hon,
seen in a heavenly upper storey, fixed to stakes, contemplating a dead
mother and her child, slain in their happy home, the wounds very
sanguine and visible, the only remaining relict being a child of very
tender years in an overturned cradle; beneath is the inscription "Their
Works." Communal art seems also to have been very severe upon landlords,
who are depicted with long faces and threadbare garments, seeking alms
in the street, or flying with empty bags and lean stomachs from a very
yellow sun, bearing the words "The Commune, 1871." Whilst as a contrast,
a fat labourer, with a patch on his blouse, luxuriates in the same
golden sunshine. As a sample of the better kind of French art, we give
two fac-similes, by Bertal, from _The Grelot_, a courageous journal
started during the Commune; it existed unmolested, and still continues.
We here insert a fac-simile of a sketch called "Paris and his
Playthings."

"What destruction the unhappy, spoiled, and ill-bred child whose name is
Paris has done, especially of late!

"France, his strapping nurse, put herself in a passion in vain, the
child would not listen to reason. He broke Trochu's arms, ripped up
Gambetta, to see what there was inside. He blew out the lantern of
Rochefort; as to Bergeret himself, he trampled him under foot.

"He has dislocated all his puppets, strewed the ground with the _debris_
of his fancies, and he is not yet content,--'What do you want, you
wretched baby?'--'I want the moon!' The old woman called the Assembly
was right in refusing this demand,--'The moon, you little wretch, and
what would you do with it if you had it?'--'I would pull it to bits, as
I did the rest.'"

Further on will be found "Paris eating a General a day" (Chapter
LXXVIII). Early in June, 1871 there appeared in the same journal "The
International Centipede," "John Bull and the Blanche Albion." The Queen
of England, clad in white, holding in her hands a model of the Palace of
Westminster, and sundry docks, resists the approach of an interminable
centipede, on which she stamps, vainly endeavouring to impede the
progress of the coil of fire and blood approaching to soil and fire her
fair robe; beside her stands John Bull, in a queer mixed costume, half
sailor, with the smalls and gaiters of a coalheaver. He bears the Habeas
Corpus Act under his arm, but stands aghast and paralysed, it never
seeming to have occurred to the artist that this "Monsieur John Boule,
Esquire," was