messenger expostulated. " The king predicted
your objection, and charged me, therefore, to
assure you that his opinions were even more
republican than yours." "Then," the poet
persisted, turning on his heel, " the king is too
republican for me."

Inasmuch as most people do not carry their
"puritanism" to this excess, the professor of the
self-decorative arts has buckled to the noble task
of making the back staircase a pathway of roses.
He addresses authors and composers, to begin
with. The starting point of advice is that they
should obtain permission from crowned heads,
before dedicating their works to them. " This
formality is indispensable." Crowned heads, it
would seem, being alive to the saying that
dedication is a terrible weapon which the pamphleteer
or the court fiddler has in his hands. Here
follows an invaluable warning. " The sovereign
pontiff deigns to accept occasionally the
respectful homage of pious works, but his holiness
never accepts a dedication." The fortunate
receive a letter of acknowledgment from the
Pope's secretary; the superlatively happy—as
M. Artaud-Hausmann—are invested with the
title and insignia of a Knight of the Holy
Sepulchre: a dignity which authorises the happy
author or artist to enfold himself in a costume
of the middle ages, and to bear a blackcoat
enlivened with scarlet arms.

The professor passes at once to the Legion of
Honour, which is described as one of the most
highly prized. " It is the star which captivates
the sight, electrifies the soul, and the rays of which
brighten, like a beacon light, the genius which
the dark clouds of misery seek to roll into the
abyss of life." The professor can be eloquent.
The uses of the star of the Legion are more
than common foes have dreamt of, in their
philosophy. " The breast on which its favouring
light shines, is swollen with a noble pride. The
happy man who has deserved it is transformed
when he receives it. He metamorphoses
himself; and henceforth, exempt from even trivial
faults, he becomes the model of his companions
in the narrow path of honour and of duty."
In brief, the Cross of the Legion is a liberal
education, and a perpetual sermon. The uses
of the Legion and of other decorations having
been established, and it having been shown
that cross-hunting has become a popular sport,
the raison d'être of the professor's handy-book
is established. The next point is, where to
choose? Which shall be the happy hunting
grounds? There are one hundred and twenty-
three military and civil orders in the world.
France has one only—like Belgium, Monaco,
and Oldenburg; but then there are seven in
England, ten in Spain, nine in Prussia, eight in
Russia, eleven in Bavaria, and four even in
Hesse. Why, Nassau has two, and so has
Tunis. Here is an embarras de richesse for
the true hunter after honours. He can please
himself. He who is content with little birds
can display the fowler's arts in Bavaria, or have
a poetic tournée in the Grand Duchy of Hesse.
The wildest poetic twitter must surely bring
down Monaco. The handy-book is deficient in
one particular, that it does not inform the
order-hunter how the big-wigs of the Sandwich
Islands are to be captivated.

From the list of game we pass on—and in
this the order of the work is admirable—to the
imperial and royal owners of the preserves.
From these Greatnesses, we proceed in a straight
line to their gamekeepers, or ambassadors and
ministers in Paris. The hunter must now
choose for himself, and invent tactics proper
to his individual predicament. A few examples
are all the professor can afford, by way of
lessons. These are all in verse. It would
seem that stars and ribands are mostly to
be had for a song. The keen hunter keeps
his eye on the movements of courts; when
a foreign prince approaches within song-shot,
he twangs his harp, and pipes his loudest.
The professor appears to have had a busy time
of it, last year, when, crowns were as common as
nightcaps, on the banks of the Seine. The
Viceroy of Egypt was addressed in lofty numbers,
and Frenchmen were invited to dazzle his
eyes with splendid fêtes. William of Prussia
was told that France " thrilled with pride" at
his approach, and that of his royal cousins and
brothers. He is one of the most valiant
warriors of which this century has seen the birth,
at page 28: at page 14, his majesty was born
on the 22nd of March, 1797. Poetic licence
has no bounds when the song of triumph is
sounding, and a star, with a riband attached,
appears in the heavens. The hunter must be
equal to any occasion. He must be inspired in
a telegraph office, when the event demands
the effort. Our professor of the self-decorative
arts affords his readers the perusal of a poem
which he addressed last year to the Sultan, by
electric telegraph, telling his Majesty that
France would never forget the honour he was
on his way to pay her. The history of his
Majesty's exploits had charmed her, and her
pride was preparing " an immense success" for
him.

Fuad Pasha, "the intelligent minister whom
Europe appreciated," was laid under contribution.
"Oh! celebrated Pasha!" the professor
exclaimed, in his enthusiasm, keeping his
eye steadily fixed on his object. M. de
Bismarck was important, and he was addressed by
the professor in verse about which there could
be no mistake. It would be impossible to ask a
butcher for a cutlet in more downright
language. The professor's lady is the petitioner
to the gallantry of the count. The lady does
not beat about the bush for her bird; but tells
the Prussian king's minister she is astonished
at his forgetfulness of her husband's claims.
Since she is aware that justice is his invariable
rule of conduct, she raises her most bewitching
smile and adds, " dear count, repay his homage
to the king with an end of riband holding the
brilliants of a cross." He has been singing
twenty-five years in the courts of kings. The
lady's " Russian heart" is fretted at the delay
in the acknowledgment of his lyre: and she