring to bear for st`,.,la
man. The surgeon has done his best within the
limit ; the issue rests with God ; for, " Excein.' that
Lord build the house, they labour in "'—
build it."—iledical Mirror.