bring a blush to the cheek of the damsel he diverts by his witticisms.” We would not take Anthony Hamilton’s evidence in such matters for more than it is worth. There was, no doubt, a fair share of license in the pieces arranged for these puppets, or in the jests introduced by their invisible readers; and as regards their actions, M. Magnin himself tells us of the _houzarde_, an extremely _gaillarde_ dance, resembling that called the _antiquaile_ mentioned in Rabelais. Notwithstanding which, the marionettes were in great favour with very honest people, and Charles Perrault, one of the most distinguished members of the old French Academy, praised them in verse as an agreeable pastime. The jokes Brioché put into the mouths of his actors were greatly to the taste of the Parisians; so much so that when an English mechanician exhibited other puppets which he had contrived to move by springs instead of strings, the public still preferred Brioché, “on account of the drolleries he made them say.” That he was not always and everywhere so successful, we learn by a quaint extract from the _Combat de Cirano_, already mentioned. Brioché, says the facetious author, “one day took it into his head to ramble afar with his little restless wooden Æsop, twisting, turning, dancing, laughing, chattering, &c. This heteroclite marmouzet, or, better to speak, this comical hunchback, was called Polichinelle. His comrade’s name was Voisin. (More likely, suggests M. Magnin, the _voisin_, the neighbour or gossip of Polichinelle.) After visiting several towns and villages, they got on Swiss ground in a canton where marionettes were unknown. Polichinelle having shown his phiz, as well as all his gang, in presence of a people given to burn sorcerers, they accused Brioché to the magistrate. Witnesses declared that they had heard little figures jabber and talk, and that they must be devils. Judgment was pronounced against the master of this wooden company animated by springs. But for the interference of a man of sense they would have made a roast of Brioché. They contented themselves with stripping the marionettes naked. _O poveretta!_” The same story is told by the Abbé d’Artigny, who lays the scene at Soleure, and says that Brioché owed his release to a captain of the French-Swiss regiment then recruiting in the cantons. Punch at that time had powerful protectors. Brioché’s son and successor, Francis, whom the Parisians familiarly called _Fanchon_, having been offensively interfered with, wrote at once to the king. It would seem that, without quitting the vicinity of the Pont Neuf, he desired to transfer his standing to the Faubourg St Germains end, and that the commissaire of that district prohibited his exhibition. On the 16th October 1676, the great Colbert wrote to the lieutenant-general of police, communicating his majesty’s commands that Brioché should be permitted to exercise his calling, and should have a proper place assigned to him where he might do so.