mensity was here so generally admired. During an entire week the smaller journals abounded in allusions to the poor ox, and one heard everywhere the standing joke that he was gros, gras et bête, while in caricatures the procession of this half-fatted ox was parodied most disgustingly. It was indeed said that this year the cortège would be forbidden, but on happy second thought it was allowed. La marche du bœuf gras is now almost the only one remaining of so many popular jokes.[1] The throne of absolute autocracy (den absoluten Thron), the Parc aux Cerfs,[2] Christianity, the Bastile, and other similar institutions of the good old time, were destroyed by the Revolution—only the ox remains. So he is led in triumph through the town, crowned with flowers, amid the butchers' men, who are generally clad in helmets and armour, who have inherited from knights of yore, as their next of kin, this iron rubbish.
It is easy enough to understand the meaning of public masquerades, but much more difficult to understand the secret mumming which meets us everywhere under all circumstances. This higher and greater Carnival begins with the year and ends on the 31st of December. Its most brilliant
