ere lucky enough to find a young girl to pray for him. Then the
curse is removed, the punishment is over, and a celestial vessel, with
angels on the decks and "sweet little cherubs" fluttering about the
shrouds and the poop, appear to receive him.

This piece was acted at Franconi's, where, for once, an angel-ship was
introduced in place of the usual horsemanship.

One must not forget to mention here, how the English nation is satirized
by our neighbors; who have some droll traditions regarding us. In one of
the little Christmas pieces produced at the Palais Royal (satires upon
the follies of the past twelve months, on which all the small theatres
exhaust their wit), the celebrated flight of Messrs. Green and Monck
Mason was parodied, and created a good deal of laughter at the expense
of John Bull. Two English noblemen, Milor Cricri and Milor Hanneton,
appear as descending from a balloon, and one of them communicates to the
public the philosophic observations which were made in the course of his
aerial tour.

"On leaving Vauxhall," says his lordship, "we drank a bottle of Madeira,
as a health to the friends from whom we parted, and crunched a few
biscuits to support nature during the hours before lunch. In two hours
we arrived at Canterbury, enveloped in clouds: lunch, bottled porter:
at Dover, carried several miles in a tide of air, bitter cold,
cherry-brandy; crossed over the Channel safely, and thought with pity of
the poor people who were sickening in the steamboats below: more
bottled porter: over Calais, dinner, roast-beef of Old England;
near Dunkirk,--night falling, lunar rainbow, brandy-and-water; night
confoundedly thick; supper, nightcap of rum-punch, and so to bed. The
sun broke beautifully through the morning mist, as we boiled the kettle
and took our breakfast over Cologne. In a few more hours we concluded
this memorable voyage, and landed safely at Weilburg, in good time for
dinner."

The joke here is smart enough; but our honest neighbors make many
better, when they are quite unconscious of the fun. Let us leave plays,
for a moment, for poetry, and take an instance of French criticism,
concerning England, from the works of a famous French exquisite and man
of letters. The hero of the poem addresses his mistress--

Londres, tu le sais trop, en fait de capitale,
Est-ce que fit le ciel de plus froid et plus pale,
C'est la ville du gaz, des marins, du brouillard;
On s'y couche a m