The FIRST SERIES of "THE COMIC ALMANACK," from 1835 to 1843, a nine years' gathering of the Best Humour, the Wittiest Sayings, the Drollest Quips, and the Best Things of Thackeray, Hood, Mayhew, Albert Smith, A'Beckett, Robert Brough, with nearly one thousand Woodcuts and Steel Engravings by the inimitable Cruikshank, Hine, Landells—

Probable Effects of Over Female-Emigration, or Importing the Fair Sex from the Savage Islands in Consequence of Exporting all our own to Australia!!!!!

"THE APPROACH OF BLUCHER.—INTREPID ADVANCE OF THE 1ST FOOT."

Always avoid reading the preamble, which is likely to confuse rather than to enlighten. It sets forth not what the act is to do, but what it undoes: and confuses you with what the law was, instead of telling you what it is to be.

When you come to a very long clause, skip it altogether, for it is sure to be unintelligible. If you try to attach one meaning to it, the lawyers are sure to attach another; and, therefore, if you are desirous of obeying an act of Parliament, it will be safer not to look at it, but wait until a few contrary decisions have been come to, and then act upon the latest.

When any clause says either one thing or the other shall be right, you may make sure that both will be wrong.

HINTS ON ECONOMY.

It is customary to advise that a shilling should be made to go as far as it possibly can; but surely this would be to throw a shilling away, by making it go so far as to prevent any chance of its coming back again.

A penny saved is said to be twopence earned; so that if you have twopence and save a penny, you have twopence still; and if the twopence be saved till the next day, it will be fourpence; so that at the end of the week it will amount altogether to ten shillings and eightpence. We recommend all very young beginners to try the experiment by putting a penny away to-day, when, if the proverb holds good, it will have become twopence by to-morrow.

"A pin a day is a groat a year;" and it will be advisable if any one doubts the fact, to go and offer three hundred and sixty-five pins at any respectable savings' bank—when, if the proverb be literally true, he will be credited to the amount of fourpence.

"Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day;" and, therefore, if you mean to do a creditor, it is better not to put him off, but to tell him honestly that you have put him down among the things to be done immediately.

HINTS TO EMIGRANTS.

A dealer in pencils should not go to Pencil-vain-here; nor would a man stand a better chance at Botany Bay because he might have a knowledge of botany.

To very hot climates, where there is no glass in the windows, it would be madness in the glazier to take the panes to emigrate.

A highly respectable meeting of some of the most influential Wines, Beers, and Spirits, was held for the purpose of considering the best means of opposing the Temperance Movement. Among those on the platform we particularly noticed Port, Sherry, and Claret; while at the lower end of the room were Cape, Marsala, and a deputation from the British Wines, who were represented by the Two-and-Twopenny Sparkling Champagne, more familiarly known as the "Genuine Walker." Most of the principal wines wore the silver collars of the orders to which they respectively belonged; and Port having been unanimously voted into the chair, the business of the meeting was opened by Corkscrew, in a concise but pointed manner.

Champagne was the first to rise, in a state of great effervescence. He declared that he was frothing over with pure indignation at the idea of wine being excluded from the social board; and, indeed, he found it impossible to preserve the coolness which ought to belong to him. He was not one to keep anything long bottled up—("Hear," and a laugh);—indeed, when he once let loose, out it must all come: and he did say that the temperance movement was playing Old Gooseberry with him in every direction.—(Cries of "Shame!" from the Genuine Walker.)

Claret said that he did not often get into a state of fermentation; but on this occasion he did feel his natural smoothness forsaking him. He begged leave to propose the following resolution:—"That the substitution of water for wine is likely to dissolve all social ties, and is calculated to do material injury to the constitution."

Rum rose, he said, for the purpose of opposing this resolution, which he thought of too sweeping a character. He (Rum), so far from wishing to get rid of water altogether, was always happy to meet with it on equal terms; and he knew that he (Rum), as well as many of his friends around him, had derived a good deal of their influence from being mixed up with water, and going, as it were, half-way; which there could be no objection to.

Gin begged leave to differ from the honourable spirit that had just sat down, and who was so unaccustomed to be on his legs at all, that it was not surprising he should have failed to make a 4respectable stand on the present occasion.—(Cries of "Order!")—He (Gin) had no wish to create confusion.—(Ironical cheering from Marsala.)—He understood the meaning of that cheer; and would certainly confess that the honourable beverage—for he would not use the stronger term of wine—(A laugh)—was not likely to create confusion in any quarter. No; he (the honourable beverage) was not strong enough for that.—(Renewed laughter.)—He (Gin) had, perhaps, suffered more from water than all the other wines and spirits whom he now saw before him put together. His reputation had been materially hurt by it; and he was strongly of opinion that the only thing to be done with water is to throw it overboard.—(Hear, hear.)

A French Wine, whose name we could not learn, let something drop, but we were unable to catch it.

Cape now rose, but was immediately coughed down in a very unceremonious manner.

The thanks of the meeting having been voted to Port for his able conduct in the decanter, the meeting separated; but not until a committee had been chosen, consisting of a dozen of wine and a gallon of beer, with power to add to their number, either by water or otherwise.

PREDICTIONS FOR JANUARY.

In examining the horoscope it seems to embrace a wide scope of horrors. There will be dark days for England, which we must be prepared for by lighting candles. After New Year's Day there will be many broils, and Turkey will be torn to pieces by domestic violence.

THE GARDEN.

If anything is done in the garden at this time of the year, perhaps the best thing will be to run about in it. Do not attempt to move any of your trees, but keep your junior branches moving as much as possible. This is the best time to take your shrub in-doors; but it should be rum shrub, watered in moderation, and taken at night over a cheerful fire.

DECISIONS IN HILARY TERM.

The property in a lodger's possession may be seized for rent due from a tenant, but it does not appear that the lodger's self-possession can legally be taken away from him.

A flaw in a lease will not always let in the heir, but the air is frequently let in by a flaw in the building.

When a conveyance has already sufficient parties, it has been held that the remainder man may be shut out. This was decided in the cases of Podger versus the driver and conductor of the Atlas Omnibus.

If a party offers to pledge himself, semble, that a pawnbroker cannot be compelled to take him in, though it is done frequently.

It is not yet decided whether the new Act for the Protection of the Queen's Person, which inflicts a penalty for presenting fire-arms at the Queen's person, does or does not extend to the sentinels on duty, who present arms at Her Majesty whenever she leaves the Palace.

The New Poor Law Act, prohibiting all out-door relief, does not apply to trees, which may be re-leaved out of doors at the usual period.

It is a question whether, by the recent law, which says that all children under five are to be carried gratuitously in any stage-carriage, a mother may insist on claiming free passage for four children by any public conveyance.

It has been decided that the Act giving the net proceeds of a slave ship to the captors, does not mean that they are only entitled to the fish caught in nets on board the vessel.

The Court of Queen's Bench has declared, that a minor under the age of ten years cannot legally be a miner since the passing of the Mines and Collieries' Regulation Act.

MONTHLY OBSERVATIONS.

The depth of rain may be ascertained by placing a common stick in an ordinary puddle; or, to walk into one will answer the same purpose. If there should be ice in your water-jug, Moore says, "Look for its continuance;" but we say, "Look for something to break it, and put an end to it." If there is much fog, it will be useless to look for anything.

USEFUL REMARKS.

A Cure for Toothache:—Extraction is out-and-out the best remedy for this malady.

The Moon—we mean Mr. Sheriff Moon—will be in his second quarter all the month. For the hours of rising, apply in Thread-needle Street.

GENERAL CHARACTER OF THE WEATHER.

The character of the weather is rather violent at this time of the year; for it generally knocks down the thermometer, and is guilty of other very cool proceedings.

THE END OF PHEASANT SHOOTING.
THE SONG OF THE GAME.

PATENTS FOR INVENTIONS.

Patents will, it is expected, be granted—

To Sir Robert Peel; for a new and most efficacious manner of sweeping by machinery, as exemplified in his very sweeping machinery of the Income Tax.

To Lady Sale; for carrying Britannia metal to a high degree of perfection.

To Drs. Newman and Pusey; for an entirely new method of introducing heat into churches.

To Lord Brougham; for the application of rotatory motion, with a view to obtaining power.

To the Chancellor of the Exchequer; for an extension of the use of the screw, so as to augment its pressure.

To the Poor Law Commissioners; for a new method of diminishing pauperism by reducing the number of paupers; and also for an improved process of grinding.

To Daniel O'Connell; for a most effectual method of draining Ireland.

In turning our attention to the infant mind, we have discovered that it is a sort of compound of caoutchouc and wax, the caoutchouc being to the wax about two and a-half to one and three-quarters; so that more whacks will be found requisite to give it a proper tone for educational purposes. There is no doubt that children, like grape-vines, prizefighters, scarlet-runners, and jockeys, are capable of training. The mode of training jockeys, which is to keep them on short diet, so as to diminish their weight, we strongly recommend for the training of pauper children; because, as they are necessarily a burden to the parish, it is only fair that they should be as light a burden as possible.

The introduction of Mr. Hullah's system of Singing for the Million we do not recommend. It increases the appetite by exercising the lungs; and it has been ascertained that if thirty children are taken, of whom fifteen have just sung God Save the Queen, and fifteen have not, the fifteen who have sung God Save the Queen will eat one-sixteenth more than the fifteen others. This was tried with a round of beef and some boys belonging to the Model School at Battersea. The beef, when divided by those who had not been singing, went once into fifteen and something over; but the boys who had been singing went twice into the beef, and left the remainder nothing.

With regard to dancing, we are inclined to believe that it may safely be made a portion of the training of pauper children. It would certainly give facility to their future steps in life, and enable them to turn themselves round after they leave the workhouse. We are also disposed to think that the great demand for cherubs, which is likely to arise by the opening of the large theatres for opera and ballet, will render the "dancing of pauper children" an important source of parochial revenue. With a view to the introduction of dancing into pauper schools, we have caused a copy of the following questions to be addressed to the master of every union workhouse:—

"1. Inquire the state of all the pauper children's toes, and how they are likely to turn out.

"3. Inquire the age at which the dancing days are usually said to be over.

"4. Cause an investigation into the meaning of the familiar term 'leading him a pretty dance;' which is believed to be a sort of pas de do between a debtor, who is out of the way, and a creditor.

10"2. Ascertain the number of bow-knees and bandy-legs throughout the school, and divide them into tables, distinguishing the ages of the respective owners."

The Commissioners have little doubt that dancing was originally taught in our colleges; and they think they need only point to the College Hornpipe as a proof of their hypothesis. Sir Christopher Hatton, whose dancing attracted the attention of Queen Elizabeth, probably imbibed his knowledge of the art from one of our great seats of learning; and the Commissioners think it very natural that a good dancer should be capable of filling the first position. It is not unlikely that he was selected to fill the office of Lord Chancellor from his proficiency in the double-shuffle, or from his knowing when to change sides, turn round, and go back to places.

It is to the Commissioners a most refreshing fact that one experiment they have made of a charity ball has been attended with complete success; for a lesson in mathematics is found to combine with a lesson in dancing. The pupils were observed to describe very accurately with their legs a series of the most difficult angles, which they had often very vainly attempted to achieve by the aid of the compasses.

In conclusion, the Commissioners strongly recommend that the masters of workhouses should be instructed to take the proper steps for introducing the art of dancing, as a portion of the future training of pauper children.

PREDICTIONS FOR MARCH.

About the twenty-fifth tenants may look for their landlords; but landlords will, some of them, look in vain for their tenants.

GARDENING OPERATIONS.

Now is the time to force your cucumbers; but if they will not come by being forced, try what can be done by persuasion. All your efforts will be useless if the cucumbers themselves are not in the right frame.

OBSERVATIONS.

The prevalence of the wind is so great in the month of March that the trees generally begin blowing.

The sun will certainly enter Aries on the 19th; which is perhaps a reason for pulling down the kitchen-blinds; but this is optional.

THE MARCH OF INTELLECT.

Lest novelty should receive a check from the cessation of inventions, it is intended to construct a new railroad, to be called the Electro-Intellecto-Mesmeric Railroad, the object of which will be to expedite the March of Intellect.

One of the peculiar features of this railroad will be the use of brass instead of iron for the trains; and, as the projectors possess an inexhaustible stock of the former article, there will be no difficulty in procuring it.

Another peculiar feature of this railroad will be, that the shareholders may act as sleepers.

One of the peculiar advantages of the Electro-Intellecto-Mesmeric Railroad consists in there being no occasion for steam, the power of raising the wind by the most active and continued puffing being considered sufficient to carry all matters to the terminus of popularity.

There are already two or three engines in the possession of the projectors, one of which is the Humbug Locomotive, of very considerable power.

It is intended to celebrate the opening of the line by a grand march of intellect; Lord Brougham and the projector of the Aerial Ship have both promised to attend. The latter will refute the assertion as to the Aerial Ship having been thrown up; for, instead of being thrown up, it has never been elevated in the smallest degree, nor is such an event at all likely to happen.

Rent is the price of land; but there is some rent that is not the price of land: for instance, it must be said of the Repeal Rent, that there is no real ground for it.

An English acre will sometimes yield six per cent.; but the Irish wiseacres have been known to yield much more. It must, however, be remembered that in the latter case draining has been carried to the greatest extent possible.

Rents in England go up when the country is settled; but in Ireland it is quite the reverse: for the Repeal Rent rises when the people are worked up, and it is then they appear willing to come down with it.

The profit of a landlord and the profit of a shopkeeper partake equally of the character of rent. The former lives by tilling his land, and the latter by putting into a till (which is the same thing as tilling) his money.

It is an obvious truth in political economy that the more rent a tenant has to pay, the more a landlord will have to receive, and the better it will be for him. Thus, if a tenant pays no rent for a whole year, more rent will be due, and the value of the property would seem to be increased; at all events, the landlord's claim would be a larger one than if the rent had been regularly paid every quarter.

If a farmer pays five pounds a quarter for his farm, and gets twenty shillings a quarter for his corn, he may consider the difference between the maximum of one and the minimum of the other as the mean product.

The landlord and the tenant equally profit by consumption: for the more that is consumed, the greater the value of what is left. Thus, if a fire consumes a haystack, or consumption of a galloping nature carries off a horse, the owner would, according to political economists, be all the richer for it.

Capital and labour belong legitimately to the subject of rent. The greatest labour is sometimes employed in raising capital; as in the case of the labour bestowed on raising the capital for the statue of the Nelson column. Labour is often intimately connected with rent, for in some neighbourhoods there is a vast deal of labour in collecting it.

Quarter-day is the day when rent comes due. But, when due, it does not always come; and a landlord who expects his rent punctually at the quarter is too sanguine by half.

QUARTER DAY

A few gentlemen having taken the air for the purposes of building, have formed themselves into a Company, and are anxious to let in a limited number of the public. A surveyor, employed to survey the air, has reported that he sees nothing to obstruct the views of the Company. It is one of the peculiar advantages of this Association that there need be no outlay for land; and the great hope of success in this speculation arises from the fact that there is no ground for it. The Company will apply to Parliament for an Air-Enclosure Bill, on the same principle as the proposed measure for shutting up Hampstead Heath; but, in the meantime, the treasurer will receive deposits on shares, and take premiums for air allotments. The intention of the Company is to form an Aerial City; and an architect has drawn plans, including sites for the various contemplated buildings, the whole of which buildings may be seen (on paper) at the Society's office, so that the sites may be at once secured and paid for.

The Company, not desiring to express any opinion as to the various contrivances for navigating the air proposed within the last few years, will leave it to the public to decide which principle it will be best to adopt, the Company declining to have anything to do with any principle whatever.

The Company, it must be understood, will convey the air under hand and seal; but the purchaser will have to convey the building. It is a desirable point in this speculation that there will be no tax for paving or lighting, there being no charge made by the Trustees of the Milky Way, nor is there any star-rate payable.

It is suggested that much may be done by parties willing to speculate in the air, when they are once comfortably settled there. Though it is true that the experiment of procuring sunbeams from cucumbers was never successfully carried out, the Aerial Building Company would hint the possibility of reversing this project, by getting cucumbers from sunbeams.

Further particulars may be had at the office in Air Street, where any questions may be asked; but, to save trouble, no answers will be given to any but bonâ fide shareholders.—There are vacancies for a few clerks, who, on taking shares to the amount of £500, will receive 30s. a week for their services while the Company lasts, in addition to the usual dividend.

THE WEATHER.

Hail now commences its reign. If the Surrey Zoological Gardens should open, expect a flow of showers, particularly if the announcements should name a day for a show of flowers.

Sow acorns in pots, with a view to future timber; and plant out young oaks in mignonette boxes. Sell off your pork, if you have any on hand; and, if you have a live pig, it will be better to go the whole hog and get rid of it at once, for the sale becomes doubtful as the summer advances.

PROVINCIAL THEATRICALS.

Mr. Doublethrust, who had long occupied the honourable position of second cut-throat on the national boards, finding that the managers had taken to cutting each others' throats, and consequently left nothing for him to do, got together a select company for the purpose of performing Shakspeare in the provinces. Having arrived at a small village in the north, he became lessee of a barn, and advertised to open it "on the principle of the national theatres," the latter having been frequently conducted in a style worthy of the former, so that there was nothing really new in the combination. The season was announced to commence with

The barn was crowded; and the leading family in the village occupied the threshing machine, which was fitted up as a private box. The national anthem was played on a bird organ, the whole company standing; immediately after which Mr. Doublethrust spoke the Address, from which we give an extract:—

Private Box.

A Star.

"ALL HAIL, MACBETH!"

The cheering here was tremendous, there being in the village three young men with the names mentioned, each having high pretensions to literary distinction. The Jonesites were vehement in their applause; but the Tomkinsonians were not to be outdone; and the Smithians being thus worked up to an enthusiastic pitch of excitement, it was some time before Mr. Doublethrust could proceed with the address he was speaking. The following were the concluding lines, which elicited the most rapturous shrieks ever heard within an English barn, or indeed beneath a British weathercock:—

Drawing a House.

A Moving Address.

The play of "Macbeth," from the text of Shakspeare, now proceeded, and the manager's candour in using the disjunctive from was speedily visible. The ambitious thane wore a plaid shawl, commonly called a horse-cloth, and a pair of stocking-drawers, with a breast-plate formed of the brass ornaments used to cover the screws of tent bedsteads. The scene with the witches was thrown into such confusion by the performers not knowing their parts, that it was impossible to say which was witch, and, by way of an overflow at half-price, the rain came on in such torrents at about half-past eight, that in the fourth act Macbeth came on under an umbrella, beneath the shelter of which he concluded the performance. The damp thus thrown on the efforts of the new lessee brought the season to a precipitate close, and Doublethrust abdicated the managerial throne after a short rain, but by no means a merry one.

ELECTION CORRESPONDENCE.

The squibs you sent down have all been circulated, but money is more wanted. Podger, the butcher, is wavering; being an influential man there are several who always vote as he does. I am sorry to see his firmness giving way; but if you send down fifty pounds by return of post, I think I may be able to strengthen his principles.

I am sorry that no more money can be sent down; for it is absolutely necessary to keep the London Committee constantly sitting, which can only be done by allowing a constant supply of soup, sandwiches, and sherry. Instead of sending money to you, we had hoped that your local patriotism would have supplied additional funds to us. I forward a loaf, borrowed from one of the theatres, where it was used in a pantomime. You will of course understand that you are to fix it on a pole, marked "cheap bread," and contrast it with the smallest loaf you can get hold off, which must be labelled "corn laws."

THROWN OUT FOR THE CITY.

Demanding a Poll.

Member for Cripplegate.

Thanks for the pantomimic loaf, which told very well; but the money would have answered better. They are making a great fuss on the other side about slave-grown sugar: one hit they have made tells against us very powerfully. They have got four of the Lascar beggars who happened to come into the town, and have borrowed some fetters from the manager of the theatre, which they have fixed to the wrists of the Lascars: each has on his breast a placard, asking, "Am I not a brother?" and on his back is a bill bearing the inscription, "No slave-grown sugar!" If you can put us up to any plan for answering this, let me hear from you immediately.

I don't know how to answer the placard "Are we not brothers?" unless by a hit at the Poor Law. You had better get as many old vagrants together as you can; and, putting them into workhouse dresses, label their breasts with the words, "Are we not husbands?" Their backs may display placards with the words, "No Poor Law—no separation of man and wife!" This will be a safe card, if played immediately.

THE ROYAL ACADEMY

19

CRITICAL ESSAY ON THE PRIZE CARTOONS.

The late competition for Cartoons must cause some alteration in the next edition of Johnson's Dictionary; for what is meant by the word Cartoon will require considerable explanation, after the very extraordinary collection recently exhibited at Westminster. According to some of the artists, Cartoon signifies anything brought in a cart; for such is the only claim to be called a Cartoon that many of the specimens can pretend to. Chalking walls used formerly to be a very profitable employment; and we have often thought what could have become of the wall-chalkers since the blacking-makers ceased to have their Day—and Martin. These artists of a menial capacity (vide the Latin Dictionary for the meaning of mœnial) came out in considerable strength at the late exhibition of Cartoons, and they have chalked up a pretty long account against themselves on the walls of Westminster. That the exhibition was put an end to rather summarily at the beginning of autumn, we are not surprised; it is only astonishing that they were not made to "walk their chalks" at a much earlier period.

The Commissioners of the fine arts shot at a pigeon, and killed a crow. They wished to ascertain the state of the art of historical painting, and got a glorious collection of designs for burlesquing British history, showing at once the palmy state to which the art of caricature has risen in this country. Fauns have been satirized, and the British lion has been made in the mane a very humorous-looking 20animal. As to Magna Carta, never did it give rise to such tremendous liberties as the drawers of the Cartoons have taken with it. Shakspeare is fortunately immortal, or his fame could scarcely have escaped the violent hands that have been laid upon him. Macbeth and the Witches are so beautifully confused that it is difficult to say which is Macbeth and which the Witches. There is the murder of Duncan, with his two sons in the distance, looking on as calmly as if they were indeed very distant relatives. There is the Ghost of Cæsar appearing to Brutus; but the artist, not knowing how to treat light and shade, has caricatured the shade most miserably. Some have selected Shakspeare upon Mercy for illustration, but without having any mercy upon Shakspeare; and somebody has favoured us with Drake on the quarter-deck, Drake being distinguished by a pair of ducks,—a touch of humour we could not fail to appreciate. Most of the artists seemed to have laboured under an awful enlargement of the imagination, which set them off commencing their drawings upon an enormous scale, obliging them to moderate their conceptions before the completion of the picture. The fact that there was many a Cartoon which would have gone in, but that there was no getting it through the door, illustrates this malady among the artists. It may be considered as a species of Elephantiasis, inducing the idea that one's self and one's subject are much more vast than they are in reality. It would seem that some of the artists have misread the advertisement of the Commissioners of Fine Arts, and that for the word "decorate" some of them read "desecrate" the walls of Parliament.

The Iron Peer.

THE WATERING-PLACES OF ENGLAND.

DOMESTIC HINTS FOR THE FIRST OF APRIL.

In making bread, care should be taken to set the sponge properly. The best sponge can be obtained at hairdressers' shops, and it may be as well to ask the hairdresser the best method of setting it.

Bees are a source of great profit. The wax from the ceiling of the hive is a capital substitute for sealing-wax. As bees deposit their honey in combs, each hive should have a small-tooth comb placed inside it.

A hen gives notice of her intention to lay by talking to herself. When she commences this kind of monopolylogue, provide her with a private box for the season.

Eggs may be kept any time if they are not eaten: when they are intended for food, they should be used as fresh as possible. Ducks' eggs are sometimes placed under hens, but hens' eggs, or indeed any eggs at all, are not eligible things for ducks to sit upon.

This Society has been established for the Prevention of Accidents on Artificial Ice, and is happy to refer the public to the following

CASE.

A gentleman was skating in a first floor, and had been several times warned by artificial ice-man Snooks not to pass over a certain spot, for it was known there was a large chandelier immediately beneath, the great heat from which, by thawing the artificial ice, might render it dangerous. The gentleman, however, persisted; when, following the usual course, the Humane Society caused ropes to be thrown across from side to side, which might at all events catch the skates, if not check the boldness of the skaters. Luckily, the precaution took effect, tripping the gentleman up, and breaking his fall; when another artificial ice-man, seeing the danger, resorted to the customary experiment of placing a ladder immediately over the hole into which the skater had been plunged. This course is always adopted on natural ice; for, as a person before drowning is supposed to rise three times, it is desirable to prolong his chance by preventing him from rising at all—even for the first time—as long as possible. Unfortunately, there was no boathook at hand—an instrument found so useful in cases of accident on natural ice, or it is probable that the individual might have been fished up with the greatest facility. The gentleman was now immersed in mortar, and, hanging on by a rafter, presented a complete case of suspended animation for several minutes. Artificial ice-man Snooks immediately plunged in among the laths, while the plaster cracked and gave way at every step he took, in the most frightful manner. He had previously made fast a rope to a hook in the ceiling above, and the unfortunate individual, who clung to his preserver, was thus extracted from his perilous position. The usual remedies were promptly resorted to. He was held up for several minutes by the heels, to allow the dust and plaster to escape from his mouth, and was then taken to the receiving-house, where brandy-and-water were administered in such copious draughts, and with such excellent effect, that he soon lost all sense of the accident.

A NEW ART-IF-ICE—Doubly Hazardous.

23The Society would earnestly recommend the following precautions to all who are in the habit of resorting to the artificial ice:—

Always select, if possible, a ground floor; and, indeed, from the specimens of skating exhibited every day by the horses, it would seem that the wooden pavement is better adapted than anything else to the purpose of glaciarium. When you feel yourself going into a hole, throw yourself on your back, when the artificial ice-man will probably dash a ladder on to your face; and if you can contrive to get your head through the rounds of the ladder, you are drawn up easily.

Never venture where you see a board with the word "Dangerous." You may be sure that the Society's men are aware of a hole, which, as they have made it themselves by sticking up the board, they can have made no mistake about.

The Humane Society, fully aware of the efficacy of brandy in cases of suspended animation, caused an analysis to be made of the brandy-balls usually sold upon the ice, when the following result was obtained:—

On the whole, the Society would not feel justified in recommending it as a stimulant.

The following prizes have already been distributed by the Society: To artificial ice-man Brown, for plunging into a parlour, where a gentleman had fallen on to a tea-table, and rescuing him from a boiling watery grave, the small silver medal, with a portrait of the Queen on one side, and the words "SIX PENCE," in raised letters, on the other. The thanks of the Society, on comic note-paper, were also given to the tradesman who had supplied (on credit) the whole of the apparatus.

POLITICAL PAS-DE-QUATRE.

We give the following as the last new dances patronized by the most distinguished Members of both Houses of Parliament:—

THE DEBATE.

First gentleman comes forward, and sets to gentleman opposite. Second gentleman does the same: and third couple pair off right and left.

Union is Strength.

THE RESIGNATION.

First gentleman advances to first lady, and then retires. Second gentleman takes the place of first gentleman, and advances to first lady; who executes a dos à dos with first gentleman. First and second gentlemen cross to opposite sides, and second gentleman turns first gentleman over.

THE LORD BROUGHAM.

Turn right and left, meet half way; then back again. Cross over, pass behind, go up and down, and continue changing sides, till arriving at the bottom.

11. Prince of Orange assassinated, 1584.

Abundant.

Middling.

Scarcity.

Guy Fawkes treated Classically—An Unexhibited Cartoon

Having been advised by my friends to publish a sketch of my cartoon, intended for exhibition at Westminster Hall, I think the public, upon seeing it, will require some explanation of it. The subject has often been treated, and sometimes rather ill-treated, by preceding artists. Being forcibly struck by the grand classical style, I have aimed at it, and I trust I have succeeded in hitting it. At all events, if I have not quite come up to the mark, I have had a good bold fling at it.

The first thing I thought it necessary to think of (though, by-the-bye, it is generally the last thing thought of in historical painting), was to get a faithful portrait of the principal character. For that purpose I determined to study nature, and strolled about London and the suburbs on the 5th of November, in search of a likeness of Fawkes, caring little under what Guys it might be presented to me. Unfortunately, some had long noses and some had short; so, putting this and that together, the long and the short of it is, that I determined on adopting a living prototype, who has been blowing up both Houses of Parliament for several years, and if not a Fawkes in other respects, is at least famous for encouraging forking out on the part of others.

Having got over the preliminary difficulty, I set to work upon my cartoon: and being resolved to make it a greater work than had ever before been known, I forgot the prescribed size, for my head was far above the consideration of mere feet, and I did not reflect, that where Parliament had given an inch I was taking an ell, at the very lowest estimate. Having strolled towards Westminster Hall to survey the scene of my future triumphs, it struck me that I had carried the grand classical to such a height as to preclude all chance of my cartoon being got in through the doorway: and I, therefore, with the promptitude of a Richard the Third, determined to "Off with his head," by taking a slice off the top of the canvass. This necessary piece of execution rather spoiled the design, but it enabled me to throw a heaviness into the brows of my principal figure, which, if it marred the resemblance to Fawkes, gave him an additional look of the Guy, at all events. It then occurred to me that I might further diminish the dimensions by taking a couple of feet off the legs; and this happy idea enabled me to carry out the historical notion that Fawkes was the mere tool of others, in which 26case, to cramp him in the understanding must be considered a nice blending of the false in art with the true in nature. The Guy's feet were accordingly foreshortened, till I left him, as he appeared when trying to defend himself at his trial, with hardly a leg to stand upon. Besides I knew I could fresco out his calves in fine style, when I once got permission to turn the fruit of my labours into wall-fruit, on the inside of the Houses of Parliament.

It will now be naturally asked, why my cartoon was not exhibited with others, some of each were equally monstrous, in the Hall of Westminster. The fact is, if the truth must out, the cartoon would not go in. Though I had cramped my genius already to suit the views of the Commissioners, and the size of the door, I found I must have stooped much lower if I had resolved on finding admittance for my work. I wrote at once to the Woods and Forests, calling upon them to widen the door for genius, by taking down a portion of the wall: but it will hardly be believed, that though there were, at the time, plenty of workmen about the building, no answer was returned to my request. Alas! it is all very well to sing, as they do in Der Frieschutz, "Through the Woods and through the Forests," but towards me the Woods and Forests proved themselves utterly impenetrable.

It will be seen that the arch conspirator—for so I must continue to call him, though he could not be got into the archway—has placed his hat upon the ground, a little point in which I have blended imagination with history, and both with convenience. The imagination suggests that such a villain ought not to wear his hat; history does not say that he did, which is as much as to hint that he didn't; while convenience coming to the aid of both, renders it necessary for his hat to lie upon the ground, for if I had tried to place it on his head, there would have been no room for it. There was one gratifying circumstance connected with this cartoon which, in spite of my being charged with vanity, I must repeat. As it was carried through the streets it seemed to be generally understood and appreciated, every one, even children, exclaiming as it passed, "Oh! there's a Guy!"

The Hop Season.

THE FEAST OF THE GROTTOES.

Surely the antiquity of oysters cannot be doubted; but there is some reason to believe that grottoes are of a more recent origin. There is a grotto of the Cumæan Sybil at Naples; but it does not seem to have been constructed of oyster-shells—though its position near the sea would indicate that shells of some kind were probably used in its construction.

The first oyster ever introduced into this country was probably brought over by Sir Walter Raleigh; who, as he imported cigars, potatoes, and saltpetre, may, probably, have met with oysters in his celebrated journey round the world, and carried over a barrel with him on his return to England; which would surely have been quite as reasonable a piece of luggage as a barrel of gunpowder. This theory is further supported by the well-known proverb, that "he must have been a bold man who first ate an oyster;" and as the courage of Raleigh was never doubted, we may fix upon him with some degree of confidence as the first oyster-eater that this country can boast of. But valour of this kind was never so eminently displayed as in the comparatively recent instance of Dando, who, to the courage of eating oysters to an unlimited extent, added the far greater boldness of declining to pay for them. Dando was, however, "native, and to the manner born" for it. To return to the subject of grottoes: the annual grotto feast is observed by the children of the humbler classes, who, with infantine simplicity, insist on declaring that it is "only once a year" for several days in succession. There is a remnant of feudalism in the mode adopted by some of the bigger boys to obtain possession of the grottoes constructed by weaker children. The former descend in rude and barbarous hordes, beating off the original possessors, and exacting custom from the surrounding neighbourhood. This is in strict conformity with the law of primogeniture; for the elder boys generally "take," as the lawyers say, to the exclusion of the younger.

FATHER MATHEW—An ice-man for a small party

Sandwich is not famous for its Sandwiches.

Venetian blinds are not imported from Venice.

The captain of a steamer, when at his post, is not a post-captain.

The sword of justice cannot be made sharp without the application of blunt.

It is an error to suppose that the stature of man is diminished, for the lengths men go to in the present day was never surpassed. The tallest men are to be found in Lankyshire.

Jerusalem artichokes do not come from Jerusalem. They are not called artichokes because any one who makes a hearty meal on them will run the chance of being choked.

It is a vulgar error that beer is turned sour by thunder. The fact is, that beer may be turned sour by lightning which does not know how to conduct itself.

Home-made articles are not always the best; and, indeed, when made at home, they are often so mysterious, that there is really no making them out.

A Returning Officer.

REPORT ON PUBLIC HEALTH.

From the returns founded on inquiries made by Mr. Jones of fourteen friends, whom he met in London during one afternoon, it was ascertained that, to the question, "How are you?" six replied "Pretty well," two were "Quite charming," four were "Very well," one was "Tolerable," and the remaining one "Bobbish." It seems that a state of bobbishness is one of vulgar health, and that the less genteel neighbourhoods, under the most favourable circumstances, are greatly conducive to it.

Relieving Officer.

Water is one of the first essentials to health, and, consequently, a rainy day ought to be a source of great salubrity. It is also a principal ingredient in the diet of paupers, no doubt on account of its sanatory properties. Water, in conjunction with ventilation, may be regarded as the safety-valve of disease; so that a walk in a pelting shower, with a hole or two in the hat and boots, ought to be prescribed as a preventive against the chance of illness.

Appealing against the Poor Rate.

Hair Hunting.

TREATING WITH CHINA.
DESPATCH FROM SIR HENRY POTTINGER.

Taking advantage of my full powers to treat, I asked the Commissioner what he would like me to treat him to. He at first suggested beer; but from what I have seen of the Chinese, I fancied that they stood more in need of spirit than anything else; and as my instructions were to mix as much as possible with the Imperial authorities, I kept mixing brandy and water till past midnight, in company with Key-sing, who did ample justice to the grog that was placed before him. The effect of the liquor was such as to cause me to receive several friendly assurances in broken Chinese; and the Commissioner, I am sure, soon began to see doubly all the advantages I was endeavouring to point out to him. In a short time such was the spirit of harmony inspired by the grog, that a song was volunteered by Key-sing; but it is impossible to say what key Key-sing did sing it in. I was then called upon to favour them with a vocal effort; and as my instructions were to meet the wishes of the Chinese government as well as I could, I struck up, "Home, sweet home," a selection which, I trust, will meet the approbation of the Home Office. The treaty had not yet received the signature of Key-sing; and he seemed to be wavering,—leaning first on one side, and then on the other; but at length he fell with his face flat upon the treaty, which I believe was intended to show his great respect for it. Such was his emotion, that he was with difficulty raised; and his hand was at length guided by a mandarin, who had partaken less freely of the grog than the Chief Commissioner. Key-sing then left for his own abode, singing and dancing all the way home, and addressing every one he met, to whom he was, probably, explaining the advantages that China will derive from the happy union.

Humbugs of the Day

The Spanish are, as you know, very nutty on their late revolution. Several provinces have pronounced; but as they all have a peculiar patois of their own, it is difficult to catch their pronunciations. America is in a more settled, though certainly not in a more settling, state than it was some time ago. It has resorted freely to the old way of paying new debts, and in return for our specie, has sent us a species of whitewash, which is all that we can get as an equivalent. It is a glorious thing to see a whole nation throwing off its bonds; and the way in which America has released herself from the bonds she was under to her creditors, is a proof that she knows how to be free herself, and to make free with others. On the other side of the Channel, Young France finding it impossible to beard Old England, has taken to bearding itself; and the war-party show, by their chins at any rate, that they would be much improved by a good lathering. New South Wales, as you are by this time aware, is to have a representative assembly; but it is not yet decided what the legislative body is to consist of. It would perhaps be the fairest plan, that each of the prisons should send so many members to the Botany Bay parliament; but others think that each class of offenders should have its own representatives. Whether the Honourable Member for Newgate would sound better than the Gallant Representative of the Housebreaking Interests, is a question that may be decided hereafter; and it will be a very nice point, whether conviction shall be a necessary qualification for a seat in the legislature of New South Wales, or, whether the fact of having committed an offence, shall render a person eligible as a candidate. It will perhaps be difficult to draw the line where the elective franchise shall begin, but it is generally believed, that nothing under a pickpocket ought to be entitled to vote, though, whether the claimant to the suffrage must have been positively caught in the act, is a nicety on which I leave it to the lawyers to deliberate.

THE SINGING MOUSE.

The average quantity of vapour from below is always greater after a public meeting, at which patriotic speeches have been made.

As we advance towards the Pole, the wind rises; and, by a remarkable coincidence, it is easy for an elector to raise the wind as the day for going to the poll approaches.

In warm weather the dissolving power is greater; and the summer is generally chosen for dissolving Parliament.

Moisture ascending, forms clouds; and liquor which gets into the head causes a mist over the eyes; a fact that shows the analogy existing between all the operations of nature.

Bishop Berkeley has observed, that there are more levels in England than are generally to be found elsewhere. This notion accounts for the Bishop having published many things, in which he treated England as a country of flats.

About the 4th or 5th of February, it has been observed that the woodlark renews his note. Birds of passage do not always renew their notes on the 4th, but dishonour their bills very frequently.

It has been remarked, that in September evenings the reduction of temperature begins to be sensibly felt by those who expose themselves to it thinly clad. We cannot concur in the general observation that it is sensibly felt, for the more sensible thing would be to wrap oneself well up, and avoid altogether feeling it.

It was generally observed, that the summer of 1843 was one of the finest that has been known for many years. This may be easily accounted for by the non-opening of Vauxhall Gardens. Preparations had been made for the commencement of the season, and there was a week of incessant rain; but the idea being abandoned, the weather became fine, and continued so for the remainder of the summer.

Saturn is generally allowed to be a very inclement planet; and it may be seen directly over Clement's Inn during a portion of the year.

SIX RICHARDS IN THE FIELD.
A NEW ACTING SHAKSPEARE.

It is quite evident that Shakspeare, in its present state, is not suited to the capacity of the existing race of tragic actors. On the same principle that somebody is said to have gone to bed because the bed would not go to somebody, it seems advisable to bring Shakspeare down to the actors because the actors can't come up to Shakspeare.

It was once suggested that the play of "Hamlet," with the character of Hamlet omitted, might probably lose some of its effect in dramatic representation. If this theory is a good one, it follows, as a matter of course, that the play of "Richard the Third," with six Richards instead of one, must be six times as good as it is with only a single embodiment of that extraordinary character. That this is the opinion of modern tragedians is shown by their all requiring to perform the principal part in all tragedies: an arrangement that could only be carried out by multiplying the chief character in a piece by the number of individuals in a theatre who want to act it. Whether the negative capacities of three or four individual performers can make an affirmative capacity, is an experiment that might be tried, at all events. "Division of labour" is a very favourite project amongst speculators in the present day; and if Messrs. A., P., and V., are separately unequal to the effort of sustaining the weight of the crook-backed tyrant, why should not the tyrant be cut into three—some actors, by-the-bye, cut him all to pieces—so that each of the performers hinted at might bear a portion of the burden? Mr. A. might do the love scene with Lady Anne; Mr. P. might growl through the opening soliloquy; and Mr. V. might go to sleep throughout the dream: an achievement which the drowsiness of his style renders him fully equal to.

That the bard of Avon contemplated the possibility of something of the kind is shown by the expression he puts into the mouth of Richard himself, who, in making the well-known exclamation,

may be supposed to have hinted at the possibility of there being six competitors for his own position—that of hero of the tragedy.

FACTS WORTH REMEMBERING.

In January.—That on the 8th, fire insurance policies must be attended to; and that, although honesty is the best policy, it will not be available in case of fire.

In February.—That, on the 7th, Dr. Maskelyne died; but as we do not know how to pronounce an opinion on this Maskelyne, it is better for us to remain neuter.

DOG-DAYS—Legislation going to the Dogs.

35In March.—That the month is a stormy one at sea, causing leaks in ships; and that, on the 1st, being St. David's day, leeks are worn in the hat by Welshmen.

In April.—That the assessed-tax papers are delivered early in the month; and that not even the vainest of us is then disposed to overrate himself.

In May.—That, on the 14th, vaccination was first used, in 1796; and that, while it saved many from being pitted with the smallpox, the invention itself may be pitted against any other.

June.—That the sun is before the clock on the 7th, which may be remedied by putting the clock before the sun. Mem.—It will do no good to place it before the fire.

July.—That the days decrease in the course of the month; and that on the 5th of July, 1830, Algiers lost a Dey altogether.

August.—That Napoleon was born on the 15th, and Andrew Marvel on the 16th, but that the former was really a greater marvel than the latter.

September.—Your grapes will now begin to want looking after. If you do not bag them yourself, and your vine happens to be in an exposed situation, you may expect that some one will come and bag them for you.

October.—That melons can only be raised in hot beds; and, of course, the hotter the bed the better the melons. Some fruit-gardeners recommend a layer of cinders; but red-hot ashes, enclosed in a warming-pan, will heat your bed quicker than anything. It is usual to cover the bed over with a frame, with panes of glass in it; a good thick counterpane would perhaps be more effective.

November.—That the 5th is Guy Fawkes' day, which is commemorative of an attempted blow up; and that the 9th is Lord Mayor's day, which is devoted to an annual blow out.

December.—That the close of the year is the proper time to begin a system of keeping accounts, for you will have plenty of accounts sent in to enable you to commence keeping them.

Drawing an Audience,—Rogue-ation Sunday.

NEW VERSION OF "ALL ROUND MY HAT."
AS SUNG NIGHTLY AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE.

Disturbed State of Wales.

The nation is most respectfully informed that arrangements have been made, on a most extensive scale, for the annual production of a new Pantomime, to be called

Landlord of the Gallic Cock (afterwards Harlequin), Mons. Louis Philippe;

Prince Fortune (afterwards Lover), Mons. Albert:

Fortunatus (his Uncle), Mons. Leopold (From the Royal Cobourg);

Whirligig, an Evil Genius (afterwards Clown), Herr Brougham (who will introduce "Tippitywichit");

The Good Genius (afterwards Columbine), Madame Victoire; Fiends of Mischief, by Mons. Thiers, and numerous auxiliaries.

In the course of the Pantomime, the celebrated Pas des Folies, by La Jeune France and Young England. The famous Marche Diabolique, by Signor O'Connell (surnamed the Irish incredible); and the grand Pas de Fascination, by Madame Victoire.

In the course of the Pantomime will be exhibited the following

Change for a Sovereign—an Anticipated Pantomime.

An Arctic Circle.

THE POLAR EXPEDITION.

Candidly speaking, a voyage to the North Pole has many advantages. In the first place, the Polar bears are the finest in the world for bear's grease, and it makes the hair stand on end merely to look at them.

The North Pole is generally supposed to be a sort of sign-post, embedded in ice, in latitude 0° 0´, longitude x° x´; and it is popularly believed that Captain Ross not only cut his name on the pole itself, but nailed the English standard to the top of it. It has been contemplated by some who take an interest in these matters, to bring the North Pole to England, and place it in the Museum as a companion to Cleopatra's needle. Whether the passage to the North Pole will ever become a favourite with those who travel for mere pleasure is somewhat questionable, but there is no knowing what mercantile enterprise may do, and an expedition to obtain bear-skin coats—particularly if undertaken by such a house as Baring Brothers—would, if it only proved barely remunerative, say a great deal for British enterprise.

There is only one disadvantage attending a voyage to the Pole, which is the difficulty of getting there, to say nothing of the extreme improbability of getting safely back again. The forcing a passage to the Pole is a grand achievement. And as the road is frozen up before the expedition can return, it is always necessary to force another passage back again. Nature certainly seems to have written up "No Thoroughfare," and the pole itself appears to be inscribed with the words "No admittance except on business;" but this warning has no effect upon those enthusiasts who are determined to rush to the Pole at any sacrifice.

Some doubt having been entertained as to the legality of Art-Unions, it has been determined to establish a legal Art-Union, by which the most expensive of known luxuries—law—can be dealt out to the subscribers upon most reasonable terms. The Union is to consist of as many persons as think proper to subscribe, and the object will be the bringing and defending actions, so that debtors and creditors will equally profit by it.

Every subscriber, on paying six-and-eightpence, will have a declaration delivered to him if he be a debtor; or if a creditor, he will receive a plea; and the prizes will consist of a certain number of verdicts, to be selected from the public exhibitions of justice, including the Courts of Request, the Lord Mayor's, and Sheriffs' Courts. If a plaintiff draws a prize, he will get the whole of the money; and if a debtor draws a blank, he will have to pay it; but if the debtor and the creditor both draw blanks, they neither of them get anything, but their loss is limited to six-and-eightpence. If a debtor obtains a fortunate number he is exonerated from his debt without the disgrace or inconvenience of running away; while a creditor, even if he does not get his money, is prevented from throwing any of the good after the bad, and thus all parties reap advantages which they could not obtain in the regular course of law. It is thought that the causing the verdicts to depend on chance, and thus introducing the lottery principle into the administration of justice, is quite in conformity with what, in nine cases out of ten, practically happens.

Prospectuses may be had at the chambers of Messrs. Drain, Swindle, and Company, Solicitors to the Court of Portugal, and Attorneys Extraordinary (most extraordinary!) to anyone employing them.

POST OFFICE REGULATIONS.

The letter-carriers are all to wear uniforms, in order to carry out the principle of the uniform postage. All the old Twopennies are placed on the same footing as Generals.

The mails, since the reduction of the rate, are allowed to travel slower than formerly. The Hounslow mail being carried in a cab, and, there being no accommodation for a guard, the Government will not be responsible for the safe conduct of the bags beyond the Sloane Street frontier. Letters for Kingston, not intended to go by Falmouth, should be marked Kingston-upon-Thames, or they will be despatched to Kingston in Jamaica.

Money intended to benefit the letter-carriers should be enclosed in an envelope addressed to any friend of the writer. By registering the letter, the liberal object will be defeated.

Q. How do you define politics?

A. It is the science of constructing new governments; the first step to which is the destruction of the existing one.

Q. In what do we make it chiefly to consist?

A. In abusing our neighbours, and quarrelling amongst ourselves.

Q. To what do we generally apply ourselves in peace?

A. In insulting the English.

Q. How are we occupied in war?

A. In being beaten by the English.

Q. How do we profit by war?

A. It gives us material for clap-traps on the stage.

Q. How do we profit by defeat?

A. In calling it a victory.

Q. How do we maintain our boast that we are the most ingenious nation on the earth?

A. By employing the ingenuity of Englishmen in all our great public works.

POETICAL CALENDAR,
AND
CHRONOLOGY FOR THE YEAR 1843.

JANUARY.

5th. Further decline in the revenue; the decline being caused by a want of consumption.

26th. A million tons of chalk dislodged by gunpowder from the cliffs at Dover. The price of milk, nevertheless, remained as usual.

FEBRUARY.

15th. Intelligence received from Captain Ross, who had been to join a very select circle at the Antarctic.

21st. The trustees of a life-boat at North Shields fined ten shillings for bringing some clothes to shore; it being decided that such boats are not to 42be used to bring clothes to any one in possession of life, but only to prevent any one's life from being brought to a close.

24th. Great curling match at Eglinton Castle, which Lord Eglinton won by nine shots. The curling was not tried upon hare.

MARCH.

1st. Dr. Candlish lectured at London Wall amidst great confusion. The congregation not being in a candle-ish humour, refused to be enlightened.

7th. Lord Teynham moved in the Lords for the abrogation of the clause in the Poor Law Bill separating man and wife. The motion was lost, several of the peers declaring the clause to be very beneficial to both parties.

25th. The Thames Tunnel opened, and the public let in; the privilege being no longer confined to the shareholders.

APRIL.

1st. Public curiosity excited by the announcement of the invention of an Aerial Ship. It was predicted that the ship would fall to the ground; but it never rose high enough to allow of the prediction being verified.

12th. The Servian question settled by the Russian cabinet stipulating for a new sovereign. The old sovereign had not sufficient weight, being, probably, one of the light sovereigns that a proclamation had been previously directed against.

25th. The prizes of the Art-Union drawn at Drury Lane Theatre; and Her Majesty presented the nation on the same day with a prize—in the shape of another princess.

MAY.

1st. A molar tooth extracted from a person during mesmeric sleep. He retained his unconsciousness in spite of his teeth.

16th. The Greenwich peerage became extinct by the giving way of the stone structure. The slates on the roof remained firm to the last, and behaved like bricks.

25th. Sir Valentine Blake moved for leave to bring in a Bill to restore the Irish Parliament. The motion not being seconded, he took leave of his own accord, and withdrew.

JUNE.

Juno and June so nearly are the same, One from the other must have got its name. The sign is Cancer, "crab:" and all admit That Juno's crabbed temper it would fit.

19th. The judges replied to the questions of the House of Lords on monomania, 43to the effect that partial insanity does not affect legal responsibility; which settled the question whether Lord Brougham could be considered legally responsible to the Birds, supposing they had brought an action against him.

30th. The Bill for the "Mutual Surrender of Criminals" read a second time in the House of Lords, but no allusion was made to the question, whether the English dramatists would be liable to be given up—as arrant thieves—to the French authorities.

JULY.

15th. Father Mathew arrived at Liverpool, and the tide rose unusually high, the water obtaining an extraordinary state of elevation.

23rd. O'Connell holds a repeal meeting at Tuam, and his exhortations on the subject of rent prove that he understands the interest of meum as well as that of tuum.

AUGUST.

28th. The Queen and Prince Albert embark on a marine excursion, and the sea puts on the smoothest face possible.

31st. The Agricultural Improvement Society meet at Belfast. Several members exhibited much ground for improvement.

SEPTEMBER.

2nd. The Queen arrives at Tréport, and the King of Hanover leaves England. These auspicious events are hailed with much rejoicing.

5th. The Antarctic expedition arrives at Deal, having been four years abroad. Captain Ross had ascertained the fact that there is but one magnetic pole in the southern hemisphere—a result that was arrived at by applying an ordinary darning needle to the pole, which turned out not to be magnetic.

21st. Mr. O'Connor, of Inch, proposed that the repealers should pay rent no longer; but the policy of this not being a-pa-rent, the motion was negatived.

OCTOBER.

4th. News arrived of the loss of the overland mail, and the persons expecting their correspondence left in a state of unlettered ignorance.

4425th. Nomination of candidates for the City. Mr. Baring put up with Mr. Pattison; but the electors refusing to put up with Mr. Baring, put him down in Mr. Pattison's favour.

NOVEMBER.

9th. Alderman Magnay elected Mayor. Magna est veritas. Wood if he could.

DECEMBER.

THE OMNIBUS CONDUCTORS' LAMENT.

The tides have baffled the ingenuity of some of our greatest philosophers, though Halley was more successful than any one else in his attempts to get to the bottom of them.

If we were disposed to go deeply into the tides, we should require the reader to follow us through a variety of mysterious hieroglyphics, which we are sure would be unintelligible to the majority. Dashes, crosses, circles, and triangles would be scattered over the perplexing page in profusion, while the only result might be, that as 0 is to a hyphen, so would be a couple of asterisks.

We, therefore, prefer leaving the study of the tides to those whose taste for the subject would lead them to a practical acquaintance with it, which may be picked up anywhere up or down the river.

THE ECLIPSES FOR 1845.

On the 6th of May there will be an eclipse of the sun; but whose son it is to be the almanack does not mention.

On the 24th of March there will be a total eclipse of the moon, only visible in London. A rabid leader will appear in the "Nationale," and the feelings of the editor will quite run away with him, on account of Paris being eclipsed on this occasion by le perfide London.

On the 30th of October there will be a total eclipse of the Horse Guards' illuminated clock by a tremendous fog. This eclipse is expected to give such satisfaction, that it has already been announced for repetition on the following evening; but after the 31st the fog will be dropt.

On the 13th of November there will be a partial eclipse of the sun—that is to say, the eclipse will show its partiality by being only visible to those in a high station, who look up to it. It will first show itself to Primrose Hill about four seconds after eight, A.M. It will look in upon Professor Airy at the Greenwich Observatory about five minutes after nine.

There will be a number of eclipses in the political world next year; but we do not intend to throw any light upon them. No doubt Lord John Russell will do his best to eclipse Sir Robert Peel, and that eccentric planet, Brougham, will strive as much as he can to eclipse Campbell, and throw him completely into the shade.

TWELFTH NIGHT.

FACTS THAT DO NOT COME WITHIN THE RECOLLECTION
OF THE OLDEST INHABITANT.

Of course every one knows that horoscopes are divisible into twelve classes, and that one of the twelve Signs of the Zodiac is at the head of each class. With this information any one with the aid of the following learned treatise will be able to cast his own nativity or that of any other person.

The first sign of the Zodiac is

LIBRA,

Which formerly belonged to a person of the name of Themis, but was taken from her for using false weights, and hung up, as a warning to tradesmen, among the constellations. Who at present holds them Lemprière omits to say. The Libra are uppermost in the Zodiac from the 22nd of September to the 21st of October; consequently, any one born during that period is put into the scales and weighed accordingly. Churchwardens who cannot balance their accounts, and Ramo Samees who can balance anything, are generally born under the sign of Libra. It favours also young ladies who hear from Joseph Ady, and are blest with a large balance at their bankers.

The second on the list is

SCORPIO,

Whose malice and sting come into play from the last-mentioned date, and penetrate everywhere up to the 21st November.

Sheriffs' officers, lawyers, stage-door keepers, and anthropophagi, are always born under this constellation.

SAGITTARIUS

Comes next. Old Chiron, the Nimrod of his day, dwells at this Sign of the Zodiac. He was put in possession of it by Jupiter for having taught Achilles how to pull the long-bow. He favours Derby sweeps and the Epping Hunt, but his patronage cannot be of much value to the latter, as his influence is only good from the 22nd of November to the 21st of December.

The protégé of Sagittarius is generally fond of hunting the slipper and shooting the moon. He is known by his carpet bag, stuffed with bricks and straw. He sports a moustache, but never shows any tip.

The fourth sign is

CAPRICORNUS,

Who was originally Jupiter's wet-nurse. His lease of the Zodiac extends to the 21st of January, after which he is obliged to pull in his horns.

This constellation is noted for the number of stupid people who are born under it. They believe everything they see advertised, and put their trust in pills and Moses and Son. They are mostly called "Gents." They spend their money in Coal-holes, and smoke a kind of cabbage called "cheroot." They abound at promenade concerts, and on the tops of omnibuses and paddle-boxes on Sundays.

FLYING ARTILLERY.

49Capricornus, when he has finished going the Circuit of the Zodiac, is succeeded by

AQUARIUS,

Or the Watering-pot. Aquarius is only allowed to reign till the 21st of February. The former name of this Sign was Ganymede, who was taken up for sheep-stealing by an eagle, who was noted for being the first beak of his day. He was carried before Jupiter, who condemned him to pour out the nectar at a free-and-easy, of which he was chairman, in Olympus; but upon being detected mixing the grog of the gods, who always took their liquor neat, Ganymede was, in consequence of his foolish propensity to cold water, sentenced to take the sobriquet of Aquarius, which, before the Flood, was the Latin for Father Mathew.

Aquarius is the patron Sign of Vauxhall, which he makes his residence during the summer months. Temperance and Teetotal people are born under his benignant favour. Doctors, too, are his children owing to their liberal use of aqua pompaginis. One half of the London milk is supplied to the metropolis by Aquarius.

PISCES

Makes up the half-dozen of the constellations. Fish in the Zodiac, it seems, comes into season about the 22nd of February, but will not keep after the 22nd of March. Very little is known about the private history of these strange Pisces; they are supposed to have been a couple of John Dorys, who, Neptune having advertised in "Lloyd's List" for a wife, introduced Amphitrite, a Wapping lady, to share his oyster-bed with him. Neptune in return, gave the Pisces the entire swim of the Zodiac, where, if Aquarius did not brandish his watering-pot right and left about him for a month before them, they would have nothing but currents of air and thorough drafts to swim in. This would have made them feel very much like fishes out of water. The Pisces look after picnics and ministerial white-bait dinners.

ARIES

Makes his triumphal entry into the circus of the Zodiac on the 20th of March, and keeps on the move till the 21st of April. He was the original proprietor of the Golden Fleece, but having, from his hasty temper, got into Chancery, he was fleeced, and then locked up for life in the Zodiac. He encourages the breed of April fools, and looks after Chancellors and lawyers that they may have abundance of clients.

TAURUS

Is the prototype of John Bull, who crossed the British Channel with a pair of corks, and, landing at Calais, carried off Europe, or Europa. Young France has often attempted to take this bull by the horns; but, as Old Moore quaintly 50expresses it, "Y^e puppyes aint yett buorn thatt can baitte y^e Johnn Bull." Taurus looks after the Spanish Legion and the Lumber Troop, and gives them their indomitable valour. Sir Robert Peel was born under this constellation, which accounts for his having offered his constituents at Tamworth a Bull. Taurus superintends the bulls that are kept in the Vatican at Rome; and all Irishmen who are born between the 22nd of April and 21st of May, are under his influence. Taurus frequently shows himself at fairs and market-days, when, if the weather is at all hot, he will toss any one for a cool hundred at heads or tails.

GEMINI

Are nine, though properly only two, in the order of Signs. Castor and Pollux are the twins alluded to. Their berth in the constellations they received from Jupiter, and very naturally too, as he was their father. Their mother was Leda, a regular Spartan, but no relation to the present member for Westminster. The saying of "What a shocking bad hat!" was first applied to Castor. Beggarwomen, who exhibit two children on a door step, very unlike one another, are relieved under the lucky star of the Twins. Castor and Pollux go on very well till the 21st of June, when, as it is longest day in the year, they generally get tired of one another's company, and do not come together again for a twelvemonth.

CANCER

Is a very bad Sign, indeed. It first attacked Hercules when he was attempting to come Van Amburgh over the Hydra. Hercules did not take the Cancer very much to heart, however; but, with one blow, packed him off to Heaven, where, there being a place vacant at the time in the Zodiac, the Cancer was sworn into it, and has filled it very creditably ever since. Cancer sometimes puts the seasons out of order, by thinking he is a crab, and walking accordingly, which is always the case when the summer is a little backward.

LEO

Is the next that comes upon the tapis of the Zodiac. It is the same Leo whom Hercules got over in the forest of Ardennes, by means of animal magnetism, having thrown him into a state of coma, with a few passes of his club. This made the second candidate Hercules returned to the Zodiac Parliament. England (not the Young—but the Old) was born under the protection of the Lion, who, for this reason, is always called by orators the "British Lion," and painted on signboards, giving his paw to the British arms, in friendly confab with the British Unicorn. Mr. Carter, the greatest Lion tamer since Hercules, was born during this month; and young dandies and authors, who patronize tea-parties, are called "Lions."

VIRGO

Comes last. She rises every year on the 22nd of August, and goes to bed, in her golden palace of the East, on the 21st of September.

FOR A BRITISH TAR.

The lubber who would strike a lovely woman in distress is unworthy of the name of T. P. Cooke.

FOR A PRIMA DONNA.

Ah, Ferdinand! when treading the field of battle, when reaping laurels for thy noble brow; when in the hour of triumph or of revelry, thou art far from her who loves thee, still thou wilt think of Carolina, and madly recollect, "She wore a wreath of roses." Sings—

FOR LORD COLLINGWOOD AT ASTLEY'S.

Go, tell Admiral Tomkins to spare no time in bringing the enemy's ships to surrender! Go, tell Ensign Sir Hildebrand Smith instantly to board the 90-gun frigate; and let the memorable words of our noble admiral ring with electric shouts through the entire British fleet, that "England expects every man this day will do his duty."

FOR A HEROINE OF DOMESTIC DRAMA.

Take thy gold, base lord, and know that the heart which truly loves, though beating in the humble breast of a housemaid, would sooner die on the rack of the Inquisition first, than wear the velvet robe of infamy. From my heart I spurn you.—[Throws purse at his feet.]

FOR A GENEROUS BROKER.

Come dry up your tears, Missus; and as long as I have a crust, or a roof, in the house, you are welcome to share it with me—for the man who is not affected when a lovely woman cries is a heartless wretch, who deserves to walk through life branded with infamy.

FOR A CONSCIENCE-STRICKEN STEWARD.

Ah! that picture. It reminds me of a long-lost daughter. In moments of darkness it has smiled upon me, and seemed to say, "True happiness is in our own minds. It is not purchased by riches, or dependent on fraud. It is only acquired by virtue, but shrinks abashed from vice." Ah! the picture smiles again! The eyes beam on me—the nostrils dilate—the mouth speaks—everything counsels me to be good. Yes! I will return my ill-begotten wealth, and henceforth strive to become that noblest work of Nature, an honest man.—[Falls down before the picture and weeps.]

THE DAY AFTER—"St. Patrick's Day in the morning."

54

LONDON IMPROVEMENTS.

LADY DAY—Old & New Style.

58

SUPERIOR CRAFT—IN DOCK AND OUT OF DOCK.

NOTE ON THE NAVAL FORCES OF GREAT BRITAIN.
BY A FRENCH ADMIRAL.

This note is avowedly designed as a companion to the pamphlet of the Prince de Joinville, which was intended to show how easily England might be taken by the French; but omitted to say how the matter might have been taken by the English. The note is written with the same exactitude as to facts, the same knowledge of the subject, and the same spirit of candour by which all recent French works on England have been distinguished. We give an abridgement of the note, which, in its original state, is extremely full, and at the same time particularly empty.

"In looking at the state of the English marine, I turned my attention to the depôts for marine stores, which of course comprise the whole of the naval resources of perfidious Albion. To judge of the British marine from the state of the marine stores, nothing can be more contemptible than the former, because nothing can be more insignificant than the latter. I asked one of the marine-store dealers how he would provision a man-of-war with beef for a long voyage, and he had nothing to show me but a quantity of beef bones, which he valued at five pounds for twopence. The English sailors, it is well known, cannot fight unless they are maddened with grog; and I looked over the marine-store dealer's establishment 59for the exciting liquid. I looked in vain; for he had only an enormous quantity of empty bottles, some of which he told me he had that day been purchasing. I must do the English the justice to say that they provide well for the dressing of the wounds of their sailors, for the marine stores include vast heaps of linen rags, some of which I observed were brought from persons casually coming into the depôt to dispose of them.

"Being desirous of avoiding any feeling of partiality or prejudice, I determined not to be satisfied with a mere examination of the stores, which must constitute the true strength of a nation's marine; and I resolved to see her vessels afloat on the Thames, for which purpose I made for the river. I made directly for Hungerford, one of her richest ports, and found a considerable fleet of steamers, several of which were manned, and at work, so that I could well judge of their capabilities. They seemed for the most part well officered, but there appeared a want of enthusiasm among the men; and a great deal of quarrelling went on among the various captains, which proves that the British navy is not in that state of union which the English flag—the Jean d'Amitie, or Union Jack—is emblematical of.

"Determined to give a fair trial to the merits of the British marine, I asked of the perfidious Britons themselves which was the best boat, and each began vociferating loudly the praises of the vessels before me, on the deck of one of which, L'Homme pas marié (the Bachelor), I soon found myself. She had no guns with her, and when I asked the captain where they were, he laughed in my face, knowing, of course that the French Cabinet would submit to any humiliation rather than undertake a war with his, the captain of the Bachelor's, Government. At Chelsea, which is to London what Havre is to us, there was a flotilla of two vessels, and there was a great deal of small craft lying about, which as I passed appeared to assume an insolent attitude. On leaving the vessel I was made to produce a portion of the ship's papers, which I had been made to hold in my possession, and pay fourpence for before I was permitted even to embark on board the vessel. If England still avoids a war it is not the superiority of her craft, which is wretched enough, but it is something more than her craft—it is her astounding cunning."

QUARTER DAY.

In some remote parts of England there exists an absurd notion, that tenants are bound by some obsolete law to pay rent four times a year. As I always entertained very opposite opinions on matters of Dr. and Cr. to the mercantile portion of my fellow-creatures (having entered the army at the early age of sixteen), I was preparing 60on the 25th of June, 18—, to avail myself of the loveliest moonlight night that I ever witnessed, to transport the few valuables that several years of half-pay had left me, when I was presented with a short note from the sheriff of Middlesex, in which the worthy functionary expressed a strong desire to avail himself of any trifles I might possess to the amount of 48l. 9s. 6d.

This circumstance so utterly disgusted me with the world that I determined to put an end to my existence, and having communicated my intention to my wife, she not only concurred in the policy of my determination, but expressed her willingness to assist me in its perpetration. It was to the hands of that once-excellent woman that I owe as respectable a death as ever terminated the chequered life of a captain of Foot, for on the 18th of July, 18—, the following announcement appeared in the Times newspaper, under the head of "Deaths:"—

"On the 16th ult., of decline, Captain Herbert Reginald de Courcy, of the —— Regiment of Foot. His loss will not be easily supplied in the corps, of which he was a distinguished and respected member. He served a considerable time at Birmingham, where he was quartered for eight months."

The next day I laid aside my wig, shaved off my moustachios, and removed a false front tooth, which I had worn since infancy, and the metamorphosis was so complete, that having one day imprudently ventured into the park, a tailor, to whom I was indebted a considerable sum, actually inquired of me the way to the Colosseum.

Mrs. Captain de Courcy shortly after obtained her pension as an officer's widow, and for some years I enjoyed my ghosthood without a single unpleasant interruption; but

but death and quarter-day. About a month ago I discovered that Mrs. Captain De Courcy had presumed upon my decease, and actually considered herself in a state of widowhood, for ever since she has admitted to her table a very uncomfortably good-looking fellow, of the name of Briggs. What can I do? She defies me to interfere. I am only her cousin from Yorkshire. Should I say a word, the authorities at the War Office might object that I was "returned killed" by a decline, and possibly be mercenary enough to deprive me of my hard-earned pension. Again, I say, what am I to do? As an officer and a gentleman, I ought to resent the injury. I will—I swear it, come what may—I will throw off the mask. I will kick Briggs, and uphold the honour of my profession, but not till this day has passed, for this (I blush while I write it), this is quarter-day, and I can't afford it.

THE SPRING QUARTER.

It was May! the merry month of May, and bees from flower to flower did melodiously hum, when a traveller, wrapped in an old weather-stricken Macintosh, wound down the little hill that enters the little village of Somerton. The old clock had just struck the hour of sunset, and the lark retired to his nest; the screech-owl was beginning to tune his voice for his nocturnal screeching; while the bat, wrapped in contemplation, kept his keen eye steadily fixed on the setting sun, which had begun to gild the highest peak of the distant mountains. Alas! it is ever thus: man in his haughty pride, like the mountain holding its head high above those by which it is surrounded, only acknowledges the smile when it is too late to take advantage of the warmth; or, to use a more homely illustration, we cherish the ray, though we may have neglected the meridian.

By this time the stranger had reached the bottom of the hill, and in a few minutes he was seated before a foaming tankard of ginger-beer, and a generous plate of captain's biscuits, in the parlour of the little hostelry of Somerton. The host of the "Blighted Ash"—such was the name of the hostelry—was a man a little above the middle stature, with firmly-knit knees, a pair of shoulders slightly rounded, a forehead bronzed by repeated exposure to an autumn sun, a capacious chest, and an upper lip with that peculiar curl which is the sure sign of native aristocracy. The traveller eyed him with searching interest, and the landlord returned glance for glance, as he replenished the invigorating pot, at the desire of his customer. At length the latter invited the former to partake of his cheer, and the stranger having pushed the captain's biscuits towards the host of the "Blighted Ash," both of them fell into a profound silence, which was only disturbed by the ticking of the clock, or the loud laugh of revelry in another room in the hostelry.

Nearly an hour had elapsed, when the stranger, drawing his chair close to that of his companion, looked steadily in his face, and throwing off a flaxen wig, discovered a natural head of hair, in which Rowland seemed to have combined with Oldridge, for the hair displayed all the gloss of the Macassar, added to all the vigour of the Balm of Columbia. It was but the work of an instant; and in another moment the stranger was locked in the arms of the innkeeper, while the latter murmured out "My son!" and the former shrieked—"My father!"

Both of them, a few days afterwards, left the "Blighted Ash," never to return; and many a legend did the village gossips relate, of how the landlord of the "Blighted Ash" at last found a balm for his seared bosom.

GOING TO S^t. PAUL'S.

It was the 11th of November. It had been raining since three o'clock. A thick fog enveloped London. Horses smoked, as if in a terrible passion with the weather; and omnibuses rolled along, breaking for once their daily custom of stopping at every lamp-post on the way. I had a secret presentiment something strange would happen.

St. Paul's struck one—two—three—four o'clock. I counted them distinctly, one by one. They sounded like a death-knell. A dead silence ensued, invaded only by the cries of "Cl'pam!" "M'l'end!" that broke forth in fitful shouts from contending cads. I did not feel well. I was leaning against a lamp-post at the corner of the Bank—wet to the skin. My mind was very uneasy. I had that day accepted a bill. I was vowing within myself never to accept another, when a sudden noise—a fearful rush—recalled me to my senses. I looked around, and saw a large stream of human beings pouring, in fearful force, from the principal door of the Bank. Man seemed leagued in enmity against man—clerk looked on fellow-clerk with the lowering eyes of a malignant fiend. Their looks alarmed me. Not a policeman was in sight! What should I do? Was the Bank on fire? I had no money there, still there are moments when we can feel for others. It was like a human river broken from its bank, carrying ruin and terror wherever it went. Could it be a panic? I recollected my Julia had 500l. standing there in the suitable name of Smith. I dashed the drops of perspiration from my fevered brow. I endeavoured to recollect myself. It was but one effort. I determined, let it cost me what it would, to follow them to the end.

There were full two hundred beings. They formed one unbroken, moving mass. They were running, as if with one will, frantically together. Their speed was unnatural. The rain only made them run the faster. Not an umbrella had they amongst them. At last they reached the corner. The clerks behind ran as if for their very lives. I was alarmed, and ran after them, the agent of some mysterious fear. I lost sight of them for a moment. Again I saw them—and, oh! what a scene presented itself to me! A band of at least two hundred desperate clerks were struggling, fighting madly, to get admission all into one omnibus. Their screams were dreadful. One fat cashier was lying, dead or wounded, under the door-step, bathed in mud. Another was shouting in agony, at the door, unable 65to work his way out or in. Twenty or thirty clerks were climbing, to the imminent peril of their lives, on to the roof. At the same time a severe engagement was taking place amongst a determined dozen on the box, to decide by brutal force who should remain master of the one seat. In the algebraical fraction of a minute every place was invaded, and the omnibus rolled away before me, like some frightful dream. How many lives were lost I cannot tell. The subject was too painful to inquire into. I felt a degree of pity for the pettiness of human nature, and had a strong glass of brandy-and-water.

Never, as long as I live, shall I forget the 11th of November!

[This phenomenon, we have been told, is not so strange as it may appear. Let the curious reader only be present at the Bank, on the first rainy day, when the clock strikes four, and he will infallibly—should there be only one omnibus in waiting—witness the same desperate struggle for places as occurred to our German-minded correspondent on the memorable 11th. It is a very amusing sport, we have been told, to be a spectator (under an umbrella) of this animated clerk-race.]

LINES WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM.
BY THE LATE DANIEL LAMBERT.

GARDENING FOR LADIES.
THE MAMMA'S CALENDAR FOR JULY.

Your daughters now demand your serious attention. Dress and plant them in rows for evening parties. Weed poor relations. Sift "Debrett's Peerage" well through, and do your best to nail the oldest branches. Lay traps for bets at races, and hoe young gentlemen for gloves. Calculate the advantages of foreign, as compared with English husbandry, and cultivate whichever promises to turn out best. Remove younger daughters to the nursery, and towards the 30th transplant young sprigs to narrow beds at preparatory schools. Cut your box at the opera, and look forward to spa watering for the autumn. Trim your old man well, if he does not come out handsomely: if the trimming should fail, forcing must be resorted to. Put your frames in muslin bags, and cart away loose furniture to the Pantechnicon. Graft slips on window-panes, labelled "To Let," and harrow your servants with board wages. Clear out your husband's purse, or if he is rather backward this year, transplant him to back kitchen; and, screening yourselves from exposure, drill policemen to say "the family have gone out of town."

HORTICULTURAL FATE.

Happening to be at Ramsgate in the summer of 1844, and being much out of spirits at the loss of 4l. 10s. in raffles, for which I had won a card-rack—my mind, by-the-bye, has been upon the rack ever since—I determined on availing myself of an opportunity to visit the Continent, which the starting of an excursion boat to Calais on the following day held out to me.

I retired to my apartment at the hotel, and was soon wrapped in the arms of Morpheus and a pair of Witney blankets, from both of which I emerged at six, for our vessel was chartered to start precisely at seven. Having swallowed a hasty pint of shrimps and a rapid plate of bread and butter, washed down by a cup of tolerable Twankay, I threw my zephyr over my arm, lashed my hat to my button-hole by a piece of string, and flung myself on to a camp stool near the binnacle of the packet. Our captain was a thorough tar, with a white hat and a cotton pocket-handkerchief. He had served (as a witness) in the action between the Thunder and the Bachelor, off Westminster Hall, and was continually quoting the words of Nelson to the crew who acted under him. These consisted of a steward, a stoker, a boy, and a common sailor; the steward steering the ship, the common sailor taking the tickets on landing, and the boy throwing the rope to the people on the pier at the termination of each voyage. The gallant old captain, in quoting the exclamation of the hero of the Nile, always interpolated two words to adapt the invigorating sentence to the exigencies of his own craft, and was continually shouting—

By this happy device of our captain the boy was inspired with the same enthusiasm that animated the men, and the result was that the captain was the idol of his little crew of mariners.

We left Ramsgate with a stiff hurricane all around us, steaming up in the teeth of the wind, and a good biting breeze it seemed to promise us. On getting outside the harbour, we lurched up to the right, then tumbled over to the left, and pitched heavily with the vessel's head smack into the wave, as if, like a thirsty bird, she was dipping down into the sea to take a deep drink of it. Several of the passengers performed the same extraordinary manœuvre, and I threw myself in helpless misery flat on the deck, where I continued to roll backwards and forwards between the mast and an iron grating which covered the part of the vessel containing the machinery. I had little opportunity of cultivating the acquaintance of my fellow-passengers, one or two of whom occasionally tumbled over me, and 69I hoped if I ever tumbled over either of them in after life, that it would be under more favourable auspices. The chief part of the voyage was passed by me in a state of unconsciousness, and I was roused from a sort of swoon by the information that we had arrived at the mouth of Calais harbour, which there would be no possibility of entering. After beating about for a space of time that I subsequently ascertained was four hours, though it had appeared to me about forty, we put back, and hopped, skipped, jumped, toppled, sidled, ambled, pitched, tossed, and tumbled over the briny deep—a great deal too deep for me to trust it again—into the harbour of Ramsgate. After getting safely on shore we all began to abuse the captain; but the jolly old tar, placing his thumb on the end of his nose, gave a puff at his cigar, and went below to his dinner. One of the party, a London attorney, who had come to Ramsgate in pursuit of health and a runaway cognovit, threatened the proprietors of the packet with an action for not taking us to Calais, according to agreement; but he had no sooner served process on the agent than he was referred to the little words "Weather permitting," at the bottom of the bill announcing the intended landing at Calais. This made all the difference in the contract, for the words should have been "Weather or no," in order to sustain the threatened action.

PROSPECTUS OF THE
MUTUAL PLATE PRESENTATION AND FRIENDLY
TESTIMONIAL ASSOCIATION.

The principle of plate presentation has never yet been thoroughly understood, or, at all events, it has never been completely and satisfactorily acted on. The great advantage of obtaining credit for public and private virtues through the medium of inscriptions on cups and snuff-boxes cannot be too seriously or emphatically insisted on. It is therefore proposed that a society should be formed on the plan of the United Brothers, the Associated Sons of Harmonious Freedom, and other similar institutions, the object of the projectors being the presentation of testimonials in honour of the private and public virtues of the various members.

It is proposed to issue ten thousand shares of one pound each, one shilling deposit being paid at the time of allotment. The holder of ten shares will be entitled to a snuff-box on the death of his wife, with an inscription eulogistic of his virtues as a "tender husband." On the death of each child he will receive a pencil-case, with a brief allusion to his qualities as the "best of fathers;" and on the decease of himself, his widow will be presented with a tooth-pick in albata, having a consolatory motto engraved on the back of it.

Applications for shares to be made at the offices of the Electro-Mosaic-Nickel Continental and Birmingham Gold and Silver Establishment, 0½, Houndsditch.

1. Always carry a box of lucifers in your hand. It is the Ægis of a beggar's life, and shields him from the invasion of policemen.

2. Never be lame and blind together in the same town. One infirmity at a time is enough for the coldest sympathy.

3. Run sedulously after Quakers and fat ladies, especially if you have with you at the time a wife and a large family.

4. Never fail to sing out well in cold weather. If you have three or four little boys and girls, of mixed sizes, to sing with you, all the better. Always choose the middle of the street to give effect to your voices.

5. You must be "frozen out" regularly ever winter, and mount duty in the streets, with a pitchfork, tipped with a cabbage, over your shoulder.

6. Your costume in each season must be the opposite of that usually worn; that is to say, during the winter, a pair of very thin trousers and a corazza will be all you require. Shiver violently, and chatter your teeth as often as a person passes you. A sailor's hat, striped shirt, and canvas trousers, are not bad in a country town.

7. Mind, in your orations, you "haven't tasted food for three days," and make a practice of picking up bones, or old crusts, out of the gutter, and gnawing them, if there is any one looking at you.

8. Never be too modest, if any one has relieved you, to ask for "an old coat, or a pair of old shoes." Recollect, Holywell Street is not too proud to purchase the most worthless of wearing apparel.

9. Take care, if you are deaf and dumb, not to answer any one. Suffer yourself to be taken into custody rather than notice the impertinent questions of an officer of the Mendicity Society.

10. Take care of long crossings, if you are very lame. It is extremely unpleasant, as well as infra dig., to carry your crutches and run all of a sudden, if you happen to have at your heels a mad bull or a racing omnibus.

11. Chalk writing is unprofitable, and belongs to the old school. If you are driven to it, don't mind about spelling incorrectly, and be sure you are "starving." Quiet spots, like Gower Street or Russell Square, are the best markets for this branch of the profession. In great thoroughfares you will have your fresco or calligraphy rubbed out by every unfeeling passer-by, and be obliged ultimately to "walk your chalks."

SUMMER-Y JUSTICE—The heat of argument.

OCCUPATIONS OF THE PEOPLE.

The returns under this head are extremely interesting, and some curious calculations may be made from them. It appears that there is, in England and Wales, about one lawyer to four lunatics; thus giving him a chance of at least a couple of clients. The tables are, however, very incomplete; for we find no account of the number of omnibus cads, who are lumped under the head of "other educated persons." We presume that convicts come home from transportation are included among persons returned as independent.

Take as much room on the pavement as you possibly can: if you are with four or five friends, walk all arm-in-arm together. Don't make way for a lady; the road is plenty wide enough for her. Joke smartly with the cabmen, and hail every omnibus which is passing, and then walk a different way. Ask each policeman "How's G 149?" and enter into playful conversation with every beggar who asks you for a penny. Enter newspaper shops to inquire the price of the "Penny Magazine," and stop outside cookshops to imitate the action of the carver. Shriek out "Lur-li-e-ty" as often as you please, and compliment cooks and housemaids standing at area-gates. Stop private carriages to inquire if they are "hired," and tap stout gentlemen on the off shoulder to enjoy their surprise when they turn round and see no one there. Buy baked potatoes in the street to keep your hands warm, and play at catch-ball with them as you go along. Pelt dogs with stones, or anything else you can get; and cry "Balloon" when there is none. Converse freely with old clothesmen, and laugh openly at persons in distress. Stare young ladies out of countenance, and quiz aged people on their very juvenile looks. Ring bells vigorously as you go home of an evening, and rattle your stick violently against the area-railings, taking good care to remove all pewter pots that may be hanging on them.

HISTORICAL QUESTIONS:
À LA MANGNALL.

When was ginger-beer first invented?

In whose reign did the British highlow first come into use?

Who built the Elephant and Castle?

Who was the originator of the arrangement which placed "a sandwich and a glass of ale for fourpence" within the reach of the whole population of London?

When was the House of Hanover first brought over to England, and what is its present address?

When was the fantail first worn, and by whom?

What were policemen invented for?

In whose reign was the unicorn attached to the British arms?

When was the Battle of the Constitution fought in the Registration Courts?

Upon what occasion did policemen first wear Berlin gloves?

Who was the last of the outlaws, and state a few of the actions in which he distinguished himself?

Never do anything hastily: remember it is the last cup of tea which is the strongest.

Be not too prodigal: the kettle when too full puts out the fire.

A little scandal is to tea what an olive is to wine.

Butter not your bread on both sides, lest in your old age you be left without bread to butter.

It is a wise washerwoman who knows her own twankay.

Measure your green according to your black.

Happy is he who can take the rough with the smooth—the strong hyson with the fine pearl gunpowder.

Delays are dangerous: remember the hottest toast will get cold by standing.

REASONS FOR CLOSING ATTORNEYS' OFFICES
AT SIX.

The lawyers' clerks, having been bitten by the linendrapers' shopmen, have caught the fashionable mania for "shutting up at six," in order to give them time for that mental cultivation which filling up writs, attending before the Master, and copying bills of costs, are not likely to facilitate.

At a recent meeting of some influential articled clerks, and a numerous body of common-law journeymen, the following resolutions, embodying reasons for closing attorneys' offices at six, were unanimously agreed to:—

"1. That the study of history is conducive to the cultivation of the mind. That the performances at Astley's begin at half-past six, and it is desirable that the clerks who are anxious to profit by the dramatic representation of the great historical events of our own time, should have an opportunity of doing so.

"2. That it is perfectly true the Cider Cellars and the Coal Hole (where the noblest study of mankind, which is universally allowed to be man, can be effectually carried on) do not present many attractive features till after nine in the evening. That, nevertheless, the cigar divans are in full operation before that hour; and it is therefore expedient that six should be the time appointed for the cessation of business.

"3. That stout and devilled kidneys, when introduced into the animal system too late at night, are liable to impede the action of the digestive 74organs, and impair the intellectual faculties, thus depriving the employer of the full benefit of the clerk's shrewdness and activity. It is, therefore, of the last importance that, by an early release from business, the stout and kidneys may be absorbed by the gastric juices, and the gases given off, by evaporation, in sufficient time to enable the clerk to devote a mens sana in corpore sano by ten o'clock in the morning, to the best interests of his principal.

"4. That the Surrey Zoological Gardens afford opportunities for the study of natural history, which can only be followed up by daylight. That the habits of the bear, the tiger, and other animals, cannot be said to be without interest to an attorney's clerk; and that the knowledge of how certain savage creatures secure their prey may hereafter be of great service in the practice of the legal profession. It is consequently obvious that the lawyers' clerks should be enabled to profit by so valuable a lesson.

"5. That the shooting galleries are seldom open after eight, and that the knowledge of the use of powder and shot is essential to a lawyer, as he will often be called upon by a client to decide whether a defendant is worth the articles alluded to.

"6. That there are many other occasions when, by an early closing of the office, the lawyer's clerk will have an opportunity of being present at some—"

BRITISH ASSOCIATION FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF SCIENCE.

STIRRING UP THE GREAT FIRE OF LONDON.

Among the events for which the past year will for ever remain a marked twelvemonth on the page of history, is the Great Fire of London, which broke out, for a considerable period, three nights every week, as a public prediction had declared it should, regularly, till further notice.

We are fortunately enabled to give the particulars of this great conflagration on the occasion of one of its grandest eruptions. It commenced a little after dusk, and there can now exist no doubt that it was the work of more than one incendiary.

Flames were distinctly seen to issue from one of the windows of Old St. Paul's (which seemed to have been renovated only to be re-consumed). They evidently proceeded from a torch, which, we are assured, was applied by a man in a seal-skin cap.

No less than three individuals were observed, busy in assisting the progress of the flames, by tossing ignited straw, &c., about with pitchforks. The glare distinctly revealed their shirt sleeves, thus proving them to be without coats: but, owing to the confusion, their faces were not identified.

The devouring element was brought, by a lad in a short jacket (said to have been out at elbows), with aid of a lighted stick, into contact with the touch-hole of a howitzer, which exploded with a loud noise. This proceeding was frequently repeated during the evening,—it is believed out of mere wantonness. The same heartless principle induced others to throw squibs, crackers, and other fireworks into the blazing ruins.

Neither the crowd nor the attendant policemen offered in the smallest degree to interfere. The cries and shouting of the multitude were tremendous, but seemed to partake of an exulting character.

By a little past ten o'clock the flames got under, apparently of their own accord; and, though several towers and steeples had been seen to fall with a tremendous crash, which was heightened by the frequent tocsin of gongs and the explosion of artillery, little damage is imagined to have been done, the destruction having principally extended to the fireworks and other combustibles already mentioned.

The motive assigned for this act of incendiarism is sheer self-interest on the part of the perpetrators, who received a shilling a head from people who came to witness it. The fiendish project, we fear, was crowned with the most complete success.

Almost every person who has lived in history has had some particular antipathy. Julius Cæsar couldn't eat a periwinkle, and Alexander always fainted at the sight of a blackbeetle.

Chaucer would be unwell for days if he heard the cry of "mackerel!" and Spenser never saw a leg of mutton without shivering all over.

Boadicea hated red whiskers: it nearly cost Caractacus his life, because he came into her presence one day with a tremendous pair on.

The smell of pickles always sent Cardinal Wolsey into hysterical fits. He called upon Henry the Eighth once while the monarch was lunching off some cold meat, and Wolsey fell down under the table as soon as he smelt there was pickled cabbage in the room. Henry, thinking the cardinal was intoxicated, had him locked up in the Tower immediately.

Cleopatra couldn't look at a person with freckles: Antony had all his soldiers who were at all freckled painted black to please her.

Napoleon took a violent hatred against any one who didn't take snuff: it is said the cause of his separation from Josephine was because she never would take a pinch from him.

Alfred the Great could not bear the taste of suet-dumplings.

Artaxerxes had such an intense horror of fleas that he would not go to bed without a suit of armour, made like a night-gown, to fit close to his skin. He would lose his reason for days when bitten by one. There was a reward of ten talents, during his reign, for the apprehension of every flea, dead or alive; and merchants would come from far and near to claim the reward.

Queen Elizabeth had the strongest antipathy to a sheriff's officer: she would run away as fast as she could directly she saw one, and continue running for miles, until her guards, who knew her weakness, stopped her.

Old Parr would turn pale if he touched a piece of soap: this is the reason he never shaved. Cicero had such an antipathy to the Wednesday that he used to remain in bed all that day; and Anna Bolena could not hear the word "potato" pronounced without turning violently red, and feeling low-spirited for weeks afterwards.

Charles the Second never could go through Temple Bar. It used to take the whole strength of Villiers, with Rochester and Nell Gwynne, to push him through it. Cromwell never could pass a tripe shop without bursting immediately into tears.

The word "comet" has been derived by some from the Latin coma, a tail; but the better derivation is comma, because it never can come to a full stop.

Every comet has a tail, or train, which may be compared to some of those monster trains which are occasionally the subjects of newspaper paragraphs.

What a comet is we do not exactly know. It is certainly an eccentric body, but there are so many eccentric bodies in these days, that this hypothesis affords us no assistance.

A comet has a curious propensity to cut and come again, at very long intervals.

Astronomers talk of the mean distance of a comet from the earth, but as no comet ever came nearer than several thousands of miles, which is anything but a mean distance, we should be glad to know the meaning the astronomers attach to the word alluded to.

There is a comet due in 1848, being the same one that favoured us, or rather our ancestors, with a visit at half-past eight P.M., on the 21st of April, 1556. As the "oldest inhabitant" will not have had the honour of a previous acquaintance, it is very possible that some other eccentric body may be mistaken for our old acquaintance of the sixteenth century. Perhaps an inferior planet, disguised in a long tail, may endeavour to pass himself off for the expected visitor.

The safest mode of predicting a comet is to prophesy its appearance at least a century hence, and something luminous is pretty sure to turn up, to enable posterity to find something like a realization of the prediction. Any astronomer desirous of naming an earlier day for the appearance of a comet should stipulate for its being visible at some outlandish locality, where no witnesses will be in attendance to test the accuracy of the prediction.

The comet of 1770 has very shamefully broken its appointments with the astronomers, and shown a degree of unpunctuality which is no less perplexing than it is unbusinesslike. The comet ought to have entered an appearance, according to the law of comets, every five years and a half; but the eccentric body has been non inventus ever since, and we should be glad to see it regularly outlawed from the solar system.

Comets are generally called periodical bodies because their tails are so exceedingly lengthy, like those which are continued from month to month in some of the periodicals. They differ, however, in one respect, the former being very luminous, and the latter utterly destitute of brilliancy.

Between the years 1771 to 1780 there happened a regular glut of comets; no less than five having appeared in the period alluded to. This extraordinary assemblage was no doubt the first regular specimen of a monster meeting.

THE FALL OF THE LEAF.

Professed patriots being always addicted to abusing their own country, it is presumed that the height of patriotism would consist in an Englishman writing leading articles for a French Radical newspaper. With this view a few literary friends of freedom have associated for the purpose of supplying the Parisian Press with Anti-English leaders at a cheap rate, and the following is submitted as a specimen of the article it is proposed to manufacture.

The subject is a particularly happy one, being no less than the solemn declaration of the King of the French (while being invested with the Order of the Garter) that he would never make war upon the Sovereign of the Order alluded to.

The circumstance that the oath taken includes no promise or declaration of the kind can of course be of no consequence, as the leader is intended for a French newspaper. The following is the specimen:—

"Nous voyons [We see] que perfide Albion (we don't translate perfide Albion, for everybody knows the meaning of that) a donné une Jarretière [has given a Garter] à Louis Philippe [to Louis Philippe]. Mais, pourquoi cette Jarretière? [But why this Garter?] Nous voyons dans cette Jarretière [We see in this Garter] une autre chaîne [another chain] pour France [for France]. Oui, oui! [Yes, yes!] cette Jarretière infâme [this infamous Garter] tiera Louis Philippe par la jambe [will tie Louis Philippe by the leg] plus que jamais [more than ever]. En recevant ce Jarretière honteuse [In receiving this infamous Garter] on lui a fait jurer, [they made him swear,] qu'il ne fera pas la guerre [that he will not make war] sur le Souverain de l'Ordre [on the Sovereign of the Order]. Hein, hein! [Alas, alas!] notre pauvre campagne [our poor country] est trahie [is betrayed].

"Mais on a donné cette Jarretière déshonorante [But they have given this degrading Garter] au Roi de la Prusse aussi bien, [to the King of Prussia as well,] et aussi à l'Empereur de Russie [and also to the Emperor of Russia]. Tous ont juré la même chose, [All have sworn the same thing,] de ne pas faire la guerre contre le Souverain de l'Ordre [not to make war on the Sovereign of the Order]. Et qui est le souverain contre qui on a juré de ne pas faire la guerre? [And who is the sovereign against whom they have sworn not to make war?] Pourquoi, la Reine Victoria, pour être certain. [Why, Queen Victoria, to be sure]. Et qui est elle? [And who is she?] Pourquoi, perfide Albion, comme une matière du courant. [Why, perfidious Albion, as a matter of course]. Laisser les Anglais aller se pendre [Let the English go and hang themselves] dans leurs jarretières, [in their garters,] comme cette misérable Mademoiselle Bailey, [like that unfortunate Miss Bailey,] de qui on chante quelquefois [whom they occasionally sing about]. Mais ne 81laissez pas les Français [But do not let the French] suivre l'exemple [follow the example] de la demoiselle à qui nous avons fait allusion [of the young lady whom we have alluded to]. Laissons les rappeler [Let them remember] le sort horrible [the horrible fate] de cette jeune dame, [of that young lady,] qui peut avoir été [who might have been] une decoration à sa sexe [an ornament to her sex] mais pour les jarretières [but for the garters]."

REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE ON WASHHOUSES
FOR THE PEOPLE.

The committee appointed to select a site for a great National Washhouse, vacillated for some time between the Fleet Prison and Covent Garden Theatre; but at length, for the reasons hereinafter stated, gave the latter the preference.

Covent Garden Theatre has had cold water thrown upon it so long, that no expense need be gone to in laying on any more of the salubrious element. The genius of the place is also favourable to such an experiment as the one proposed, for in the event of water being scarce, recourse might be had to some of the old pumps, which, though rather out of use, could easily be made to act again. These pumps possess the advantage of never causing an overflow.

It is proposed to turn the pit into a drying-ground, the backs of the seats being used for hanging clothes upon.

Persons bringing their own soap cannot, on any account, be admitted into the dress circle with mottled; and a moderate quantity of starch will be expected in the private boxes. Tickets for single tubs may be had at the doors, and family coppers to admit six may be had at all the libraries.

One advantage connected with the scheme for turning the theatre into a washhouse, is the opportunity that would be afforded for employing some of the regular company of actors, who, in the mangling department, would be invaluable. The style in which they have occasionally got up and mangled some of Shakspeare's fine things ought never to be forgotten.

With reference to the Fleet Prison, it is suggested by the committee that it is scarcely adapted to ordinary washing, though for purposes of whitewashing, it has always been found to answer.

Should Covent Garden Theatre be fixed upon, due notice will be given of its being open for the season.

This table must depend a great deal on the sort of table kept by the master of the house in which the servant resides. As a general rule, the dripping admits of subtraction, and by calculating how many times the candle-box will go into the kitchen-stuff, a fair average may be arrived at. It must also be borne in mind, that as the water is to the milk, so is the beer-money. In families where the cupboard is left open, it follows frequently, that as the tea is to the sugar, so is the servant at both of them.

THINGS WHICH CAN BE MUCH BETTER CONCEIVED
THAN DESCRIBED.

Getting out of an omnibus, and discovering you have left all your money on the mantel-piece.

A woman discovering her first grey hair.

Putting the lighted end of a cigar into your mouth.

A person's indignation on being told "Queen Anne's dead."

Meeting a creditor, and being obliged to sit opposite to him "the whole way" in an omnibus.

Being asked, in a drawing-room of ladies, to take a few tickets in a raffle—"the ticket only a guinea!"

Breaking your strap in the pas seul in La Pastorale.

The wine at a public dinner.

DIRECTIONS FOR BREWING.

One of the difficulties attendant on domestic brewing is the expense of the cask, but this may always be got by having a barrel of beer on trial from a regular brewer, and saying it is not quite out when the cask is applied for. By agreeing to pay for the beer, one barrel under the other, the expense becomes merely nominal.

In order to prevent the lightning from turning the beer, a lightning conductor should be fixed in the bung-hole of the cask, or a stair-rod would perhaps be an economical substitute.

Families who brew without exactly knowing how, may try the experiment of a polite note to Messrs. Barclay and Perkins, asking one of them to step round to put the parties in the right way, if they should be making a failure of the brewing.

If the beer should be flat after having been left to cool in washing-tubs, a raisin may be thrown in, and if it fails to produce any effect, another raisin may be tried; but should the second raisin prove unsuccessful, it will be waste of time—and raisins—to go on with the experiment.

COURT OF YOUNG ENGLAND.

The subject of the present notice was born of very obscure parents in London, and was placed, soon after his birth, at the doors of the Treasury, under the impression that Sir Robert Peel might stumble over it, and be induced to take it in and provide for it. The Premier, however, merely moved it on one side with his foot, and Young England began to cry out very lustily; but its voice was so weak that no one paid any attention to it. Soon after, the bantling attracted the notice of the press, and its case was laid before the public, but it excited very little interest; and an appeal to Old England in favour of Young England was equally unsuccessful, the former denying the latter to be its legitimate offspring. A novel, entitled "Coningsby," was afterwards written, in the hope of doing something for Young England; but the more the book was read, the less was Young England thought of.

It is a curious fact, that while Young England never could succeed in winning popularity, a rival, in the shape of Young America, was very successful, under the name of General Tom Thumb, who was received very graciously at Buckingham Palace. Surely, if mere littleness confers a claim to admiration, Young England is almost as deserving of it as General Tom Thumb, who, on the principle that extremes often meet, frequently found himself in the presence of greatness. Young England would give its little finger to make its way at Court as little Thumb has done.

ASSESSED TAXES.

As the ordinary almanacks are, in many respects, erroneous in their information on the subject of assessed taxes, we proceed to correct a few of the most usual inaccuracies.

It is generally said that 2l. 8s. must be paid annually for armorial bearings by persons keeping a carriage. It ought to be added, that there is an exemption for persons keeping a cab by making it wait for them.

Every additional body used on a carriage is chargeable; but when any body additional is used on a carriage as an extra footman, he is regarded as no body, and he is liable to no other duty than that of getting up and down when required.

The year 1844 will be ever memorable in our national annals, on account of the breaking out of a great plague, on which physiologists have conferred the title of "Polkamania." This remarkable affliction first originated in the Black Forests of Bohemia, where it took the name of Polka—which is, no doubt, a corruption of Pole-ca, a word evidently derived from the pole cat, to which, as an excessive nuisance, the Polka has some kind of affinity.

The boors, or bores, of the Black Forest communicated the Polka to some Parisians, who always take quickly any malady of the kind, and it very soon spread among the people of the French capital. It was introduced into England a short time after, by a coryphèe coming over to fulfil an engagement at Her Majesty's Theatre. The poor fellow was, indeed, very bad with it, and it was thought that it would have died a natural death, for it did not seem to be very taking until Monsieur Jullien happened to catch it, and infected several places of public amusement with the severe calamity. The malady now spread with fearful rapidity, and even Mr. Baron Nathan fell a victim to it in its fiercest shape, while others of less exalted rank in the Terpsichorean world had it in a much milder form than the Baron. The symptoms of the disease are too well known to need a lengthy description. It causes a contraction of the leg, and a drawing up the heel to a considerable height, accompanied by a violent twisting of the head from side to side, and numerous contortions of the body. It gives a strange sort of motion to the arms, occasions a repeated stamping of the feet, and induces altogether a singularity of action which is not to be found in other cases of mania. It is to be expected that the malady will soon wear itself out, like other previous visitations of a somewhat similar character.

BOXING-NIGHT—A picture in the National Gallery.

SPORTS AND PASTIMES.

For the benefit of our young readers, and, indeed, for the advantage of children of a larger growth, we subjoin a few games, adapted to the meanest capacities, and the most limited pecuniary resources.

THE POSTMAN.

The game of Postman is little known by the title we have given it, but it is very frequently played at. It is a cheap amusement—if done well; but a good deal may be lost at it, if it is not skilfully managed. It can be played at by three or four at a time, or even more, and it may also be indulged in by a single individual. The game consists of giving a postman's knock at any door, and running away as fast as possible.

THE CABMAN.

This is a very amusing game, and is very easily played at. Fix your eye on any particular cabman, and he will be sure to come off his stand as rapidly as he can, thinking that you intended to hail him.

The fun of the game may be increased by looking at three or four on the same stand, when they will all rush off the rank, and you have only to explain that you "merely looked, but don't want a cab;" upon which they will very likely begin quarrelling with each other, and thus add materially to your amusement.

87

OUR PRIZE PROPHECY.

Some of the subscribers to this Almanack have represented to us that it is scarcely complete without a prediction, and we have, therefore, been on the look out during the year for an eligible prophecy. We were for some time in treaty with a professor of the cabalistic art; but, as one of our stipulations with the soothsayer was, that the prediction should not be paid for until it was realized, the sage, with considerable indignation, declined the engagement. We have consequently resolved on throwing open the prophetic department to public competition, and we therefore invite the attention of professional seers to the following conditions:—

Prophecies must be sent in before the end of September, written 88in plain English, without any mystifying allusions to the signs of the zodiac.

No prophecy to contradict itself more than once in the same sentence; and where there are two results, one of which must arise, both must not be predicted in the same paragraph.

A prophecy that Sagittarius will influence the fate of a man of rank, will not be considered as having been fulfilled by a nobleman happening to marry, or go out of town, or come to town, in the course of the month referred to in the alleged prediction.

The assertion that the town of Birmingham is under the influence of Aquarius will be considered a partially fulfilled prophecy—and paid for as such—if washing and bathing establishments should be introduced into Birmingham at about the time specified.

Prophecies consisting merely of figures, and sent in as nativities, cannot be taken into consideration, for, though they are no doubt very correct, they are, unfortunately, wholly unintelligible.

Any prophecy relating to events in Bosnia, Beretzyk in Transylvania, and other out-of-the-way places, from which a mail never comes, because it is never due, will be rejected, on account of the difficulty of testing its accuracy.

Every one who has observed the mass of railway papers that have shot up during the past half year, must have been astonished that none, devoted to Fashionable Railway Intelligence and Literature, have yet appeared, appealing more especially to those who have souls above the share market. We have the pleasure of announcing the immediate appearance of such a periodical. We are aware that, at present, all sympathies, interests, and affections, social and general, are absorbed by the railways; but the "Railway Belle Assemblée," whilst it never loses sight of the mighty spirit of the age, will contain such literature alone, as the member of the beau monde seeks for in vain, at present, in the bewildering and endless lines of advertisements, and the single and double supplements of the daily and weekly press.

The arrangement of amusements, &., may be looked for as follows:—A grand race is about to take place upon the Great Western, from Paddington to Slough, between the ten o'clock down train and a shower of rain. In the event of fine weather, the meeting will be postponed until the next day.

A déjeûner à la fingers is about to be given at the Wolverton station, whilst the train stops, next Saturday. The pretty young lady with the dark eyes, who makes the coffee so hot that the passengers cannot drink it, has condescended to preside. The visitors will arrive exactly ten minutes before they depart. A band will accompany the passengers the whole distance—round the hats of the guards; and a pyrotechnical display will take place off the Birmingham terminus, when the engine fires are raked out for the night.

On Wednesday next, an interesting soirée of men of letters will be held, at eight o'clock, with the Post-office bags, at all the different termini. The clerk at the Kingston station is expected to get the sack five-and-twenty minutes after, but it will not reflect any discredit on him.

Eastern Counties Railway.—An interesting lecture on steam, and the properties of the engine, was given by the engineer of the "Blazes," locomotive, on Tuesday, to the new stoker, on the tender. The proceedings concluded with a private dinner of two polonies, a small loaf, and pot of half-and-half.

Important.—By a recent Act of Parliament every director is liable to be called upon to ride in front of the train, whenever it is necessary, as a buffer. As a great part of them are men of straw, the fitness of these buffers for the purpose is unquestionable, in addition to the chaff which they have always at command.

ABOLITION OF DUELLING.

The members of the various Clubs have come to the determination to put down this atrocious custom. In the event of not being able to form a court of honour, from the scarcity of the principal ingredient, they have decided that all future quarrels shall be adjusted by the Carrara Water, in a gallery suited for the purpose. And, moreover, that the Carrara Monument Company, shall erect a tablet, to perpetuate the social death of all who may he worsted in the meeting: anybody being corked, to be ranked, like claret in the same state, as worthless.

AQUARIUS—Jolly Young Watermen.

The common water-plug offers a capital medium for illustrating the leading principles in hydrostatics and hydraulics. When opened, the effort of water to find its own level may be turned to account, in diverting and instructive methods by the young professors of the neighbourhood in the absence of the police, who are, generally speaking, inimical to science. To produce a jet, the water must either come up or come down. In the case of a fire-plug, it comes down from the New River; and if the rates are not paid, the company come down as well upon the delinquents for the money, until the latter come down with it. In the Trafalgar fountains, it comes up to the surface, but not at all to the expectations. In either case the force is the same. This increases, in an inverse ratio, to the opposition offered; and by compressing it at the orifice, it may be thrown in any direction by a little judicious management of the sole of the foot. In this manner, benevolent boys may frequently be seen distributing water gratuitously to the passing pilgrims.

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN JANUARY.

Recollect, if you slip down in the street this month not to evince any pain, but rather laugh: get up smiling, and walk away with a joyous air.

Do not try rashly to cut the outside edge on the Serpentine, but practise by yourself, at midnight, with a full moon, on secluded Hampstead ponds, until you are perfect; because, it usually happens, that the instant you wish to show off before some young ladies you know, your heels will go higher than your head, and you will look contemptible.

That family parties at this time of the year are not those wonderfully lively things they are conventionally supposed to be: the presence of a few lively acquaintances being indispensable to make them go off well. Relatives don't care to exert themselves to be entertaining before one another; or if they do, all the rest know what is coming.

THE GIPSY'S PROPHECY.

DIVERS INTERESTING QUESTIONS FOR MY READERS
TO CONSIDER.

What do you generally think—

1. When you ask if any one is at home, and the servant tells you he don't know, but will go and see; asking your name: and then comes back and answers in the negative?

2. When a man at an evening party says he does not waltz, "because his head won't stand it?"

3. When you find a broken dish behind the dresser, and the cook says, "the cat did it?"

4. When a friend presses you to "come and see him very soon—any day—he always dines at five;" but won't state a time?

5. When a married couple are more than usually affectionate, and use endearing terms, in public?

6. When a lady, holding out her glass for some wine at a supper, says, "Oh, really; the least drop in the world, Mr. Smith: stop, stop?"

7. When the clown, a sweep, and a milk-pail, are all on the stage together, in a pantomime?

8. When, at a small country party, the lemonade and negus get gradually weaker towards the end of the evening?

9. When you see a gentleman vandyking between the area railings and the lamp-post, addressing vague words to imaginary peeple?

PISCES—Too deep!

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN FEBRUARY.

Buy a bottle of reviver to renovate your coat and trousers for forthcoming parties. Rout up old kid gloves, and send them to be cleaned.

That, on the 14th, if there is any one you wish to insult, it can be done cheaply and anonymously by a valentine, without the chance 94of being tricked in return; whilst the shaft rankles the more, because it is not known who has sent it.

Do not accept an invitation to Hampshire for wild-duck shooting, unless you wish to catch a rheumatism that will last you for life. This sport consists in sitting all night up to the knees in mud, half frozen, armed with a long gun, which your fingers are too cold to let off. This, however, is your only chance of safety, as, if it did go off, the recoil would knock you backwards, and you would never get up again.

In early times the greater part of the month was dedicated to the Saxon god, Thaw.

FIRE ESCAPES.

The frequency of accidents from fire renders some certain method of escape desirable. The following have received medals:—

The first is founded on those ingenious machines we find in the Dutch toy-boxes, for causing soldiers, ducks, sheep, and even tea things, to march, deploy, and fall into lines, in the most orderly manner. One of these will be kept at the corner of every street, and, by the aid of four policemen, will always raise the preserver, or lower the preserved, in this manner.

The next is simply by a parachute, formed of canvas, which may be folded up, and kept in the window-seat. Should there be any wind, the inmates will be carried to the end of the street, and perhaps further, which is of course, an advantage. An ingenious architect recommends that the ceiling of every room should be a shower-bath on a large scale, always charged. This is practicable, but in the event of the bath going off when there was no fire, the results would be very inconvenient.

95

BALLAD:

NEW LINES OF RAILWAY,
IN CONTEMPLATION FOR 1846.

ARIES—Ram-pant jollities.

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN MARCH.

Lady-day is the 25th. If you mean to change your residence about that time, bespeak a van in time, large enough to carry off everything at once without coming back again. But as March is a month in which the wind is generally very easily raised, hope for the best.

That Parliament gets into full swing this month; therefore, give up all notion of seeing a newspaper in a coffee-room under an hour after the sixth gentleman has applied for it.

The world of fashion is beginning to awaken. Change from the chrysalis state of the twelve shilling tweed to the butterfly transition of the guinea paletot. High-lows are, however, still to be met with on wet evenings, in damp situations. The gossamer sometimes takes flight this month to distant regions, therefore procure a piece of string.

Should you be unfortunately incarcerated for debts exceeding £20, Nicol's registered paletot will be the most suitable wear, as the advertisements say, that wearing it insures a general sense of freedom.

98

THE STAG
A NEW READING FROM "AS YOU LIKE IT."

TO FIND OUT WHICH WAY THE WIND BLOWS

Go into Trafalgar Square, on a breezy day, without a mackintosh or umbrella. Then stand under St. Martin's cab-stand when the fountains are playing. If you get wet through immediately, the wind is due W.; if it takes a little time to do so, it is N.W., or S.W.; but if you remain quite dry, it is N., S., or E., which can only be ascertained by standing respectively at the foot of the column, under the terrace, or before the club. It hath rarely been known to fail.

THE TRADE WIND GENERATOR.

A very civil engineer, residing in Liverpool, has favoured us with his plan for raising whatever winds may be necessary to ships, for the purpose of commerce. His idea is, to fix a colossal pair of double-action bellows, worked by steam power, at the stern of every ship, which, being put in action, will blow directly on the sails, and propel the vessel in any given direction. This entirely precludes the chance of a ship ever becoming becalmed. He candidly tells us that he cannot claim the entire credit of the invention; and he can remember the late Mr. Joseph Grimaldi working something to the same effect in a pantomime, when he was a child; but the boat being made in this instance of a washing-tub, and rigged with a mop stolen for that purpose from an itinerant vendor, no clear notion could be formed of its power.

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND
IN APRIL.

Be very cautious, on the 1st, of attending to gratuitous advice given in the street, respecting your pocket-handkerchief, straps, or coat-tails. Mistrust everything and everybody until midnight, if you would escape being laughed at.

The month of April is showery, therefore get an umbrella; but remember, that whilst it is fine, a cotton one at half-a-crown looks as well in an oilskin case as a silk one at a guinea; and that when it is wet, nobody cares what you have, never stopping to look.

That you must renew your acquaintance with all sorts of editors to get orders to the Opera, and thus move in the great world at a small outlay. N.B.—Gloves worn the evening before at a party are sufficiently presentable in the pit.

Angling begins this month, and its professors become all hooks and eyes. If you wish to kill time (and nothing else) sit in a Chertsey or Hampton punt, and wait for barbel.

TAURUS—A literary Bull.

MISCELLANEA CURIOSA.
SELECTED FROM THE "MISCELLANIES" OF J. AUBREY, ESQ., CONTAINED IN
THE ASHMOLEAN MUSEUM, AT OXFORD.

Shoes came into Englande with Henry the Fourth his wife, Joan of Navarre. Before that time the nobles did wear dried flat fish, cunningly tied on with thongs of hide. And hence the name of soles as used to this day, and by alle men.

In 1580, a shower of potatoes did fall in Lancashire, at which the husbandmen were sorelie afraid. They were sayde to have been brought from America in a whirlwind, and, being hitherto unknown, became directly common.

102The Polka is a measure danced by salvage men and women in Hongrie. Item.—Sir Francis Drake assures me he hath seen it kept up for twenty minutes and more, until the salvages were like to drop; the reason whereof is difficult to tell; but he takes it to be a religious ceremony, as the whirling dervishes in the Indies doe practise.

Tobacco is a plant growing in China on inaccessible mountains, whence it is plucked by people in balloons made of fish-skin, and preserved in red leather bottles underground. Sir Walter Raleigh did use it first. Its vapour inhaled is an admirable narcotic; and one Master Aytoun, deprived of it, did, in its stead, smoke strips of Blackwood's Magazine; but this well nigh coste him his life.

The first drinking glasse used in Englande had no foote whereon to stand (to encourage drinking), but fell alway; and was hence called a tumbler.

A Bristow man, living at Castile, did learn the art of making soap, which he set up here: and straightway upon this it became common to wash one's self twice and thrice in the week. Nay, Mrs. Gregoire, the commissioner his wife, did cleanse her hands, and eke her face each daie. Soe that it was soon the rage; and people before they went to stay with such and such a one would saie to him, "How are you off for soape?" meaning therebye that if he had not good store, they would none of him; and soe went on their way betymes.

I do remember when they did call cats Tomassins, which, being corrupted to Tom, is still in use with the vulgar; but the etymologie thereof I could never learn, save that the word came from Flanders. Item.—My good friend, Mr. Marmy, assures me that he heard them shriek and cry like infants, beneath his chambers; such as could only be frighted by tossing the fire-irons and fender about their ears. But he verilie believes they were devils' imps and familiars. Item.—Mr. Glanville gave him a charm to exorcise them, which is as follows, writ on fayre parchment:—

The which being pronounced, they would frantically take to their heels and scuffle off like mad, to return no more.

To preserve beer from being soured by thunder:—Summa, it is best to drinke it all off before the storm. They doe practise this in Kent with certainty, and other parts of England. This also on the authority of Mr. Glanville.

Men in liquor have droll conceites. 1 knew such a one, being a justice of the peace, who, when tipsie, would take off his peruke to salute the company with obeisance, and then, putting it on a bottle, would sing a song that had neither beginning nor end, but went merrilie on over again: the which he wold never stop until earned awaie to bed. And yet he was well to doe, and a clever man, but lacked prudence.

My Lord Saye his gardener tells me that during the late storm he did track a flash of lightning through a gooseberrie bush, which marvel he had often heard of, but never saw before.

A correspondent inquires, "Why is beer always excluded from the dinner-parties of those who drink it every day when alone?" We pause for a reply.

GEMINI—Odd-fellows.

The new explanation which our artist has put forward, of the origin of the term Gemini, so clearly tells its own story, that any further remarks upon the subject from us are unnecessary. The situation of the twins, however, suggests that we should make some allusion to the state of the Clowns of England; on which subject we purpose bringing out a work in the same style as the Wives, Mothers, Queens, and other female facts of the said favoured country.

The progress of burlesques at the various theatres has done much to injure pantomimes; and it is feared the race of Clowns will become extinct, unless, in these days of educational enlightenment, some means are taken to train up fresh ones as the old ones drop off. To this end, we mean to establish a school for infant Clowns, who will be taught practical jokes in classes; and old ladies, shopkeepers, lodging-letters, and little boys, will be provided for them to play off their tricks upon. Proper works will be provided for them to study: and from one of the most elementary, not yet published, we make the following extract; premising that the Clown to a travelling circus is the first step on the ladder of pantomimical perfection:—

CHAPTER FROM
THE MERRYMAN'S MANUAL;
OR, CLOWN'S HANDBOOK OF POPULAR HILARITY.
Chap. II.—How to Collect the Crowd in Front of the Show.

[N.B.—The Performers are to walk about as if they were noble Lords and Ladies. The Manager, as a Venetian of high birth, with a whip in his hand, and the Merryman, stand on the steps.]

Master of the Show. Now, Mr. Merryman, be so good as to tell the company——

Merryman. Yes, sir. (Counts his fingers.) Ten, twenty-eleven, fourteen, two.

Master. What are you doing, sir?

Merryman. I'm telling them, sir.

Master. Nonsense, Mr. Merryman. I mean you are to tell them the nature of the exhibition.

Merryman. That's capital good.

Master. What is capital good, Mr. Merryman?

Merryman. Eggs and bacon.

Master. I did not say eggs and bacon, sir. I said, exhibition. Also, the sports and pastimes—

Merryman. That's better still.

Master. What is better still, Mr. Merryman?

Merryman. Pork and parsnips.

Master. Sports and pastimes, sir (sternly).

104Merryman. Now I've got it. Times and passports.

Master (whipping him). Take that, sir!

Merryman. Now keep still, can't you? You'll take all the whicksters off my calves.

Master. Now, Mr. Merryman, inform the company the nature of the performances as exhibited before all the—

Merryman. Exhibited before all the—

Master. Potentates in Europe.

Merryman. Potatoes in Europe. (Confidentially, to the crowd.) That's a lie.

Master (sharply). What did you say, sir?

Merryman. I said, they'd see it all by-and-by.

Master. Dancing on the tight and slack rope—

Merryman. Prancing on the slight and tack rope—

Master. With a variety of ground and lofty tumbling—

Merryman. With a variety of round and crafty grumbling—

Master. Remember the price. Halloo! (Through a speaking trumpet.) Threepence each is all we ask! Servants and working people twopence!

Merryman. Recollect: be in time. All in to begin! Threepence each is all we ask; but we'll take as much more as you like to give us. All in there! all in! [Exeunt company, to re appear in one minute.

This will give a fair notion of the value of the work. In addition to a series of such helps to education, phrases, to be committed to memory, will be hung round the room. These will be principally for the pantomimists, and will consist of sentences like the following:—"Here we are again! how are you?" "Now, don't be a fool!" "Here's somebody coming!" "I saw him do it, sir!" with other similar ones.

The co-operation of all friendly to the interests of the Clowns is earnestly requested to promote the welfare of this institution.

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN MAY.

That there is an ancient quaint rhyme, as follows—the old almanacks having a wrong version:—

That the only Poles now found in May, about London, are the distressed patriots in the cheap eating-houses and copper hells in the neighbourhood of Leicester Square. The sport is not extinct, as little boys may still be seen dancing round the more eccentric specimens of the class. The only reason that these poles have not fallen down, like those in the country, is, that they are supposed to be very hard up.

That although the almanacks declare that perch, ruff, bream, gudgeon, flounders, dace, minnows, trout, and eels may be taken this month, this, to say the least of it, requires confirmation. We have tried often, but never took anything, except taking ourselves off after a fruitless time.

The country here is swarmin' with the most alarmin' kind o' varmin.

"It was too late. Their fearful enemy, that scourge so dreaded by the negro race of the Southern States, the terrible Land-Crab, was upon them. Copper Joe, never remarkable for heroism, lost the small remains of presence of mind which the encounter with the Comanches had left him, and, in attempting to fly, fell prostrate, injuring his abdomen severely. Andromache, with her youthful charge, after a vain effort to rouse her fat husband, Noah, to resistance, joined in the general rout. But the heroic Sambo stood his ground. His eyes glared, his white teeth shone from ear to ear, as, with right foot firmly planted in advance, he stood a sable Antinous, awaiting, with uplifted club, two onsets of the terrible enemy. It was a dreadful moment!"

THE QUEEN OF THE FÊTE.
BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

This dispute may be easily settled as follows:—In the Great Hall of the Ducal Palace, at Venice, are the portraits of all the Doges, except Marino Faliero, whose place is occupied by a frame, enclosing a black curtain, inscribed, "Hic locus est Marini Faliero decapitati pro criminibus." In like manner, in the new Houses of Parliament, we suggest that Cromwell's place should be filled by an empty pedestal, on which might be written, "Here Oliver Cromwell would have been, had he deserved it." As the villains of one age are generally the heroes of the next, in another hundred years the whole nation may set up a statue to him unanimously, and then the place will be ready.

THE FARCE ASSURANCE COMPANY.

Professor Bachhoffner, of the Royal Polytechnic Institution, has submitted a plan to the managers of the different theatres, whereby the ill-effects resulting from the summary damnation of various farces may be avoided. He proposes to erect a gasometer, contiguous to each theatre, to be filled, on the first nights of comic dramas, with laughing gas, which, being distributed through various ventilators, at the last bars of the overture, will keep the audience in screams of cachinnation throughout the performance; so that the papers can conscientiously speak of "peals of laughter," and "hurricanes of applause." By the same means, the talented Professor also proposes to turn on carbonic acid gas, diluted with atmospheric air, to depress the spirits, for serious five-act legitimacy, and induce sleep.

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN JUNE.

If you go down to Ascot races on an old Norwich coach, at twenty shillings a head, when you leave it and get on the course, say, "a man you know (the coachman) brought you down on his drag (the coach)." In going home be careful to conceal yourself, that you may not be discovered jolly, pelting open landaus with pin-cushions, or making a banner of your pocket-handkerchief tied to a walking-stick. Do not go up to carriages whose inmates you know until the race is over: you will then get lunch, and will not be asked by the girls to join a sweepstakes, which never pays.

If not in funds, hide at home, on the Derby day; and when you go out at night declare you never saw a better race. The position of the horses may be read for nothing on the pen-and-ink placard outside the Globe and Sun offices.

The angler this month will find fish most abundant at Blackwall and Greenwich. Almost all sorts may be readily taken with brown bread and butter.

That otter hunting is in season this month, as the almanacks gravely assure us. When the thermometer stands at ninety in the shade, there cannot well be "otter" hunting.

LEO—Androcles and the Lion.

109

THE BOUQUET PROJECTOR, OR CERITO CATAPULT.

The great difficulty experienced in throwing bouquets to popular performers has long been the subject of complaint at the Opera and other theatres. It is calculated that, in every twelve bouquets thrown at the stage, three fall in the stalls, four hit the fiddles, two reach the proscenium (one of which tumbles at the feet of somebody it was not intended for), and the rest fly into the pit-boxes, where they were never meant to go, or break into pieces in the air, showering down like floricultural rockets upon the heads of the spectators. To remedy this inconvenience the Cerito catapult has been invented. It consists of a gun working with a spring; and the nicest aim can be taken, as it is screwed on to the front of the box. N.B.—Double-barrelled machines for a pas de deux; and bouquets prepared, like grapeshot, to tumble into thirty small ones, for danseuses Viennoises and Anglaises.

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN JULY.

At the beginning of the month tell your partners at evening parties that you have not yet decided whether you shall go to Wiesbaden, Naples, or the Tyrol for the autumn; but be careful towards the end to bespeak the humble lodging at Gravesend or Margate.

Do not take a horse in the park that bears marks of collar and crupper, because it looks like one you might have hired at seven-and-sixpence for the afternoon's ride.

A walk at the West-end should not now be taken except in evening dress, that people may think you are going to a dinner or evening party. A reputation for fashion and fortune may be cheaply purchased by walking under the colonnade, at half-past midnight, in the same costume.

If you wish to escape from society and get yourself into condition, sponge upon some friend who has moors in Scotland for a fortnight's deerstalking. This sport consists in running with your back parallel to the horizon, and your nose within two inches of the ground, against the wind, for several hours. Do not ask where the deer are, as it will betray your inexperience; everybody is supposed to know.

110

THE BOW-STREET GRANGE.
BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

THE SCHOOL OF DESIGN.

In chronicling the designs of this school for the past and forthcoming year, we cannot fall in with the abuse lavished upon it by some of our contemporaries. We believe, from many others, that the following will be most likely to interest our readers:—

A design for a new dance against next season, by the Terpsichorean professors, to meet the depression in their trade, since everybody knew the Polka.

A design of the journalists of England to make the gentlemen of the bar understand their proper position.

A design of the journalists of France to attribute their thrashing in Algeria to the gold of "perfide Albion."

A design of the Times newspaper to expose the railway swindles and burst all the bubbles.

A design of certain medical students against the knockers and bell-pulls near Guy's and St. Thomas's.

A design for a human oven, to enable savage aborigines to cook their victims instead of eating them raw, by Colonel Pelissier; a laudable attempt to exhibit the refinements of French colonization.

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN AUGUST.

About the 10th, look for falling stars—not various actors, authors, and singers I could name, but shooting meteors. If they do not appear, you must blame them, and not me.

Towards the 12th, tell all your friends how deuced disagreeable it is to be tied by the leg from pressure of business, and not able to accept an invitation to the Highlands, where a thousand acres of grouse have been preserved on purpose for you.

About the end, buy a guinea shooting-jacket, and hang it about your room. Also keep an old gun, to be cleaning whenever your friends call.

By the way, if you should go to the North, avoid buying one of those shooting-jackets said, in the advertisements, to resemble the "bonnie heather," because your back, being seen in motion, may be taken by an inexperienced friend for a bush with a bird in it, and you will probably receive the contents of his double-barrel in the neighbourhood of your lumbar vertebræ.

VIRGO—Unmatched enjoyment.

According to Fitzwalker, a monk who wrote in the middle ages, the first House of Commons was so called from having been the only house in the centre of the commons, which formed the site of the present city of Westminster. It was built by King Cole, from a portion of the ruins of Thebes, whence the stones were brought in that monarch's one-horse chaise to save expense; and as only one could be carried at a time, the journeys backwards and forwards took many years. Subsequently, a peculiar species of cake was manufactured there for the king, termed parliament; and from the officers of state being accustomed to eat this during their debates, the senate took its name. This structure was burnt down in 1834, by catching fire from the inflammatory speech of an Irish member; and its rebuilding was entrusted to Mr. Barry, the celebrated clown at Astley's. Much speculation has taken place as to whether the lady of this clever pantomimist and architect is the one addressed by Mr. Tennyson, in "Locksley Hall," in the line—

Mr. Barry celebrated the laying of the first stone by driving four ducks on the Thames, from Battersea to Westminster, in a washing-tub,—being half of the identical butt in which the Earl of Malmsey was drowned by the Duke of Clarence, afterwards William IV., in the presence of Shakspeare, Hume, and Macready.

The notorious Guy, Lord Vaux, celebrated for blowing up the house, was captured in the vaults of the building. In trying to escape he dislocated both his ankles,—as may be always seen in the likenesses of him, carried about on the 5th of November, when the feet are invariably hind-side before.

114The Speaker of the House of Commons is so called from never opening his mouth. He has, however, to take in all the members choose to spout, and therefore may be regarded as the Uncle of the senate, King Alfred being the Father, or, according to others, Mr. Byng. But this affinity does not constitute any degree of relationship between Mr. Byng (or King Alfred) and the Speaker, any more than Mr. Boyle's having been the father of chemistry, made his brother, if he had one, chemistry's uncle.

The members of the House put M.P. after their names; which are the initial letters of Mistaken Profession.

MARTYRS OF SCIENCE.

It is lamentable to think that so many of those whose discoveries have tended to advance the general welfare of society have fallen victims either to their zeal in the pursuit, or the apathy of the public. The following instances will sufficiently prove the fact:—

James Watt,

Acting upon the Greek maxim, γνωθι σεαυτον, devoted his whole life to solving the mysterious problem of "what's what?" Yet he burst his boiler eventually, and, as he was accustomed with a melancholy facetiousness to remark, was seldom able to fill his own stuffing-box. He choked himself with a new roll, which was in consequence termed a penny buster. His great bust was the work of Chantrey. To him we owe the invention of the baked-tater can. His hymns have been much admired.

Newton,

The great inventor of the solar system, was descendant of the Earl of Orrery. He discovered the centrifugal force from watching the scenes in the circle at Astley's. Whilst seated in his usual place in the pit one night, he was hit on the head by an apple from the gallery, supposed to have been aimed at Widdicombe, which led him to the discovery of the gravity of the earth, though it destroyed that of the house. Yet this great man was in his old age reduced to keep an eating-house near Leicester Square, formerly called the Hotel Newton, but now better known as Berthollini's.

Dr. Jenner,

Whilst in the incipient stages of small-pox, was tossed by a cow, which led him to the discovery of vaccination. Yet he was often without the means of procuring a ha'porth of milk; so that he was wont to say, when in a merry mood, that although his discovery had 115extirpated the confluent state, it had not left him in an affluent one. Cowes was his favourite residence, where he died in a state of monomania, fancying himself one of them.

Harvey,

Invented the circulation of the blood; yet he composed his "Meditations amongst the Tombs" with no other stimulus than a bottle of his own sauce, during an excursion to Kensal Green. Ultimately, coming to poverty, he took the situation of Hermit, at Vauxhall, and lived upon pulse. His works are now only found at circulating libraries.

Priestley,

Although he discovered the properties of air, had not sufficient property of his own to raise the wind. He found out the composition of the atmosphere; but was unable to effect a composition with his creditors. During the "No Popery" riots his house was torn down by the mob, who said they would have "none of that air." He afterwards travelled about the country with lucifer matches, whence he has been erroneously termed a light porter. He died ultimately from want of breath, ungratefully deserted by that element which he had raised from obscurity, and left his discoveries as an heirloom to the nation. He died in a Wynd in Edinburgh, but his remains were afterwards removed to Ayr, where an humble admirer afterwards inscribed this terse but touching epitaph upon his tomb:—

Davy (Sir Humphrey),

Until he came of age, was originally a miner in the north of England, where he invented the wonderful lamp, mentioned in the Arabian Nights. Hence each miner, on entering the pit, is required to "take his davy," or he will otherwise be blown up. He was very fond of salmon-fishing, but was never known to catch any. Poverty having depressed his spirits he took to laughing gas, and this, combining with other gases which he was accustomed to swallow in large quantities, produced spontaneous combustion, of which he died, whilst at sea, and was there interred in his own locker. During three days in the week he might be seen in the park, dining with his noble godfather, the Duke Humphrey. Such was the fate of one, of whom we may say, in the words of the poet:—

THE JURY'S GUIDE TO FALSE WEIGHTS AND MEASURES.

Bakers.—"Down again to 5d.!!" placarded on the window, expresses a draught of an ounce against the purchaser. If a microscopic "¾" is added in pencil, the loss will be greater.

Grocers.—"The famous Four Shilling Tea!!" stuck in a pyramid of that article, means that a quarter of an ounce falls off in every pound. Another quarter may be added for every note of admiration.

General Dealers.—"Look!" in red letters, over the price of anything per pound, intimates that you should do so, and very narrowly, when the aforesaid pound is weighed.

Cheesemongers.—"One trial will prove the fact!" is an unmistakeable evidence of short weight. At the same time, it can scarcely be called a deception; as, if the affair is ever brought to the trial, one is usually found to be sufficient to prove anything.

Note—That an armed warrior at Astley's, or Mr. Paul Bedford, as the Dragon, at the Adelphi, cannot be taken up for using false scales; but that all Members of Parliament may be called to account for false measures.

A new application of the Wenham Lake Ice has been discovered. By placing a small portion on the cruet-stand, "chilly vinegar" can be produced to any amount. The success of the "Sherry Cobblers" has induced the more refined West End Clubs to establish "Madeira Shoemakers" for their patrician habitués. The Wenham Lake Ice is preserved in blankets. This, at first sight, appears remarkable until we recollect the power of a "wet blanket" to throw a chill over everything.

LIBRA—Striking the Balance.

Mr. Harrison Ainsworth is respectfully requested to reveal the following real mysteries of London, before he concludes his romance, if it is his intention to do so:—

What becomes of all the old cabs and coaches when they get past work?

Where waiters go to when they have a holiday?

Who is the subscriber to the "Metropolitan Magazine," and where a number can be seen; or whether its existence is a fiction?

Where the money comes from which everybody, without an exception, is reported to have made on the railways?

If the toll-keepers on Waterloo Bridge have any private friends?

What direction of the compass Marylebone Lane runs in, and where it begins and ends?

When the gates of Leicester Square were last unlocked; and who goes in, except the cats?

What lobster sauce is made of at cheap eating-houses; and what difference exists between the melted butter of the same places and thin paste?

Why Piccadilly omnibuses always stop at the corner of Coventry Street, and then go down a miserable narrow lane, instead of the Haymarket?

Why, when you go into a linendraper's to buy a pair of white kids, you are asked, ten times out of eleven, whether you will not have straw-coloured?

Where the crowd of boys rise up from, to open the cab-door, or seize your carpet-bag, the minute you get out of a railway omnibus, none having been visible just before?

What species of position is gained from drinking champagne with the funny singers at a supper tavern, out of a tankard?

How tradesmen of vast minds contrive to put "25,000 muffs and boas!" into a house not capable of accommodating fifty?

"Lilt your Johnnie."

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN SEPTEMBER.

If anyone sends you a brace of partridges, do not eat them yourself, but tie one of your own cards to them, write on the back of it, "shot this morning," and send them where you think the attention will pay best. In that way you are much more certain to make a hit than if you foolishly attempted to shoot them yourself.

If you are a member of parliament, get a "pair," that you may be off to your manor, this being now the custom. If you like stag-hunting, you had better stay on a railway committee.

If you meet a friend, complain of being dull and the emptiness of London: this looks as if your acquaintances were in the habit of going out of town; the fact being, that no one you know leaves London from one year's end to the other except your tailor.

If you are a barrister, you are expected to be on circuit at this time; but as this is expensive when you have no brief, put a placard on your outer door, "On the Northern Circuit," and live in a single room at Manor Cottage, Kennington, or a similar locality.

SCORPIO—The Slanderer—"I could a tale unfold."

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN
OCTOBER.

That if you are a sober man, according to the old song, you may now prepare to "fall as the leaves do," and die this month.

If the settling for the Leger has prevented you from settling your day-book, and you wish to commit suicide without the discredit of felo-de-se, get invited to a battue. Place yourself about the centre of the wood, and you will be tolerably certain to be hit by something or somebody.

That theatres are said to open this month; but as nobody is ever known to go to them, the only proof of this is the fact that they are found open at a later time of the year.

The clubs become empty about this time, therefore it is a good opportunity of asking any friend of uncouth or disreputable appearance to dine with you, as he will only afford amusement to the servants instead of the members, which is not likely to be so painful to your feelings.

Freshmen go up to the Universities, and may be expected to come down upon their governors with heavy bills. Medical students walk the Hospitals, and run into debt.

120

THE NEW MAGAZINE MACHINE.

This novel application of mechanism, to the purposes of periodical publications, is the invention of an ingenious littérateur. The hoppers above being fed with subject of all sorts, from "Criminal Trials" to "Joe Millers," the handle is turned, and the fountain-pens immediately begin to write articles upon everything. The idea has been taken from the Eureka, but very much elaborated. The demand for "Virtuous Indignation" is very great just now; hence all blue-eyed, shoeless infants, taken up for stealing, street-vagabonds, and rascally poachers (whose punishment it is the fashion to call "the wrongs of the poor man"), will fetch good prices, by applying to publishers generally.

This meeting, first established by Professor Widdicombe, the father of the Antiquarian Society, promises to become a most important institution. Through the urbanity of the Professor, who has spent a very long life—in fact, so long as to be almost fabulous—in collecting information on various points not apparently properly understood, we have been favoured with the "Report;" and from it we propose to make various extracts, premising, that "The Bride of the Nile," "The Conquest of Amoy," "The Battle of Hastings," "The ditto of Waterloo," with other dramas, have furnished the authorities.

THE WONDERS OF ANCIENT EGYPT.

The mysteries of Isis, amongst the ancient Egyptians, were more simple than they are generally supposed to be; the sacred fires being trimmed with tow and turpentine every evening, and not being perpetual, but lighted with a lucifer, when wanted to juggle the multitude. The High Priests received six shillings a week for keeping them in order; and when the ceremonies were over, they frequently changed their costume and mingled with the crowd, to assist the deception. Celibacy was not insisted on, as several were married men, with families, residing in Lambeth.

Although in the chariot and gladiatorial contests of the Egyptians desperate struggles took place, yet all animosity ceased when the fight was over. Many of them, as they prepared for the contest, shared the Memphian baked potato, or the cold without, with much good-fellowship; and it was not uncommon, after the fight, to see the victor tending the foe whom he had forced to bite the dust until his mouth was full of it, and it required washing down with beer.

THE WAR IN CHINA.

A little circumstance connected with the taking of Amoy was not mentioned in the despatches. After Sir Henry Pottinger had addressed the troops they rushed away cheering, whilst he remained and made his horse dance a hornpipe for five minutes to the band, although he was directly under the ramparts. This is an unparalleled instance of coolness and self-possession in a moment of danger.

EARLY WIT, ETC.

Jokes were common amongst the Normans. Before "The Battle of Hastings," when Harold's envoy came to know on what principle William invaded Britain, William replied, "Tell your master we will return his wrongs with interest, and teach him principle." The barons did not laugh, probably from etiquette; but this must have been a good joke in those days.

Harold was killed by an arrow, as is commonly believed. It was, however, a species of suicide, as he stuck it into his head himself, on the sly, not choosing to trust to the archery of the soldiers. Considering the lightness of the dress in which he went to battle it is a wonder he was not killed before. His armour was simply rings of tin, tacked upon cotton velvet.

The story of the old chroniclers that Harold survived the battle, receives some confirmation from the fact that half an hour after the contest he was seen, muffled in a Tweed, asking the price of some sausages in the New Cut. These were probably to subsist on in his retirement.

The Norman William celebrated his conquest by taking a pipe and a glass 123of grog, with one particular friend, at an hostelry adjoining the scene of action, when it was all over.

TREACHERY AT WATERLOO

According to the latest Astley authorities, dated last June, the Battle of Waterloo occupied six minutes exactly. Several French soldiers walked undisguisedly into the quarters of the English army before the fight commenced; and some, at the extreme back of the scene, fought indiscriminately on either side, as occasion required. But the gravest circumstance is, that in the heat of the action the Duke of Wellington, approaching Marshal Soult, said to him, "Don't let your fellows fire until mine have!" a course which must have led them to destruction, had not General Widdicombe roared, with a voice of thunder, "What the devil are you doing there, you stupid asses?"—which produced the last grand charge. The story of the ball at Brussels is an idle invention. The officers were at no ball at all; except two, who had visited Mr. Baron Nathan's assembly at Kensington but a little time previously: and as to their being taken by surprise, they knew for weeks what was coming, even to the very hour and minute of the attack, and the precise manner in which it would be made. The following beautiful lines are but little known, and well deserve a place in this report. They are the production of Lord Byron, and were written at the request of the late Andrew Ducrow, Esq., describing the scene immediately before the commencement of the battle.

SAGITTARIUS—The Archer—(Not "Venus' Son divine.")

When you come back to town do not say to what precise part of the Continent you have been, or you may be found out; "A Walking Tour in Norway" is, however, tolerably safe; and the principal objects may be read up from Murray's "Handbook." If you were seen at the aforesaid Margate, or Gravesend (as the case may be), say you were obliged to go one day to the horrid place, to see a fellow who had sold you a horse.

That if you are in debt, the heavy fogs will allow you to walk past the doors of your principal creditors, which will open several new promenades to you.

If you wish to pass for a fox-hunter, take a day ticket on the Birmingham rail, in the second-class carriages, in pink and leathers. Everybody will then suppose you have a horse in a box behind—an impression of which you are not bound to disabuse them. This is what in melodramas is called "joining the hunting train."

That scarlet-runners may now be planted in ditches, and trained along ploughed fields in their stirrups.

THE TRAFALGAR FOUNTAINS.

These popular ornaments, whose capabilities for jokes have nearly been exhausted, are about to receive a new interest from the application of an old philosophical fact. It is well known that a jet of water will support any hollow conical body as long as it plays: it is therefore in contemplation to place an Albert hat on the top of each fountain, which will be kept at a certain elevation, and form an appropriate accompanying trophy to the Nelson column; the two portraying the United Service.

126

HISTORICAL MEMORANDA.
DRURY LANE THEATRE.

Drury Lane Theatre was built in 1667, one year after the great fire of London, by Mr. William Shakspeare, assisted by Mr. Bunn, a great dramatist, from the designs of Mr. Planché, an eminent architect. Shakspeare was an extraordinary musician; and his solos on the ophicleide, whilst in the orchestra of the Globe Theatre, were much admired. He composed several musical dramas, amongst which "Hamlet, Prince of Tyre," "As You Like It, or So I hope you'll recommend it," "The Two Gentlemen of Windsor," "Antony and Juliet," have gained a transient popularity. He was originally in trade at Stratford-upon-Avon, but being convicted of "stagging" on the Charlecote Line, he fled to London, and assumed the name of Fitzball, under which cognomen he published his best pieces. He was buried, at his own request, in the rotunda of the theatre, under the fireplace, where his monument may be seen for nothing on going to take places.

Should the Premier make any unusual stir with respect to the present vegetable epidemic, it is probable that he will be known to future ages as "Potato Peel."

In the event of Boz's "Cricket on the Hearth" proving successful, a talented Lord will bring out his "Trap, Bat, and Ball on the Mantel-piece."

The increasing demand for this species of literature, whether with or without a purpose—the latter style being, perhaps, the most popular—has called forth a number of new pens to meet it. Some of these being rather new at their work, stand in need of a little assistance; and we are most happy in being able to give it, in the shape of those methods of commencing a tale which experience has shown to be the most successful, and hence the most universally followed:—

THE READ-UP, OR JAMESONIAN.

If we examine closely the records of the past, we shall find that the principal source of the public morality, or vice, springs in most cases from the acts or institutions of the government; and this was especially remarkable at the commencement of the seventeenth century, in France. The youth of Louis XIII.; the feebleness of his character, even in advanced age; his incapacity, and that of his regent mother, gave rise to all kinds of imperfections, and opened the career to excesses of feudality, and all sorts of lawless ambitions. Evil, departing from this centre, spread amongst all classes of people: the organization of the clergy affected the position of the laity; and the intrigues of the Count de Soissons, Condé, and others, favoured the general corruption.

Things stood thus when, one fine spring morning, two horsemen in military attire were slowly traversing one of the large tracts of forest land which then stretched between Compiègne and Beauvais.

[At this point search the British Museum, and get up the costumes from pictures. The "low countries" is effective.]

THE PSEUDO-GRAPHIC, OR WEAK BOZ-AND-WATER.

Any one whom business or pleasure has taken across Hungerford Bridge may have observed, on the right hand, as he reached the Lambeth side of the river, a curious tumbledown-looking counting-house, something between a travelling caravan and the city barge, elevated on some rickety piles, with a rusty balcony projecting from its river front, and without any visible means of access or 128egress, except down the chimney, or along a rotten row of spouts, barely fastened to its decaying woodwork. It is a dismal, melancholy place. The glass has been untouched for years, and is coated with dirt, although through it may be seen files of old dust-covered papers, hanging amidst festooned cobwebs and corroded inkstands, with stumps of pens still sticking in the holes. Everything tells of broken hearts and ruined fortunes; of homes made desolate by misplaced confidence, and long, long lawsuits, which outlived those who started them, and were left—with nothing else, to the poor and struggling heirs!

It was a miserable November evening: the passengers were glooming through the haze of the feeble lights, choked by the river fog, like dim spectres; and a melancholy drip fell, in measured plashings, from every penthouse and coping, as two figures slowly pursued their way towards this dreary place, through some of the old and tortuous streets that lie between the York Road and the river side.

[The heroes (as the case may be) being thus introduced, the author can go ahead with his plot, if he has one.]

THE TOPOGRAPHICAL, OR TRANSATLANTIC.

The long chain of rocky mountains which, reaching from the Oregon to New York, forms a natural boundary to the prairies on the Canada side of the Mississippi, is more than once crossed by rugged tracks, left by the early emigrants to the far west shores of 129the continent. These are here and there dotted with villages, whose buildings bear traces of their Dutch origin, and watered by streams flowing through the hunting grounds of the Pawnee and Webfooted Indians, until they mingle with the roar of Niagara, above Buffalo.

[Having settled your scene in this locality, you go on about the Indians as follows:—]

"That's the crack of a tarnal rifle from them Mingoes," said the Scamp, as he listened to the report; "why on 'arth they're not shot off like nat'ral animals is just above my comprension."

His Indian companion looked to the ground with a low expressive "Hugh!" and picked up a shell.

"The Huron is a coward," he said: "his squaw is idle in his wigwam; and his mocassins are weak. The Ojibbeway will have his scalp."

"The creetur is right," replied the Scamp: "I'd back the downey cove's rifle against any blazer them infarnal Mingoes ever struck fire into."

[The Indians should always speak in the third person: "fire-water," "great spirit," "pale-faces," "wampum," &c., will add to the effect; and the general habits may be ground up from recollections of the Egyptian Hall.]

THE ECLOGIC, OR GOREAN.

"Then you will be sure and come?" said Lillie Effingham, as the party of handsome girls and young men, with whom she was riding, turned through the opening, on to the turf, at the side of the Serpentine.

"Can you mistrust me?" replied her cavalier, in a low, impressive tone, that conveyed a far deeper meaning than the four words. "Shall not you be there?"

"Oh, that is all very well, I know," answered Lillie, patting, with her small hand, the glossy neck of her Arabian; "but Blanche Heathcote will be there as well, and Lady Helen, and the bewitching Mrs. Howard; you will be at no loss for attractive partners."

Charles Trevor—for such was his name—smiled with a peculiar expression; then, raising his hat to Lillie, pranced off to speak to some men in the Guards, with whom he was to dine that day at the Palace mess.

[The reader is now to be let into the secret of who these two individuals are.]

130

MOTTOES FOR CRACKER BONBONS.

Everybody knows those kisses, burnt almonds and sugar-plums, in their envelopes of fringed and gaudy paper, with the concealed Waterloo cracker inside, which it is so delightful to explode during supper-time at an evening party; and everybody also knows that the motto which this discharge of enlivening artillery sets free is generally the most stupid, unmeaning thing it is possible to conceive. From a quantity we select the following as a fair specimen of the prevailing style:—

Or,—

Or,—

Now, in place of these silly ideas, we suggest the following, which will have the merit of inducing thinking, and, by their matter-of-fact truth, do away with a great deal of the false atmosphere with which society is invested:—

We wish to see the hints here given followed out generally; and we are sure their good effect on social life will be soon evident.

CAPRICORNUS—A Caper o'-corns.

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN DECEMBER.

That you should this month keep "in the house," by which, unlike the Andover paupers, you will escape dripping.

That managers rely upon boxing night for making a hit; and that orders are always to be procured for the dress-circle in any quantity on that evening; "Christmas boxes" being seldom given, and as seldom taken in the theatres.

That Christmas comes but once a year, which, looking to the bills that generally accompany it, must be a great comfort to fathers of families.

That the Christmas log is now disused, but the wood of it is found in large quantities in the wine used in negus at Christmas parties.

Hares will now stand on end with terror at the approach of the shooter, and may be knocked on the head without expense of ammunition.

That if you go out to a party, and, to save cab-hire, walk in shiny boots, you will probably bring your "light catarrh" with you, as you will find out if asked to sing.

132

JUDICIUM ASTROLOGICUM.
THE PRIZE PROPHECY FOR 1846.

Courteous Reader,

The expense of keeping a prophet having increased with the diminution of the species, towards which those mundane authorities, termed police, are in deadly opposition, my prognostics have lately fallen in arrear. But the prize prophecy, which was thrown open to competition last year, has come to hand; and, fully convinced that everything put down in it will happen, sooner or later—or, if it does not, that it ought to have done so; and would, but for some unforeseen zodiacal altercation which threw the signs into confusion—I now offer it to you. And I beg to inform you that if you want cabalistic information upon any subject: to know the railway likeliest to pay, the definite intentions of the Prime Minister, the duration of the Income-tax, the fortune or expectations of any young lady you may meet at a party, or the winner of the next Derby—the fee of five sovereigns, enclosed to our Prophet at the publisher's, will ensure an answer by the return of post; containing, in addition to all he knows upon the subject, a great deal more that he does not. My limits forbid further observations; but keep these remarks in mind, and look out for the fulfilment of what is to happen in

JANUARY.

A frost of some duration will cover the twelfth-cakes of the metropolis at the commencement of the month, which will begin to be broken up about Twelfth Night. About the middle of the month the Humane Society will give a grand dinner, on their retirement from public life, to the Wood Pavement Company, in gratitude to the latter for offering superior attraction to 133skaters, and taking all accidents off their hands. The Serpentine Receiving-house will be moved to the Strand in consequence; and the Mile End Omnibuses will furnish the drags. Several diverting little surprises will happen in families, by the delivery of bills, which they are either "certain they paid at the time," or "don't believe they ever owed;" but, unfortunately, being unable to produce the receipts, will be brutally compelled to pay them again.

Great excitement in the literary world, and especially in the magazines; which, to give an air of novelty to the new year, will contain twenty continuous stories each. Fearful vision of the individual who reads them all; in which he will see the Robertses on their Travels, stopped by St. Giles; whilst St. James is gone, with Cæsar Borgia, to pay a visit to the Marchioness of Brinvilliers, and condole with her on the death of Marston, who has been shot by Rowcroft's Bushranger, now under the care of the Gaol Chaplain, whose "Revelations of London" have no effect upon him. And the weekly press aiding this complexity, by representing Mrs. Caudle quarrelling with Joe Miller for Rodwell's Umbrella which the Wandering Jew gave to his Stepmother—the nightmare of the unhappy magazine reader will be terrible indeed!

Much discord will prevail in town by reason of nocturnal bands of disturbers of the public peace, called the Waits, who will play "Then you'll remember me" for one hour continuously under your window; and call a few days afterwards, to prove the truth of their musical assertion. The juries for putting down "false weights," have no power over the measures of these ruthless marauders.

A Bad Railway Accident will happen, from a collision of two trains.

FEBRUARY.

Parliament will meet at the usual time, when the Refuge for the Destitute in Playhouse Yard will be turned into an asylum for the houseless peers; the unroofed rooms and heavy rains and floods turning the intended House of Lords into a Peerless Pool. The enclosure of the Commons will be at the same time a great question of doubt.

The following events will be found this month, without fail, in the papers:—A dreadful fire in America, and another at Smyrna; a steam-boat explosion on the Mississippi; an abortive poor-law inquiry in a Midland county; a terrible inundation somewhere abroad; and the discovery of a railway swindle in London; which will give rise to a grand battue of "stags," directed by the Siva, or destroying engine of the "Times."

A new line of railway, direct to Windsor, will be sanctioned the earliest in the Session; in consequence, those who make a pilgrim's progress to the old station will find it literally the Slough of Despond.

A bold member, moving that the statues for the new Senate of the sovereigns of England shall go up by order of merit rather than succession, will secure a tolerably good perch for Oliver Cromwell; and it is not unlikely that Byron's statue will take its place in Poet's Corner at the same time.

Two new steamers, the Emmet and the Earwig, will run between London Bridge and Chelsea six times for a penny. They will be greatly crowded in consequence.

Serious Railway Accident.—A train will get off the line and run down an embankment into a farm-yard.

Several legal gentlemen will be expelled from one mess to get into another, for reporting cases; a plain statement of facts of any kind being against all professional morality. The press will, in consequence, turn round upon the bar; and the bar will get pretty considerably the worst of it. The inscription, "Tongues sold here," will be transferred from ham and beef shops to the chambers of honourable barristers. Such reform will be worked that a leading advocate will, perhaps, hang himself upon finding he has undertaken a wrong cause. The "Andover Commission" will be revived as the "Underhand Inquiry."

Von Lumley will arrive from the Continent with a variety of singing birds, who will pipe Norma, Puritani, Don Giovanni, duets, arias, &c.

Terrible Railway Accident.—A train going too fast will run over another going too slow, from neglect of signals.

APRIL.

The Shakspeare Jubilee Festival will be celebrated at the "only national theatre" on the 23rd, with the following performances:—

"The Grand Opera of 'Hamlet:' the Music by Mr. Balfe; the libretto by Messrs. Shakspeare and Bunn.

"After which, a Divertissement; in which Mr. Delferier and Madame Giubelei will, as Romeo and Juliet, dance the Capulet Polka. Grotesque Pas de Caliban, from the 'Tempest,' by Mr. Wieland; and the celebrated Desperate Combat from 'Richard the Third,' by Messrs. T. Matthews and W. H. Payne.

135"The whole to conclude with a New Grand Pantomime of 'Harlequin Macbeth; or, the Magic Caldron and Walking Wood.'"

From the Opera, the following song may be predicted to be sung by the first tenor, Hamlet:—

Arrangements will be made for the characters to promenade in the day, time full dressed, upon the top of the portico, to the music of the orchestra—in beef-eater's dresses. The pageant will be very splendid.

A Terrible Railway Accident will happen, from the engine running up a cutting, and then falling back on the train.

MAY.

Several young ladies will now receive bouquets on the mornings of parties, without having the "slightest idea" from whom they come. Human glow-worms will appear hovering at night, with lanterns, round door-steps and scrapers, until the Polkas commence; when the street-doors in the newly-built houses will take to knocking themselves. A new musical court of justice will condemn offending professors to eight hours at the quadrille piano, instead of so many days at the treadmill. A hapless pianiste will be found dead at the instrument, at a réunion in Eaton Square, after the "after-supper cotillion."

Several grand morning concerts will take place at the Opera Concert Room, in which every artiste in London will sing or play twice. They will commence at two P.M., and always conclude in time for breakfast the next morning. An elegant little article will be invented, called "The Nutritive Lozenge; or, Concert Portable Larder," to support the existence of those who will wait the programme out. Arrangements will be made with some machinery from the stage for hauling those who faint or die through the windows on to the top of the colonnade, without disturbing the rest of the audience.

136Dreadful Railway Accident, from the bursting of a boiler, which will blow everybody and everything into an impalpable powder. The steam will cook a number of greens in an adjacent field, and boil a number of pigs; providing a choice meal for a number of residents in an adjacent union, who will be turned out to feed for the day.

JUNE.

Ascot and Epsom races will take place. Several pigeons will be let off after each race; but other pigeons will not be let off so easily on the Tuesday following. Gentlemen, on their way home, who have ventured to back unruly horses, will find themselves either "hedging," or "taking the field" the other side of it. The confusion on the road will be a literal case of wheels-within-wheels, and jibbers will convert all the carriages into breaks. The road home, covered with ruined poles; and the police cannot order them to move on. The rain at Ascot will become the first defaulter, and refuse to "down with the dust;" so that the "Heath's Beauties" will all look as if prepared for a bal poudré. All the vehicles will get inextricably locked together at Sutton; and the passengers, not knowing what to do, will all play different tunes upon their cornets and post-horns, illustrating the horns of a dilemma.

At the end of the month a thunderstorm will, by its electric fluid, create the greatest disturbance on the telegraph wires of the Southampton Railway, catching and distorting some messages as they pass, during a telegraphic game of chess, and other proceedings. The clerk at the Gosport end will be utterly bewildered thereat, being ordered to "checkmate the Kingston station with the Queen's luggage-bishop."

Shocking Railway Accident.—A man, lying across the rails asleep, a favourite position, will be cut in half, and his superior portion carried down to Bristol—the inferior remaining at Slough. Parochial quarrel, as to the inquest, in consequence.

JULY.

Opening of Vauxhall Gardens once more, positively for the last time, upon temperance principles. Festivals of St. Swithin and Father Mathew held on the grounds, with appropriate devices in real rain-water. Patent taken out for the "Vauxhall Illumination Lamp," consisting of the addition of a small parasol to each lamp. Vauxhall weather-houses sold at the toy-shops.—N.B. When Widdicombe comes out it will be wet. Mr. Green, finding balloons cease to attract, having successively tried a night ascent, a lady with her leopard, a gentleman with his tiger, &c., volunteers to go up on a skyrocket, and come down with an umbrella, instead of a parachute. He will be taken before the Lord Mayor, on his descent, for attempting self-destruction.

The night before the close of the Midsummer holidays an immense number of little boys and girls will be attacked with alarming signs of indisposition, but on being kept at home will rapidly recover.

The blocks of Wenham ice in the Strand shop-window will melt very quickly—the only American affair that looks at all clear, or is liquidated spontaneously, or (as sherry cobbler) worth a straw.

Very Alarming Railway Accident.—An engine getting off the line, 137will carry the train through a gentleman's country house, where he is entertaining some friends.

AUGUST.

The Queen, en voyage, accompanied by Prince Albert, will pay a visit to Calcutta, by the overland route, and come home by St. Petersburgh; starting, immediately on her return, for Ireland, and thence to New York: the whole being accomplished within the month. Great confusion in the houses of the nobility she unexpectedly looks in upon—begging of extra servants, borrowing of plate, and stealing of evergreens. The illustrated papers for the week contain their thirty engravings as usual, and they are all triumphal arches.

Several shooting stars will be visible in the northern district about the twelfth. Sultry weather: and the Wenham Lake ice has all melted. Ne sutor ultra crepidam—no more sherry cobbler after the last.

M. Jullien will give a Concert Monstre, and introduce his Leviathan Ophicleide, prepared for the country festivals, and containing living, cooking, and sleeping conveniences for his entire orchestra.

Horrible Railway Accident.—An express train will leap over the wall of a viaduct, when those who expected to "go down" by it will not be disappointed.

SEPTEMBER

The Annual Blockade, or Great Plague of London, by the Commissioners of Sewers and Improvements, will take place this month. The nearest way from St. Paul's to Temple Bar will be through Farringdon Street, Smithfield, across Gray's Inn Lane, Theobald's Road (Holborn is also closed), Red Lion Square, Queen Street, and Drury Lane. Endless rows with cabmen in consequence, who object to eightpence for the distance. General emigration of the British, who will be found everywhere, in the language of the month, in large coveys, strong on the wing, and offering excellent sport to foreigners. It is probable that the last man about town will commit suicide in the centre of Leicester Square; to explore which hitherto unknown locality an expedition will be fitted out, now that the new street has opened a facility of communication with the interior.

The stars portend the ultimate death of Bartholomew Fair, Esquire, after 138several years of wasting decline, the result of injuries received some time ago from the corporation of London. He will lie in state in Smithfield for three days, on a handsome bier of gilt gingerbread, and under a canopy of show-canvas, with incense burning round him from altars of sausage-stoves. The Black Wild Indian, the Fair Circassian, the Yorkshire Giant, the Welsh Dwarf, the Fat Boy, the Living Skeleton, and the Ghost from Richardson's, will in turn act as mourners.

Annoying Railway Accident.—The train will break down in the middle of a two-mile tunnel, and will not be discovered until pushed out by the next.

OCTOBER.

Several fires will break out in and about London, but, as they will be principally confined to their proper places, no ill-effects will happen, except in the cases where the servants will neglect to open the chimney-boards, and emancipate the blacks. About this period we may look for the reappearance of several muffs and boas from their summer hiding-places.

Rain may be expected about the 4th, 8th, 15th, 22nd, and 30th of this month. I say it may be expected, but this does not follow that it will come. If it does not, it will fall at some other time, or probably not at all; but the reader may rely upon one or the other of these meteorological phenomena taking place.

A Singular Railway Accident will happen from using two engines, one before and the other behind; which, not acting together, will crumple the train up between them, like the back of an insulted cat. The tender will vindicate its claim to its title by being crushed to pieces.

NOVEMBER.

A dense fog—an English festival of "St. Cloud"—will visit the metropolis; during the continuance of which several blunders will be made by the Londoners which would not otherwise have occurred. A celebrated literary hydropathist will be mistaken for a pump of hard water, until he is run against and found to be soft. The Penitentiary will be taken for a poor-law union; the National Gallery for a railway station; and St Paul's and Westminster Abbey for two religious peep-shows: but Covent Garden Theatre will not be taken for anything by anybody.

Ludicrous Railway Accident.—The fastenings of a carriage will come undone and the train will speed on to the terminus, whilst the travellers behind are left half-way in the midst of a flooded cutting.

DECEMBER.

The Young England party will be decidedly in the ascendant at the commencement of the holidays; and materially affect "the social condition of the people" in the house.

Popular lectures on "cold," at the Polytechnic Institution, when the Professor will have the subject at his fingers' ends. Dr. Ryan, having frozen water in a red-hot crucible, will next make a piece of ice red-hot without melting it, by reversing the process.

The march of intellect will be found to have altered all the old Christmas objects of revelry. The yule log will be supplanted by an Arnott's stove; the homely carol, by an Italian scena, which the singer does not understand; the wassail bowl, by British brandy, or perhaps something better; and the mummers, by the far more dangerous false masks and manners of society, as at present constituted.

Tremendous Railway Accident.—Four trains will meet at a cross junction line exactly at the same time. Every precaution will be taken to avoid danger, as soon as the accident has occurred.

WHERE CAN THE POLICE BE?

143

THE BLUEBOTTLE THAT DESTROYS ALL THE COLD MEAT.

Two things equally difficult to be met with.

CURIOUS EXHIBITION.
NEVER SEEN IN THIS COUNTRY.

The Proprietors of the Egyptian Hall are happy to state that they have made arrangements with the authorities of Scotland Yard, and, after considerable difficulty, procured the services of

The Kitchen Cupid.

The Modern Macheath; or, how happy could I be with either?

THE COOK AND HER FAITHFUL ATTENDANT.

That ordinary-looking middle-aged gentleman, who is just emerging from that Jeweller's shop, is Signor Goffoni. He has been there to purchase a pair of earrings for his pretty young wife, with which he purposes to bribe her into good-humour with him again. For, to say the truth, the happy couple have lately been living on the usual matrimonial terms which follow the union of Signoras, who are scarcely out of their teens, with Signors, who are half way through their 'tys. And this morning the conjugal breezes had swollen into a perfect hymeneal hurricane. It had blown divorces and separate maintenances. The Signora had gone into the customary hysterics, and the Signor had left the house with that violent bang of the street-door which is the especial property of enraged husbands. And "the cause—the cause" was precisely the same as made Mr. Othello determine to put an extinguisher upon his better-half, instead of his night-lamp. The green-eyed monster had kittened his horrid suspicions in Signor Goffoni's bosom, and had lapped up all the milk of human kindness in the dairy of his heart. He had accidentally discovered a billet—something more than a doux—addressed to his black-eyed young wife, from a gentleman calling himself the Marchese di Castellinaria, and which expressed a regard for her that—tested by the very delicate thermometer of the Signor's jealousy—did appear to him not quite so tepid as mere friendship would dictate. And he had not scrupled to say as much to the black eyes he had taken for better or for worse. Whereupon the said ebon optics had looked scissors, though they'd used none—had vowed eternal separation—usque ad mensam et torum—and wound up with those effective convulsions of which married ladies generally keep a plentiful supply, ready for use. Jealousy, however, had galvanized the iron of the Signor's heart, and made it no longer susceptible of being acted upon by the salt water of his wife's eyes; so, as we said before, he bounced out of the house with a bang like a human cracker.

Long before evening, however, Goffoni had relented; he felt convinced that he had wronged his dear little wife by his unjust suspicions, and arrived at the sage conclusion that he was a brute and she was an angel; so that an hour before his usual time for quitting business he hurried off to the nearest Jeweller's to buy her a pair of earrings, determined to hasten home and shed over her the diamond drops of repentance. But on arriving at his domicile, he found the dark-eyed young partner of his bosom absent from home. Could his unkind treatment have driven her from his roof? The very thought was stilettoes. He rang furiously and inquired of the servant concerning her mistress. She had quitted the house about half an hour ago, leaving directions that the letter which the maid then presented should be delivered to the Signor immediately on his return. He seized it. It was unaddressed, and ran as follows:—

"After your insulting conduct I can no longer consent to the continuance of our acquaintance. I must beg, therefore, that henceforth we be as Strangers; and that you will never again dare to offend me with the protestation of your regard, which it is utterly impossible for me further to acknowledge.

"Gone! gone!" groaned Goffoni; and he sunk overwhelmed upon the sofa, and buried his face in his hands. Presently he started up again—buttoned his coat vehemently—knocked his hat on his head—and dashed from the house with a wild look of despair and prussic acid.

That miserable-looking middle-aged gentleman, seated on that stone in the heart of that wood, is Signor Goffoni. And that small phial, which he takes from his waistcoat-pocket, is labelled "Laudanum!" He has sought out this secluded spot, and purchased this poisonous potion, to put a premature "finis" to his wretched biography. For "what is the world now to him?" he says—"a wilderness—a 145desert. He has lost the angel who made it a paradise; and as he always felt convinced that there was not another woman like her upon earth, why should he go dawdling on alone to the grave? No! he is resolved! Bereft of his Carlotta, he cares not to live, and fears not to die. She has bidden adieu to him, so he will bid adieu to the world."

With this brief oration the woe-begone Goffoni drew the stopper from the phial, and swallowed its contents.

No sooner had he drunk off the deadly draught than a Signor, habited in a capacious cloak, started up from behind the stone on which Goffoni was seated, and inquired whether he would save the life of a fellow-creature?

"I save the life of a fellow-creature!" gasped Goffoni, dropping the empty phial with amazement from his hand; "I am a dying man myself!"

"Yes! I know that," replied the Signor in the cloak, "and that is the cause of my making the request. The fact is, the other gentleman, whose life is in danger, is not quite so tired of his existence as you seem to be of yours. And since you are determined on going out of the world, you may as well leave it with the grace of a good action, and let your death be the salvation of his life."

Goffoni, who was now ready to clutch at any straw that appeared likely to save him from sinking in the next world, simply asked, "How that could be?"

"Oh, never mind about that," returned he in the cloak; "only you consent to do it, and I'll soon tell you how. Come! what do you say? Recollect 'charity covers a multitude of sins,' and you've got a pretty good lot here to answer for, certainly."

Goffoni felt that he had, and being anxious now to obtain absolution by any means, he, not very reluctantly, promised to do what the stranger desired.

Whereupon the Signor in the cloak informed Goffoni that, finding himself rather short of cash, he had requested the loan of some gold from a drover whom he had met that evening in the forest; but that the drover had not only in the most un-gentleman-like manner refused to accommodate him, but had even been base enough to doubt the honesty of his intentions. That this had so exasperated him in the cloak that he had knocked the scoundrel down, and borrowed of him all the money he possessed. That the cries of the drover had brought the soldiers to his assistance, when the Signor in the cloak was obliged to run for his life; but that in his flight he had dropped his hat on the road. That he had only just succeeded in avoiding his pursuers by secreting himself behind that stone, when Signor Goffoni had come up and seated himself upon it. "However," added he, "the soldiers can't be far off; and when they find I've given them the slip they will be certain to return, for I know them of old. So that, you see, what I want of you now, my friend, is, should the rogues come this way again, and question you about that nonsensical piece of business, that you'll just have the kindness—since it can't make any difference to you in your present situation—to say you did it."

Goffoni, when he heard what was required of him, hardly liked the office he had undertaken to perform. But as it certainly could not make any difference to him in his present situation, and as he had given his promise, he told the gentleman in the cloak he would be as good as his word and say he did it. The stranger thanked Goffoni heartily, called him his preserver, and many other equally complimentary names, and was about hurrying off, when a sudden thought detained him, "Stay!" he exclaimed, "this cloak will make your confession all the more veritable, while the possession of the identical purse I took from that rascally drover will put the affair beyond the shadow of a suspicion." And so saying, he threw the one hastily over the back of Goffoni, and, having divested the other of its contents, slipped the empty leathern bag into the breeches-pocket of that poor gentleman, who, by this time, lay writhing on his stomach, under the painful effects of the deadly draught he had swallowed.

"And now once more, Addio!" exclaimed the stranger, putting on the hat of Signor G. as a substitute for the one he had dropped on the road; "and mind!" he added, "I rely upon you to—say you did it!"

146

BLIND BOY'S BUFF AT THE LADIES' SCHOOL.

Bringing her up in the way she should go.

The Heart Breaker.

Getting her French by Heart.

A LETTER FROM "LA NATIVE DE PARIS," AT MISS THIMBLEBEE'S ESTABLISHMENT
FOR YOUNG LADIES, TO HER MOTHER IN YORKSHIRE.

"Ma Share Mare,—I take up my plume to inform you that this leaves me in a state of perfect convalescence, or as we say in French, sar var beang havoc more, as I hope it does havoc twore. I pass very well now for un Nattif de Parry. I have combed back my front hair, à la Shinwars; so that I have tutor fay le hair Fransay. And, yet oh! ma share Mare, say treest!—set hawreeble, to be compelled to deny the land of one's birth, and all poor le daygootang argong de set mizzyrarble V! What, after all, too, is 20l. a-year poor une Damn kom more? A paltry pittance!—vollar 2. Apprepo, I must tell you of an awkward wrongconter which happened last Macready Mattang, to Miss Thimblebee and lay Demmozel. As we were promenaying on the Heath we came across dew June Offishya de Woolwich. They were dreadfully impudent and frightfully handsome—Oh, ma Mare! Kell bell Ome! Kell jolly Moostarch! Kell bows U! I think if you were to send me the Pork Pies you talked of I could keep them in my Sharmbrer a Kooshay, and eat them when I went to bed, dong mong Lee—as we have no pastry here but rice puddings—Say malle-roeze!—Ness Pa?

"And now, Addèw, ma tray share Mare! I have to put the Parlour Boarders cheraux ong pappya. So Pa plooze a presong from Vòtrer Ammeroose Feel,

THE BEST WAY OF ADVERTISING A LADIES' SCHOOL.

THE SCHOLASTIC HEN AND HER CHICKENS.

Miss Thimblebee loquitur.—"Turn your heads the other way my dears, for here are two horridly handsome Officers coming."

The sound of the stranger's retiring footsteps had scarcely died upon the ear, when, as he had predicted, the soldiers came up, led by the drover, of whom the late proprietor of the Mantello had spoken.

"I tell you it's hereabouts I missed him," said the owner of the lost purse. "And ecco!" he exclaimed, as his eyes fell on the prostrate figure of Goffoni, enveloped in the cloak, "by all the Saints! here lies the rascal, shamming asleep, too, as I live!"

The sleep, however, was no make-believe on the part of poor Goffoni, who, under the growing influence of the opiate, was rapidly sinking into the joint embraces of Messrs. Morpheus and Mors, and had just commenced nodding off—to Death.

"Come, get up here!" shouted one of the soldiers, giving Goffoni a kick that even in his drowsy state had the effect of making him open his eyes. "Get up, I say! We want you about a little bit of highway robbery that you've been having a finger in this evening—do you hear?" And the military querist punctuated the ribs of the wretched Signor with a heavy note of interrogation from his regulation boot.

"Yes, I hear!" replied the agonized Goffoni; "I know! a highway robbery! I did it! I did it!"

"Mark that, gentlemen!" said the drover to the soldiers. "The fellow confesses he did it; mark that!"

"Oh, you did it, did you?" said the soldier. "Come, then, you must go with us. So quick! stir yourself, I say." And again the regulation-boot hammered away at the sides of the unfortunate Goffoni.

"Do let me die here, do!" implored the moribund Signor G.

"Die here!" returned the man of war. "No, no! you'll have to die in a rather more public place than this, I'm thinking. But come! we're not going to be played the fool with in this manner. Get up, I tell you once more!" So saying, the soldier took the prostrate Signor by the collar and set him on his legs.

"Oh! why wont you let me be quiet?" groaned Goffoni; "I've taken poison—indeed I have!"

"Taken poison!" the soldier exclaimed, with a sneer; "taken a purse, you mean, and it will prove just as fatal to you, I'll be sworn. However, we're not to be gulled by any such flams, don't think it. So let's see what you've got in your pockets. Oh! a pair of diamond earrings, eh? Very pretty indeed! the produce of some other robbery, no doubt! A gold watch, and ditto snuff-box! Equally honestly come by, I'll wager. A good stroke of business you've been doing this evening, my man! And here's a silk purse, with lots of money in it; and here's a leathern one without a soldo."

"The leathern one's mine!" cried the drover; "but it was full when the scoundrel took it from me."

"Of course it was! and the rogue's emptied the contents of the one into the other. But that don't matter—the mere finding of the purse upon him is quite enough to take the breath out of his body. So, come! give over this shamming," continued the soldier, violently shaking the drowsy Signor, who was again nodding under the somnorific effects of the laudanum. "We're too old birds to be caught by such chaff as this, I can tell you. So on to prison with you—get on."

Whereupon two of the soldiers placed themselves, one on either side of the ill-fated Goffoni, and commenced dragging him by the collar to the Casa di Correzione, while the two others attended him in the rear, and by the aid of their bayonets, applied to that part of his person where a gentleman's honour is supposed 148to reside, kept continually dissipating the incipient slumbers of the somnolent Signor, and goading him like an untractable donkey on to the nearest house of entertainment for brigands and patriots.

The bayonets of the soldiers were so efficacious in counteracting the somniferous tendency of the opiate which Signor Goffoni had swallowed, that by the time he had reached the gates of the Casa di Correzione, a distance of at least five miles from the scene of his capture, the exercise had done him so much good that it had "worked off" all his drowsiness, and he was, the morning after, in the most miserable state of perfect convalescence.

Goffoni instantly began protesting his innocence; but the incredulous jailor assured him it was to no purpose, and that he might look upon himself as a dead man; for that his own confession, let alone the circumstantial evidence, was quite enough to settle his business.

The wretched Signor called himself a fool, an idiot, a jackass, a nincompoop, and a volume of other titles equally complimentary to his intellect, for ever having consented to take another man's crime upon himself—as he pledged his honour to the jailor he had done in the present instance.

The jailor, however, was a man of too great experience to place much faith in the honour of gentlemen charged with highway robbery. And so to the Signor's asseveration, he replied with a knowing wink—"Gammon! Well, I've heard many lame defences in my time, but, hang me! if that isn't the most rickety concern I ever listened to. I should like to know the judge," he continued, "that you think would swallow such indigestible stuff as that. For everyone is aware that gentlemen in your line of business an't quite such born donkeys as to take other men's sins upon their shoulders, when they've always got a pretty tidy load of their own. So if you follow my advice, my man," considerately added the jailor, "you'll plead guilty like a Christian, and then, perhaps, you may be lucky enough to get off with the galleys for life."

Goffoni, however, finding his declarations of innocence made no impression upon the officers of justice, determined at length upon seeking the advice and consolation of some counsel learned in the chicanery of the law. But the Gentleman in Black afforded him little comfort; for though he himself, he said, had no doubt of the truth of the Signor's strange statement, still, he thought that Goffoni would find it extremely difficult to make a court of justice believe that human stupidity could go to such lengths. And he was afraid that his unfortunate client must make up his mind to the worst; for that, of late, the robberies in the neighbourhood had so much increased that the authorities had resolved to make an example of the very next culprit.

Whereupon Goffoni again declared that he was a fool, an idiot, &c., for ever having consented to stand as godfather to a foot-pad, and take the transgressions of a gentleman with a passion for highway robbery, upon himself. And he tore his toupée and he thumped his cranium, as though he were trying to cudgel his brains for allowing him to—say he did it.

THE DESECRATION OF THE BRIGHT POKER.

149

BRITANNIA DISTRIBUTING THE BRIGHT POKER OF CIVILIZATION TO THE SAVAGES.

The Bright Stove; or the Modern Englishman's Fireside.

REPORT OF THE SOCIETY
FOR THE PROPAGATION OF CIVILIZATION,
AND THE HANDBOOK OF ETIQUETTE
ALL OVER THE WORLD.

The Distingué Committee of this Society, which has for its noble object the elevation of the poor degraded Savage, and the dissemination of horse-hair petticoats and finger-glasses among all the dark members of the human family, have published their Report.

The Report states the Committee have distributed to their coloured relations their sister Agogos's celebrated "Code of Good Manners;" as well as the instructive little tract "How to Live well upon a Hundred a-year;" which have effected a great moral change. And the Committee are now engaged in preparing the "Savage's own Edition" of "The Guide to the Toilet," and have made arrangements with a philanthropic Parisian Milliner for the weekly publication of a "Courier des Dames Noires" in the wilds of Africa and America.

A Case of Real Distress.

In Domestic Economy they have succeeded in introducing the Bright Poker to the hearths of the benighted savages, and so impressing them with the noble truth that there are Pokers for use and Pokers for ornament. They have not, however, as yet, been able to confer upon them the enjoyment of the Silver Fork; but still they have accustomed them to the use of that article in Britannia Metal, which having, as a moral writer justly observes, quite the appearance of Silver, lends to the dinner-table all the show of plate.

In the article of Food the poor things have much improved. They have now given over eating their meat raw, while some families had advanced in Civilization so far as to have fed Turkies before the Fire, until they died from enlargement of the Liver, so that they might be able to partake of the luxury of the "Paté de Foie Gras."

THE WIVES OF ENGLAND SWEARING TO PROTECT UNSULLIED THE BRIGHT POKER.

Goffoni, however, though he hardly relished the idea of bidding adieu to the world, and a generous Italian public, on the boards of a scaffold—and which he now felt there was something stronger than a mere probability of his doing—at length began to contemplate his lot with all the melodramatic magnanimity of injured innocence. And though he had but little of the martyr in his constitution, yet as Fate had cast him the part, he was determined to fudge up as much stoical sternness as his nature would allow him to throw into the character. Besides, deserted by his Carlotta, he had still no great desire to continue a solitary unit on the slate of creation; so that, to use his own expression, it mattered not when he was sponged out. "What was the world to him?" again he asked himself, and again he gave himself precisely the same answer, videlicet,—"a wilderness, a desert!" Existence, he said, he viewed as a piece of burnt rag, with but a few bright specks flitting across its dark surface; and he cared not how soon "the parson and the clerk" appeared to announce the departure of his vital spark.

But Goffoni had no sooner made up his mind to play the unmitigated hero to the last, than the presence of her whose absence had given him such supernatural fortitude thawed all the artificial ice of his stoicism, and made the hero melt into the man.

Yes! the dark-eyed young partner of his bosom and four-poster—she whom he believed had left him for ever for the Marchese di Castellinaria, had come to console him in his affliction! and Goffoni, though he could have been a Regulus without his Carlotta, felt, when he saw her, all his magnanimity ooze out of his eyes.

"Oh! Bartolo! Bartolo!" sobbed the Signora, "if I hadn't seen it in all the papers I should never have dreamt of finding you here. You can't tell what I've suffered on your account!"

"Oh! Carlotta! Carlotta!" groaned Goffoni: "and what have I not suffered on your account? But for you, alas! I should not have been here."

"For me-e!" hysterically exclaimed Carlotta. "Oh! don't say so! How could I possibly have anything to do with it?"

"Didn't you tell me," inquired the woe-begone Signor, "that you'd leave me—for ever? You did! You know you did!"

"Yes! but I'd done so a hundred times before," retorted Mrs. Goffoni; "and I thought you knew women better than to believe such things."

"Nor should I have been such a booby as to do so," remarked Mr. G., "if you hadn't written me that horrid letter."

"Letter!" cried Carlotta. "Oh! I see it all now! I do! That letter was intended for the Marchese di Castellinaria, and you—you—wretched—stupid man—you thought it was meant for yourself."

"Intended for that cursed Marchese!" shouted Signor Goffoni. "Then why the deuce did you leave the house, and tell the maid to give it to me?"

"Oh! I thought it would make you so happy and comfortable!" exclaimed his miserable little wife. "I thought it would please you so on your return home to find how I'd answered the fellow's impertinent note."

"Then! oh dear! oh dear!" replied Goffoni; "why couldn't you have shown it to me yourself?"

"Why, because you were so cruel, and so put out about that note in the morning, that I didn't like to see you again until I had made you acquainted with what I had done. So I left the copy for you to read, while I went out to post the original."

Goffoni now saw through the mistake as clearly as his better half; and again he railed at the limited extent of his intellectual faculties, applying to himself the same complimentary terms as he had previously used. And then he kissed his Carlotta, and called her his own blessed angel of a wife, and himself her own cursed fool of a husband; and gave vent to his feelings—which were now a kind 151of a piebald of grief and joy—in a manner that makes a bankrupt of description, and forces history to take the benefit of the insolvent act. For he plainly perceived that, without any real cause, he had taken poison and a highway robbery upon himself; and that he would be forced to separate from his Carlotta at a time when he had no desire to leave her, and by a species of divorce for which he had now lost all relish.

The sorry Signor then recited to his wondering little wife the tale which we have before told the reader (only not quite so cleverly as ourselves); and on showing her the cloak that he had received from the stranger, his distress of mind was in no way relieved by hearing his Carlotta—who could swear to the clasp and collar—peremptorily pronounce it to be the property of the very Marchese from whom he dated all his troubles. So that he now saw, in addition to his miseries, not only that he had saved the life of him who was the primary cause of all his jealousy, but that he was about to die outright for the crimes of the very man whose peccadilloes had nearly put an end to his existence by poison before.

Yes! facetious reader, it was even so! The Signora's gallant Marchese was none other than the Signor's ungallant stranger, a gentleman better known in the romance of highway robbery as Virtuoso, the brigand! and who, in the glowing language of one of the many instructive novels, of which he afterwards became the hero, "was no vulgar Freebooter." No! his was a spirit too proud to beg, too chivalrous to work, and too generous to trade. If he took from the rich he freely gave to the poor; and if, in the pursuance of his romantic vocation, he was compelled, in self-defence, to sacrifice the life of some obstinate victim, he ever after endeavoured to remove the stain of the blood from his soul by the scouring drops of contrition. Nor was his love of the poor greater than his love of—Woman! To her his lustrous eye and soft guitar-like voice, coupled with the perils of his adventurous life, had ever a magical charm. He was not merely the Freebooter of Lucre, but—the Brigand of the Heart! And if his passion was of too fickle and roving a nature, at least in extenuation it may be pleaded that he never parted from the object of his love without first abstracting from her some article of jewellery or plate, by which to treasure up her remembrance.

However, to return to poor Goffoni. The day of his trial at length arrived. On being placed in the dock it seemed to him as if he were standing on the doorstep of Eternity; for reflection and everybody had conspired to assure him of the utter hopelessness of his case. And when, to his infinite horror, he heard the drover, without the least hesitation, swear that he, the Signor, was the man who had taken his purse, Goffoni felt as though his shoulders had already served his head with notice to quit. The judge, however, finding that the case turned on a point of disputed identity, ordered the prisoner to put on the hat which had been dropped on the road. Goffoni did so, and was suffused with a cold perspiration on finding that it fitted him to a hair. He was then directed to endorse his body with the cloak, which, alas! also suited the poor devil as though it had been made to measure. The drover looked at him for a second, and then swore with even greater certainty than before that he was the identical person who had robbed him. Goffoni now saw that the sands of his last moments were fast running through the egg-boiler of his existence, when—as the gentlemen of the Italian press afterwards expressed it—"a stranger, dressed in the first style of fashion, rose from the body of the court, and requested to be permitted to put on the articles in which the prisoner had just appeared." Having obtained the sanction of the judge, he attired himself in the cloak and hat, and demanded of the drover, on his oath, whether he, the stranger, was not the party who had taken his purse? The drover eyed the stranger from top to toe, and then, after a little deliberation, swore even still more emphatically that he was. Whereupon the stranger pointed out to the judge that since the drover had sworn with equal certainty to two different parties as the culprit, it was clear that he might be mistaken in both.

A word to the wise is sufficient. So, reader, if your skull be not as thick as a bombshell, it is hardly necessary for us to tell you that Goffoni was acquitted—that it was Virtuoso, the brigand, who procured his acquittal; and that the Moral of all this is (for we must be "moral to the last"), never take the good or bad action of another to yourself, nor be shabby or silly enough to—"SAY YOU DID IT."

152

ELEGANT EXTRACTS FROM THE LAST NEW BURLESQUE.

Billingsgate in the ascendant.

Burlesque standing on its merits.

A BATTLE WITH BILLINGSGATE.
SUGGESTED BY THAT OF BLENHEIM.

THE STAG, THE BULL, AND THE BEAR.
(A Railway Fable.)

JOHN BULL AMONG THE LILLIPUTIANS.

155

THE MODERN GULL IVER.

MEETING OF THE DWARFS.

A meeting of the real bipeds, or little human beings who run about upon two feet, was held at the Lilliputian Warehouse, in New Street, Covent Garden, to move an address of thanks to Her Majesty, for her liberal patronage of the least of the Rational Animals.

General Tom Thumb, L.S.D., was unanimously voted to the Child's Chair, and the business of the Meeting having been opened by the Small Germans.

The Substance and the Shadow.

The General rose—a few inches—to address his brother Homuncules. He said they had met to offer up an act of gratitude from the Shortest men to the Highest Personage in the Realm—to her who had refused to patronize everything great, and had stooped to take them by the hand—to her who had originally given them that lift, which had caused them—short as they were—to be looked up to by—Lovely Woman. And he would be happy to favour the company with "God Save the Queen," gratis.

The English Tom Thumb here rose to rebut the General's assertions, and was proceeding to complain of the want of patronage offered to native insignificance, when he was carried out.

The Highland Dwarfs, in a Scotch accent as broad as their size would admit, said, "a' the Gen'ral had drapt was unco' true." When they left the Land o' Cakes they could hardly raise a Bawbee among them, and now they could put down 1000l. any day.

The Boshie Men, or Pigmy Race, through their interpreter, stated, they were happy to find that, though the Dwarfs had come over to England little by little, they now formed so large a body.

Don Francisco Hidalgo said, "Dat as el smallest man in el vorld, he objec to el proceed; for he never meet vith el couragement el dam Dom Dum speak of."

The little Men here got to very high words, and the meeting broke up in confusion.

NAPOLEON'S ADIEU D'EGYPTIAN HALL.

DUAN THE FIRST.

This poem is addressed to the Maid of "the Rainbow" (in Fleet Street), where Ossian is enjoying his Whisky and Cigar. The Phlaruppe here spoken of is the same as the Aquævadius mentioned so frequently in Police History, and who in the year '40 headed an expedition against the Knockers of Cockaigne, and was repulsed by "the force" under the command of Rowan, the chief of Scotland (Yard), though not until Phlaruppe had routed several of his "Divisions." Tradition assigns the date of this event to the year '42, but on searching the pages of the historian Hodder, we find no mention made of the circumstance in his valuable work entitled, "Sketches of Life and Character taken at Bow Street."

Bring, daughter of the Rainbow! bring me the pen of steel! The mountain-dew sparkles in Ossian's brain, and it is brilliant with song. As is the black reviver to the garment whose seams are white with age, so is the cream of the valley to the seedy soul of the bard. It brings back the freshness of youth.

A tale of high life! The deeds of the superior classes!

The draught of the waters of Kinahan wakens the memory of the past. The odour of thy weeds, mild Lopez! is pleasant in Ossian's nose. Like the brow of Ben-Primrose, his head is veiled in clouds. Listen, thou daughter of the Rainbow! to the deeds of the superior classes.

A tale of high life!

Fair is thy Garden, O Covent! Green are its paths with the leaves of the cabbage. There the cauliflower of Fulham rests its white head, and the pine of Jamaica perfumes the breeze. The daughters of Erin are there laden with Pippins of gold. Near are the halls of Evans. Music is heard in them by night. The morning dawns in song. The voice of Llewellyn of Wales gladdens the feast! and Sloman, the son of Israel, pours forth his numbers, apt as the bard of Moses. Glad are the halls of Evans! It is the abode of Joy!

Wilt thou not listen, bright maid of the Rainbow! to the voice of Ossian? My soul is bursting with song. The collars of my Corazza droop like the ears of the Greyhound, and my eye in a fine frenzy rolls. Thus the mighty Bunn appears when he dreams that he dwells in marble halls. Dost thou not behold, bright maid! the head of a lion in Ossian's hand? A ring of iron depends from its mouth, and its face wears a look of rage. That head the noble Phlaruppe, Lord of Belgravia, tore away. Phlaruppe tore it away by the strength of his arm. Listen, then, daughter of the Rainbow! to the tale of high life! The deeds of the superior classes!

What sound is that kisses the ear? Across thy Garden, sweet Covent! it comes dancing along the breeze. Can it be the song of the lark climbing the sky? But the lark wakes not the night with his notes; and bright burns the gas in the lamp of the Tavistock. 'Tis the voice of Von Joel, the toothless, gladdening the halls of Evans. Of Evans, the son of Thespis.

The Thespian son sits in his hall of state. The feast is spread around. The strong waters of Hodges and Betts sparkle on the board. A thousand Havannahs perfume the air. A thousand glittering tankards foam with the nectar of Barclay. There is the ripe fruit of Erin, and the rabbit of Wales is there.

Who comes from the Saloons of the West, with his warriors around him? He smokes the Dodeen of peace. His face glows with the juice of the Gooseberry. His cheeks are as red as the garments of the bearers of letters on the festival of May? Who is it but the noble Phlaruppe, the Lord of Belgravia? In his train is Sutton the Sambo; and Burke, the hard of hearing, attends him. Mighty in battle are they.

The Lord of Belgravia graces the board: the Bards hail his presence with a 157song. He quaffs the brown stout of Dublin. The night reels away in revelry. The morning peeps in at the casement; and Phlaruppe, the Lord of Belgravia, is glorious with Guinness's.

A tale of high life! The deeds of the superior classes!

DUAN THE SECOND.

Grey grows the air with the Day's young light. With the carmine of Morning the cheek of Heaven is rouged. The Camphine lamp of the Moon has gone out; and turned off is the Gas of the Stars. Yawning the tired Policeman crawls on his rounds.

Hushed are the halls of Evans.

Where art thou, Belgravia's Lord? Thou pride of the West, where art thou? Lo! he comes; but his steps are unsteady with Beer. On the sinewy arms of the dark-skinned Sutton, and Burke, surnamed the Deaf, he leans. From them he bursts of a sudden, like the cork from the Waters of Soda. The head of a lion on the gates of Gliddon, the chief of the Divan, frowns on the valiant Phlaruppe. Dauntless as the brute-taming Van Amburgh, he grapples with the iron beast. He sounds the "fake away" of Belgravia. One potent wrench of his arm and the head of the forest king hangs drooping from Phlaruppe's hand. Knockerless are the gates of Gliddon! Of its lion the divan is bereft!

The lynx-eyed C 16 beheld the wrong. His dander arose. He drew his staff in vengeance. He seized the noble Phlaruppe. Sutton, the heavy-handed son of Africa, raised his arm. His white teeth grinned defiance on the blue son of Peel. Into the murky waters of the kennel he hurled the pride of the yard of Scotland. His blood crimsoned the flags. Groaning for help, he sprang the rattle of war.

Like rockets at Vauxhall the azure force of Rowan rushed up. Their hands grasped the staff of power. Phlaruppe heard the tramp of their Wellingtons. He sounded the Lullalietee of battle. He gathered his warriors around him. Firm as the cement of Pouloo they stood. As a torrent from a shower-bath poured the stiff-necked sons of Peel upon the foe.

As the cats of Kilkenny they fight. Like the shop of the maker of trunks rings the street with the blows. Stained is the earth with the claret of life.

Battle of the Garden of Covent, why should Ossian, like Robins, the chief of Garraway's, pen the catalogue of thy wounds? Thou art with the son of Kean, a calamity of the past.

The force of the Yard of Scotland overcame!

On the stretcher of Ignominy, Phlaruppe, the Lord of Belgravia, was laid!

DUAN THE THIRD.

In the cell of the Station, Phlaruppe hiccups out the Morn. The benches of wood pillow his burning head. He sighs for a draught of the sparkling Waters of Carrara, or a goblet of the bubbling Powders of Seidilitz. But the ice of the Lake of Wenham is not more cold than the hearts of his victors. In the cell of the Station, Phlaruppe hiccups out the Morn.

On the throne of Justice the even-handed Twyford sits. Before him Phlaruppe, Belgravia's hope, is dragged. He quails, for the voice of the Judge is severe as Hicks the lusty-lunged Son of the Surrey. And lo! to the terrors of Brixton's wheel an alms-seeking child of want he condemns. What then shall be the doom of Phlaruppe?

But Phlaruppe is the Lord of Belgravia. In his presence the heart of Twyford, the even-handed, grows soft as the Asphalte of Claridge before the Sun in the days of the Dogs. With the milk of human kindness the veins of his bosom are filled. Pity touches his heart-strings; and his tone with compassion is soft as the Piccolo of Jullien, the Emperor of all the Polkas.

But why, Maid of the Rainbow, should Ossian, like a penny-a-liner, recite the fine that Phlaruppe paid to his Queen; or tell how the generous Twyford, for a crown, forgave him who tore the Lion's head from Gliddon's halls?

A tale of high life! The deeds of the superior classes!

158

The Carrara Water is found very efficacious in cases of Heart-burn.

Oh! that dreadful British Brandy!

It is strongly recommended in cases of foul tongue.

AN ANACREONTIC:
IN PRAISE OF CARRARA WATER.

"MY WIFE IS A WOMAN OF MIND."

161

Old Father St. Swithin, the Gentleman who presides over the Cat and Dog Days.

A Grand Gala at Vauxhall, under the Patronage of St. Swithin

THE CLOUD.

At the altar of Jupiter knelt a poor woman. She was about to become a Mother, and thus she invoked the God:—

"Oh Jupiter! King of the Heavens! and Ruler of the Earth! grant that the dear burthen which I now bear may be a Stranger to the cares of Life! Vouchsafe unto it such gifts that it may be the most admired of all thy Children,—the richest—the happiest of Men. Oh Jupiter! King of the Heavens! and Ruler of the Earth! hear me!"

She spoke, and Mercury, the winged messenger of Jove, stood before her.

"Mortal!" said he, "return with Joy to thy hearth! He who wieldeth the sceptre of Fate hath heard thy petition; and the Child shall be as thou hast asked."

In time the Mother bore a Son. His form rivalled that of the boy-god Cupid. And she rejoiced to think he was the blest of Jupiter.

A year passed on, and the proud Mother saw the Infant bud blossom into the Child.

But the second year came and went, and the Boy increased not in Stature.

The third year stole away, and still the little thing grew not.

The fourth—the fifth—the sixth rolled by, and yet the Child remained in figure as at the end of the first.

Albeit the Mother murmured not, for she remembered the promise of him who wieldeth the sceptre of Fate, and hoped in patience.

But when twelve summers had gone, and the anxious Matron beheld her Boy still a Babe in form though a Youth in years, Hope and Patience left her; and thus she complained:—

"Oh Jupiter! Jupiter! have the promises of the Gods become as those of Men? Didst thou not in thy bounty vouchsafe unto me a Boy that should be the most admired of all thy Children? And what hast thou sent me? A little thing to whom even the shape of Manhood is denied! and at whose stunted figure the world gapes with pitying wonder. Oh Jupiter! Jupiter! for what mysterious good hast thou thus visited me?"

The cloud-compelling Jove heard the Mother's murmurs and thus from on high rebuked her:—

BORN A GENIUS

AND

BORN A DWARF.

"Why, Child of Clay! dost thou question the goodness of the Gods? Thy petition was heard, and has been granted. What more wouldst thou have had? Didst thou not beseech me that thy Boy should be the richest and happiest of Men?"

"I did, Great Jove!" replied the trembling Mother; "but thou, in thy strange bounty, hast given to me a Child with limbs too small and weak to earn even the scantiest subsistence; and whose wretched deformity must make his life a burthen to him and me."

"And what, blind Mortal! wouldst thou that I had done?" exclaimed the God.

"Oh that thou hadst blest him with a form of Power, and a mind of Genius!" cried the heavy-hearted parent; "then would Wealth and Joy have gladdened his days."

"Fool that thou art!" said the Sovereign of the Skies; "listen and learn how I have blest, and thou wouldst have curst, thy Child! Had I conferred on him the Genius thou sighest after he would have felt but Want and Neglect in the world. Had I quickened him with a sense of the Beautiful, his Life would have been a Misery—his Death a Crime. For know that Mind alone can sympathize with Mind; and mindless Man enriches those who minister rather to the luxury of his Senses than to the refinement of his Intellect."

"Oh, all-wise Jove!" exclaimed the abashed Mother.

"See how thou wouldst have beggared thy Boy with Genius," continued the Thunderer. "And now listen how I have enriched him with Deformity. He shall go forth a wonder to the staring and senseless world. Monarchs shall smile upon him, and rejoice to gird his neck with precious Jewels. He shall be the beloved of Matrons, and the fondling of Damsels. Crowds shall flock to behold him, heaping his little lap with countless riches and costly gifts. His car shall be drawn through the public ways in triumph; and he—the stunted dwarf—shall play the Giant Emperor among men. Thank thou, then, the Gods, oh Woman! whose bounty has given thee a Dwarf, and not a Genius for thy Child."

Thus spake the mighty Jove, and the Mother in gratitude cried out:—

"Oh, Jupiter! King of the Heavens, and Ruler of the Earth! I thank thee! for now I see thou hast, indeed, vouchsafed that my Boy shall be the most admired of all thy Children—the richest—the happiest of Men."

164

Perrot teaching the Gods and Goddesses how to dance.

Minerva, as she did appear at the Italian Opera.

Minerva, as she ought to have appeared at the Italian Opera.

Neptune, as he probably will appear at the Italian Opera.

A MONO-RHYME.

The Gods and Goddesses behind the Scenes at the Italian Opera.

SHAM IBRAHIM,

or the Pacha at Vauxhall.

"I DREAMT I SLEPT AT MADAME TUSSAUD'S."

167

The Magnificent Group of the Royal Family, as it will appear at Madame Tussaud's in a few years' time.

Madame Tussaud beside herself

The Brigand of Windmill Street on the look-out down the Haymarket.

George IV. at Madame Tussaud's without his grand Coronation Robes.

I DREAMT THAT I SLEPT AT MADAME TUSSAUD'S.

Napoleon, at Madame Tussaud's, melting before the Sun of England.

The common opinion of the Welsh Rabbit conceits that it is a species of Cuniculus indigenous to Wales; of which assertion, if Prescription of time and Numerosity of assertors were a sufficient Demonstration, we might sit down herein as an orthodoxical Truth, nor should there need ulterior Disquisition. Pliny discourseth of it under the Head of De Animalibus Walliœ. Seneca describeth it as an exosseous Animal, or one of the invertebrated or boneless kind. Claudian saith that it delighteth to burrow underground in Coal Holes and Cyder Cellars. Scaliger affirmeth it to be like to the Hyena, incapable of Domitation or taming, for the cause that he never heard of one being domesticated in a Hutch. Sarenus Sammonicus determineth it to be like unto the Salamander, moist in the third degree, and to have a mucous Humidity above and under the Epidermis, or outer skin, by virtue whereof it endureth the Fire for a time. Nor are such conceits held by Humane authors only, for the holy Fathers of the Church have likewise similarly opinioned. St. Augustine declareth it to be an unclean Animal; insomuch that like to the Polecat it is Graveolent, emitting a strong Murine, or Micy Effluvium. The Venerable Bede averreth that it is Noctiparent, as the Bat or Owl, and seldom quitteth its Warrenne until Midnight, for food; for the reason that being Cœcigenous, or possessing no organs of Vision, it loveth Tenebrosity.

All which notwithstanding, upon strict inquiry, we find the Matter controvertible. Diodorus, in his Eleventh Book, affirmeth the Welsh Rabbit to be a creature of Figment, like unto the Sphinx and Snap-Dragon. Mathiolus, in his Comment on Dioscorides, treateth it not as an Animal, but as a Lark. Sextius, a Physitian, saith that having well digested the matter, he was compulsed to reject it; whilest Salmuth, the Commentator of Pancirollus, averreth that one Podocaterus, a Cyprian, kept one for Months in a Cage, without ever having attained the sight of the remotest Manifestation of Vitality.

Now, besides Authority against it, Experience doth in no way confirm the existence of the Welsh Rabbit as an Animant Entity. But, contrariwise, the principles of Sense and Reason conspire to asseverate it to be, like unto the Myths of Paganism, an Inanimant Body, vivificated by the Ignoration and Superstitiosity of men. For had they but inquired into the Etymon, or true meaning of the name of the Entity in question, they would have experienced that it was originally merely the Synonyme for a British Dainty, or Cymric Scitamentum; insomuch as it was primitively appellated, "The Welsh Tid, or Rare-Bit;" which, by elision, becoming Metamorphosed into Ra'bit, was, from its Homophony, vulgarly supposed to have respect to the Cuniculus rather than to the Scitamentum of Wales.

Again, the Doctrine of the Existence of the Welsh Rabbit as a 169Vivous Entity, doth in nowise accord with the three definitive Confirmators and Tests of things dubious: to wit, Experiment, Analysis, and Synthesis. And first by Experiment. For if we send to Wales for one of the Rabbits, vernacular to the Principality, we shall discriminate on the attainment of it, no Difformity in its Organism from that of the Cuniculi vulgar to other Countries. And if we then proceed to discoriate and exossate the Animal thus attained, or to deprive it of both its Skin and Bones, and after to macerate the residuary Muscular Fibre into a papparious Pulp, we shall experience, upon diffusing the same on an Offula tosta, or a thin slice of toast, that so far from the concoction partaking in the least of the delectable Sapor of the Welsh Scitamentum, it will in no way titillate the lingual Papillæ, but, contrariwise, offer inordinate Offence to the Gust.

And, secondly, by Analysis, If, in the stead of sending to Wales, we betake ourselves to any Hostelrie or place of Cenatory Resort, vicine to Covent Garden (whereanent they be celebrious for the concoction of such like Comestibles, for the Deipnophagi or eater of Suppers), and thence provide ourselves with one of the Welsh Rarebits or Scitamenta, whereof we are treating, we shall discriminate upon the Dissolution or Discerption of its parts, that it consisteth not of any Carnal Substance, but simply of a Superstratum of some flavous and adipose Edible, which, to the Sense of Vision, seemeth like unto the Unguent, denominated Basilicon, or, the Emplastrum appellated Diachylon; whilest to the Sense of Olfaction it beareth an Odour that hath an inviting Caseous or Cheesy Fragror, and fulfilleth all the conditions and Predicaments of caseous matter or Cheese, which hath undergone the process of Torrefaction; whereof, indeed, if we submit a portion to the Test of the Gust, we shall, from the peculiar Sapor appertinent thereto, without Dubitation determine it to consist.

And, thirdly and lastly, by Synthesis. If we provide ourselves with about a Selibra or half pound of the Cheese, entitulated Duplex Glocestrius, or Double Gloucester; and then go on to cut the intrinsic caseous Matter into tenuous Segments or Laminæ; and, positing such Segments within the coquinary commodity distinguished by Culinarian's as the Furnus Bataviœ or Dutch Oven, submit the same to the Fire, until by the action of the Caloric they become mollified unto Semiliquidity: whereupon, if we diffuse the caseous fluid on an Offula of Bread, the Superfices whereof hath been previously torrified, and then Season the same with a slight aspersion of the Sinapine, Piperine, and Saline Condiments, or with Mustard, Pepper, and Salt, we shall find that the Sapor and Fragror thereof differ in no wise from the Gust and Odour of the Edible we had præ-attained from the Covent Garden Cœnatorium; and, consequentially, that the Welsh Rabbit is not, as the Vulgar Pseudodox conceiteth, a species of Cuniculus vernacular to Wales, but as was before predicated, simply a Savoury and Redolent Scitamentum or Rarebit, which is much existimated by the Cymri or Welsh people, who, from time prætermemorial, have been cognized as a Philocaseous, or Cheese-loving, Nation.

170

THE MILITARY ACADEMY IN AN UPROAR.

The Naughty Life-Guardsman.

THE EDUCATION OF THE SOLDIER.

A great deal of Ink has been shed upon the question whether Dilworth should enter the army; but we have met with no greater instance of the necessity of sending the sons of Mars, or, in other words, the children "in arms," to an infant school, than the following copy of verses which were picked up in one of the Areas of Albany Street, and which are supposed to be the outpourings of some Cupid in the Life Guards, to his Psyche in the Kitchen:—

"Creeping like Snail lazily to School."

The Life-Guardsman on his Pegasus.

TO THE IDLE OF MY HEART.

THE SICK GOOSE AND THE COUNCIL OF HEALTH.

173

"THERE NEVER WERE SUCH TIMES."

Here we are again!

"Time Flies."

Just hatched.

TEMPUS EDAX RERUM.

COME, MOVE ON THERE, MY MAN.

STEAMED OUT,
or the Starving Stage-Coachman and Boys.

I have frequently observed your praiseworthy though unavailing attempts to reduce your domestic expenses, by getting your wards and daughters "off your hands." I regret to say I have seen much energy on your parts misdirected, and many an elegant and expensive supper given by you to no purpose.

Now, to prevent these failures in future, and to allow the "dear girls" a better chance of getting "comfortably settled" in life, I am about to confide to you a secret, which experience has shown me to be well worth knowing.

What I would first ask you, is the primary object of all evening parties? Why do you engage Weippert's band, or order your supper and ices from Gunter? Is it—candidly now between ourselves—to make your friends happy? Or is it not to catch some amiable and independent young bachelor, who is willing to make your girl the partner of his bosom and banker's account? Of course you are people of the world, and don't mind throwing one of Gunter's sprats to catch an aristocratic herring.

To command success, however, in this style of marital fishing, one thing, let me tell you, above all, is necessary, and that is, a conservatory leading from the ball-room. Think, oh ye Parents and Guardians! for a moment of the advantages of such an arrangement.

The bashful or timid young man, after the quadrille, is sure to propose a temporary retirement among the flowers, because they afford him something beyond the weather to talk about, and if he only be matrimonially disposed, no place—depend upon it—is more likely to make him speak out. For instance, he asks the young lady to pick him a Camelia, she does so of course, and, if she has nice eyelashes, takes advantage of the opportunity afforded her, to display some little timidity and the said eyelashes while arranging the leaves. But if not blest with those bewitching adjuncts to a pretty face, I have known a half-suppressed sigh from the interesting creature answer very well; for your bashful young gentleman very frequently labours under the notion that he is a lady-killer; and ten to one but he is thus led to think he has made a conquest of the poor girl, and so, resolving to make her happy, proposes on the spot.

The conservatory is quite as useful for what is called "the fast man," or for the man of the world, or indeed for any other species of the genus homo; though of course the treatment must in each of these cases be judiciously varied.

Your "fast man"—who is generally given to capacious coat-sleeves, and an eccentric narrowness of neckcloth—prefers a young girl with "something to say for herself," and who does not leave him to supply all the conversation. "The agreeable rattle" should therefore be kept up by the young lady, and if the dear girl have a pretty hand she may take off her "Houbigant," and amuse herself by dipping her taper fingers in the basin of the little fountain, with its three miserable gold fish. The "fast man" will then probably essay a joke, or a compliment, whereupon the young lady may playfully sprinkle him with a few drops of water; and thus, doubtlessly, matters will proceed, until the "rapid" gentleman thinks her "a deuced nice girl with no nonsense about her;" so that the flirtation, if not nipped by bad 177management in the bud, may, in due course of time, blossom into a proposal.

For a sentimental young man the "language of flowers" presents a very "taking" subject for conversation; while to the scientific bachelor, a conservatory affords an easy means for a botanical discussion; besides, the examination of a plant is sure to bring the faces of the couple into proximity; and no disciple of Linnæus, however ardent, is proof against that peculiar thrill which is caused by a pretty girl's glossy and perfumed ringlets brushing against the cheek.

With the matter-of-fact young man a conservatory is quite as useful. He likes his own comfort better than anything else, and considers the supper the best part of the evening; a seat among the flowers saves him the trouble of dancing, so that he will think any young lady "a very sensible girl" for proposing such a thing; and, as he considers himself a very sensible young man, why of course the sensible young man would like a sensible young lady for his wife.

In all these arrangements a maiden aunt, or the useful "friend of the family," should be stationed near the conservatory door; for occasionally the "dear girls" are disposed to flirt with Captains, with large moustachios and small means. All elderly mammas having unmarried daughters should be carefully excluded, as every mother of a family is well known to take a malicious delight in interrupting promising affairs of this kind, when their own girls do not form part of the tête-à-tête.

ADVICE TO YOUNG LADIES.

My Dear Creatures,

Yes, you are all dear to me—so dear that when I watch you, as I do at times, most anxiously, I feel how sadly you stand in need of an adviser.

But do not alarm yourselves! I am not going to be ill-natured. No! I will not find fault with Miss Crinoline's bustle; though I certainly must confess it is rather absurd to see her doing the very agreeable in one room, with the hind breadths of her skirt half-way across another. Nor will I say anything to Miss Nude about wearing her dresses so low as she does; for though I am an ardent admirer of the "blanches épaules," still I cannot help observing that she does allow her gown to slip a leetle too far off her shoulders sometimes. But I can't spare Miss Carney, who calls Miss Nude "dear," and then tells me confidentially, "how bad it looks to see such a nice girl as she is go about with her shoulders so dreadfully exposed; that it really makes people think her so bold, and that it's pity some one doesn't tell her of it." And this Miss Carney does with a look of such pretty pity that for a moment I think she is the most good-natured creature since Mrs. Adam, and feel inclined to run and tell the bare shoulders that she ought to be ashamed of herself. It's a great mark of talent in a young lady, by-the-bye, to be able to say ill-natured things in a good-natured way.

And I should most strongly recommend Miss Madonna, who wears her hair plain, not to find fault with Miss Chevelure's crisp ringlets. Why 178should Miss Madonna say they are not becoming? Miss Chevelure's soft blue eyes and aquiline nose certainly proclaim her to be the prettier of the two; and I would bet my favourite whisker that Miss Madonna is a far better customer to Isadore for cosmetique, bandoline, fixature, and other toilet luxuries than she of the crisp ringlets whom she decries. And why should Miss Madonna be severe upon Miss Blue Stocking (whom she calls her "dear Cloè," and rushes to embrace when she enters the room)? Why should she say that Miss Blue Stocking has her hair dressed "à la Chinoise," to show off her forehead, and make her look more intellectual? But I don't believe it; though I certainly must say that it would be better if the fair bas bleu did wear her hair a little less like the ladies of China, and a little more like those of England.

My dear creatures, take my advice—never call a young lady "dear," when every one knows you detest her; and never try to exalt yourselves by the detraction of others. Depend upon it, the diminishing spectacles of envy do not become you.

Again: I don't like to hear Miss Pertness abusing Captain Rover, and calling him an impudent fellow and a coxcomb in so spiteful a tone; especially when I know that a few evenings back she danced with him nearly every quadrille, and that she is now curling her pretty lip simply because Miss Flirt's sparkling eyes have bewitched the Captain for a time. Nor should Miss Pertness run across the room to Miss Prude (whom she laughs at for "dressing like a girl of eighteen, when all the world knows she's thirty, if she's a day"), to point out how the said Miss Flirt is coquetting with the said Captain Rover.

Rest assured, my dear creatures, when you can say nothing good of any one, the best way is to keep your pretty mouths closed, and to say nothing at all. Talk any little innocent nonsense you like that is natural to you; but do not, for goodness sake, be satirical or ill-natured. Leave that to philanthropists.

Above all, don't flirt too much: it's very dangerous, and may ruin your prospects in the world. For rely upon it, that though most men like flirts very well for an evening, they would hardly think of linking themselves to one for a lifetime.

Moreover, don't affect blueness, or music-madness, or any kind of literary or scientific mania: though if you must, for mercy sake, don't be silly enough to believe that you show your intellect by neglecting your dress or personal appearance. Philosophy and Polkas are very distinct things; so either throw up one or the other; for the song that says, "I must have lov'd thee hadst thou not been fair," is one of those fictions that Bunn and the other British Poets have been in the habit of getting set to music, and foisting on the public from time immemorial.

Now, adieu! and though I am quite aware that the main object of your lives is to make us the slaves of your charms, and then to render us miserable by marrying us (the bare idea sets us trembling), still we wish you success the most brilliant. May Park phaetons, opera-boxes, diamond suites, and even coronets and plain gold rings, be showered at your dear little feet; and, above all, may you be happy, whether your wedding-cards bear the address of Belgrave Square or Clapham Common.

THE BANQUET OF THE BLACK DOLLS

In commemoration of the Reduction of the Duty on Rags.

179

The Cooks of England offering up their Kitchen Stuff to their Black Idol.

It shall have all the kitchen stuff—so it shall.

A Lover of Grease.

DE BLACK DOLLIBUS.

The Black Dolls of England are a highly comic race. They were the first to mingle the unctuous joke with the dry details of business, and to give a lightness to puffs before unknown to the paste of the Billsticker. They are the Smolletts of Posters, and the Fieldings of the Broad Sheet. Clare Market appears to be the grand centre of these right merrie marine store shops. Here a magazine of linen rags and witty conceits displays a thoroughly Gran-tian work of art, in which one cook is inquiring of another, who wears a chapeau in tremendously full flower, "My dear, where did you get that splendid new bonnet from?" to which the other replies, "Why, by carrying my bones and fat to the real original Black Doll, No. 12," &c. Another racy repository exhibits a grand transparency, representing a tête-à-tête between the Black Doll and one of her fellow-countrymen, in which the dark gentleman, in a most unniggerly dialect, is made to ask, "Why, Dinah, do all the people come to Massa's shop?" and Dinah to reply, "Because Sambo, Massa gives the best price for all old-iron, linen rags, and kitchen stuff." Then there is the highly popular bellman, who is eternally crying, "Oh yes! Oh yes! WE (!) are now giving two-pence for three pounds of old bones," &c. And last of all, the exceedingly tempting inquiry, "Do you want a plum pudding?" of which dainty there is prefixed a splendidly coloured caricature, and for which one spirited rag merchant subjoins the following curious recipe:—

The Black Doll's Receipt for a Good Plum Pudding.

Take 8lbs. of the best white linen rags, 4lbs. of broken flint glass, and 12 ditto of old bones; throw in a handful of old nails, with a few horses' shoes, and flat irons at discretion. Put these into a bag, and bring them to No. 12, &c., and you will find that it will make you a good family plum pudding; but if you wish to give it additional richness, you should add a few pounds of kitchen-stuff, and put a pound or two of candles into the grease pot.

The Real Ethiopian Serenaders or the first that extracted Notes (Bank) from Bones.

The Dining Room's quite a sight! The Chairs have had their pinafores taken off for the occasion, and now stand out in all the glory of Morocco. The table, which in the morning was only a modest square, has by means of its telescope been stretched into an oblong. You can count the number of guests by the number of chairs, and before each seat stands a small cluster of wine glasses, of different shapes and colours, two plates, and a napkin folded into the form of a triangle, with a small sandball-looking French roll secreted within it. The salt has changed its colour—is pink, and looks flushed with excitement. The supernumerary silver has been taken from its catacomb of the plate chest, where it has been kept since the last grand dinner, shrouded in wash leather, and like an old Dowager has now been rouged into brightness.

At the Sideboard stands Kitson, the host, with a shiny soapy face, decanting the wine, and consequently in a bad humour. And the honest Coal and Potato Warehouseman, who "beats carpets and attends evening parties," is fortifying himself in the passage by swallowing all that is left at the bottom of the bottles, with a look of extreme disgust for all spirituous liquors; and Master Kitson is helping his Father with the Wine, and himself to the Almonds and Raisins, when the Governor is not looking. On one side stand half a dozen of generous Port, in rich coats of Cobweb, with their chalk fronts; and on the other, two or three bottles of that tall, stately-looking, silver-headed, dinner-party-drinking Champagne.

In the Drawing-room is Mrs. Kitson, in a dreadful state of mind, standing on a chair—on which she has spread her handkerchief, from the fear of soiling the damask of the cushion—groaning over the Ormolu Lamp, and trying to discover why it has been dripping on the yellow satin Ottoman beneath.

In the midst of this a hungry double knock comes at the door, and the hostess has just got time enough to snatch one of the showily-bound books, which are placed at regular distances round the drawing-room table, and arrange herself and her dress on the Sofa, with a look of deep interest, when the Coal and Potato Warehouseman announces the first small appetite in a voice that savours strongly of "Below." And in the said small appetite walks in a love of a dress that talks French as fast as it can rustle. The conversation takes a lively turn, first, as to the weather, and then as to the children of the two establishments, each fond mother trying to make out that "her dear Herbert" or "her dear Kitty" was more delicate than the other fond Mother's sweet offspring.

Now the hungry double knocks come quicker and stronger, and the plates and the glasses jingle a kind of chorus. The next-door neighbours keep running to the windows, and are quite sure there is something going on at the Kitson's, and feel highly indignant at people not treating their neighbours as themselves, and vow revenge at their next evening party. There 181is a small crowd of half a dozen errand-boys and nursery-maids in front of the house, who closely criticise the dress of each small appetite as it arrives.

The company now are only waiting for the family Doctor; and Mrs. K. begins to have dreadful visions of the haunch of Venison done to a cinder, and the Turbot about the consistency of curds and whey. Every now and then young Kitson comes into the room and whispers into his mother's ears, and receives a mysterious something, that sounds like keys. Kitson has got three or four of his old Cronies together, and is letting them into the secret of some miraculous quack pill, and how it has done him a world of good.

At length in walks the dilatory family Doctor, with a volume of splendid excuses, and, being a jocular man of the world, he easily obtains a pardon. Then comes a general move for the dinner-table, where Mrs. Kitson looks over a kind of Index of the Chairs, which she has on a card, and tells each party where he or she is to eat his or her dinner; by which contrivance she cleverly manages to place bashful gentlemen next to talkative ladies, and bashful ladies next to talkative gentlemen.

Then the family Doctor insists on Mrs. Kitson letting him help the Turbot, whereupon Kitson informs the whole table that he shall be jealous if the Doctor "goes on in that way," which being, of course, a good joke, causes the guests to giggle unanimously. Every now and then the Doctor does a witticism, whereat the Coal and Potato Warehouseman, who is of a facetious turn of mind, chuckles inwardly, and manages to lodge a slice of Venison or a cutlet in some lady's back hair. Now Kitson gives a mysterious nod, and immediately Champagne is handed round, and Master K. ventures on a glassful; on which his Father looks as black as gentility will allow him, and determines within himself not to allow Augustus to dine at table again until he knows how to behave himself.

On the removal of the cloth Mrs. Kitson's proud moment arrives. She has thrown the whole strength of the footman into the French polish, and her domestic reputation stands upon her tables. At the sight of them all her female friends fall into violent admiration, and, "How do you do it; I can never get ours half as bright," &c., &c., bursts from every housewife. With the Dessert come the dear little Master and Miss K.'s, beautifully got up with bear's grease and pink sarsenet for the occasion, but looking rather pale from the effects of having dipped their tiny fingers into each dish as it left the Parlour (the Doctor is in doubt whether it arises from Bile, or a nasty Influenza that is flying about); and each of the ladies begs to have "the little pets" next to her.

Now the gentlemen begin tempting the ladies, by cutting oranges into the shapes of lilies and baskets, or cracking nuts for them. And so matters proceed, until Mrs. Kitson looks inquiringly at each lady, and each lady having smiled in answer, they all rise and make for the door, which two or three of the younger gentlemen rush to open. As soon as they have departed, the gentlemen draw near to the fire, and Kitson says, "Let us be comfortable," and puts on the table such wines as weak woman is unable to appreciate.

182Then come Claret, Old Port, and Politics, and with the sixth bottle they begin discussing Moral Philosophy. Mrs. Kitson's health is at length proposed by the family Doctor, who speaks of her as "the exemplary wife—the tender mother—and the woman whom to know is to admire, ay! and he would say—to love." And then Kitson wants words to express his feelings for the honour they have done him, and winds up his catalogue of Mrs. K.'s virtues with a tear. Now "the exemplary wife" upstairs gets nervous about her husband and the wine below, and sends the footman in every ten minutes to say that "Tea is ready." Suddenly the ladies commence singing, and the family Doctor, who lives but to please, proposes to join them.

As soon as the gentlemen have retired upstairs, Kitson, who remains below, carefully locks up the remnants of the fruit and wine, and reminds Master K. of that little affair of the Champagne, and trusts he may never have to speak to him on that subject again. Then the gentlemen upstairs ask each lady in turn to oblige them with a song, and after considerable difficulty, prevail upon Mrs. Kitson's unmarried sister to favour them with "Did you ne'er hear of Kate Kearney;" but unfortunately the nuts spoil the runs. And then the gentlemen begin to have a strong inclination for Sofas and forty winks, and will put their "nasty greasy heads" on the bright yellow satin damask cushions. And then the company grows very silent; so that Kitson, who can't get up his rubber, is not sorry when he hears the Coal and Potato Warehouseman announce the first carriage. Then comes the hunting for Cloaks, and the running for Cabs, and the giving generous shillings and very generous half-crowns to the Coal and Potato Warehouseman, who is very careful to be at the door as each party is leaving. At length they have all gone, and Kitson tells his better half to see the plate right, and retires to bed.

Next morning he is very surly all breakfast, and very late for business, and Mrs. K. speaks out about the quantity of wine that was drunk; and the family, much to the delight of the little K.'s, have the remainder of the jellies, and other good things, for dinner all the next week.

PEOPLE ONE MEETS IN SOCIETY.

No. 1.
THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN WHO HAS JUST GOT HIS COMMISSION.

Do you see that young man at the top of the quadrille, dancing with that pretty flaxen-haired girl? That's Arthur Bumpshus; he has just got his commission; though one might guess as much, for he's paying more attention to himself, as you perceive, than to his partner, and he holds his coat by both of the lapels, so as to keep it off his shoulders, while he puffs out his chest like a pouter pigeon. His hair too, you observe, is cut very short behind, and frizzed out at the sides, and stuck up at the top, with the true 183military effect; and whenever his partner speaks to him he looks down on the floor, and, inclining his head slightly on one side, listens with a haughty frown.

The quadrille is over, and now here he comes. Hark! he's talking to the flaxen-haired girl about Chatham, and the Provisional Battalion, and the Mess, larding his conversation with as many military technicalities as he can possibly cram into it, though, between you and me, he has not yet joined his regiment, and has dined only once—or twice at the outside—at Chatham. He says, too, that it's deuced unpleasant being bottled up in uniform this hot weather, though we know for a fact that his own regimentals are not yet finished, and that he means "to let out at the tailor above a bit" for disappointing him with his things for this evening. When however a friend asks him how it is that he does not appear en militaire, he replies, "Oh, when a man (rich that, for a boy of eighteen!) is forced to wear uniform he naturally prefers being in Mufti whenever he can."

He walks across the room digging his heels down at every step with a ferocity intended to inspire all beholders with a high idea of his determination, and asks, when a person's name is mentioned, whether he's in "the Service;" and, on being told to the contrary, speaks of him ever afterwards as "a Civilian." And when the host's young nephew, who is home for the holidays, accidentally treads on the toe of Mr. Arthur Bumpshus's Patent Leather Boots, Mr. A. B. frowns in a way that makes the poor youth in the jacket tremble again in his pumps; for the young military gentleman is anxious to distinguish himself for his valour in the eyes of his friends.

He will not allow the engraver to have any peace until he sends home Mr. Arthur Bumpshus's cards, with the No. of his regiment printed upon them; and, when he gets them, Mr. A. B. goes the whole round of his acquaintance, and calls at the house of each of his friends at a time when he hopes they are in the park, so that he may have an opportunity of leaving them one of the bits of glazed pasteboard which announces that he has got his Commission.

He also pays a visit to Laurie, for the purpose of ordering his saddle; and hearing Major Splatterdash, of "the Heavies," swear at the saddler for something which is not quite to the Major's satisfaction, the young gentleman follows his brother-officer's example, and gets a not very gentle hint from the tradesman, that unless he can behave himself he had better leave the shop; for though Laurie may consider it worth his while to pocket an insult from a Major of ten years' standing, it does not exactly answer his purpose to do the like with a sucking ensign.

In short, the young military gentleman persists in making himself as obnoxious as possible to all people, with the view of impressing them with his importance, though he forgets that while he is endeavouring to play the Lion, the Ass's bray continually betrays him.

No. 2.
THE YACHTING MAN.

"Beg your pardon! hope I've not hurt you; but you were right in the gangway!" exclaims a light-haired, blue-coated specimen of humanity, as he enters the ball-room, and treads on the feet, and grinds the head of one of the guests against the door-post he fancies he is ornamenting; and then he rushes violently up to the lady of the house, and shakes her hand with a vehemence more cordial than "comme-il-faut;" and then, turning to the 184host, apologizes for being so late, declaring that he had carried away every stitch of canvas he could stagger under, and would have made the house half-an-hour before, but he'd had a capsize in a cab, and it took him some time to get under weigh again.

Then he mixes in the crowd, and on closer inspection, you perceive by the bright buttons on his blue coat, which have a crown and anchor and some inscription upon them, that he belongs to one of the Royal Yacht Clubs; while the same bright buttons with the same crown and anchor, &c., only a size smaller, adorning his white waistcoat, tell you that he is not ashamed of it.

From his conversation we are made acquainted with the important fact that there had been a match that day at Erith, and that his yacht must have won only his gaff-topsail was carried away in a squall; and we learn, moreover, that he fully sympathizes with Lord Freshwater, who would have come in a good second had not a Hatch Boat run right into his starboard-bow, and driven her bowsprit clean through his lordship's balloon-jib. And then he tells the listeners a remarkably funny story of a friend of his, who went for a cruise with him, and would persist in calling "going on deck" "going upstairs;" whereat the yachting man laughs immoderately, and takes care all the evening through to term "going downstairs," "going below."

He does not dance much, but whenever he does stand up for a Quadrille he talks very loud to his partner, saying, "Aye, aye," to all her questions; and he rushes to the refreshment-room with her directly the dance is over, where he does not restrict himself to negus and ices, but attacks the port wine at once.

During the supper he does not do much until the ladies have left, and then he falls to with surprising vigour, and calling the footman on one side, inquires whether there is any malt to be had. When the beer arrives he professes an intense contempt for champagne, and says that as far as he is concerned a glass of two-water grog is better than all the wine in the Docks, especially when one's on deck at night; all which causes the younger men of the party to look upon him as a very dashing sort of a fellow. And if by any chance he is asked for a song, he is sure to squall "I'm afloat," or "A Life on the Ocean Wave," though his knowledge of such a state of existence must be very limited, for he has seldom been beyond the Nore, and at farthest to Ramsgate,—excepting, by-the-by, once, when we believe he did get as far as the Isle of Wight, during the Cowes Regatta. Nevertheless, a life in his father's country-house would be more in character with his habits.

And when the party is breaking up the Yachting Man is seen in the Hall putting on a very rough Pea-Jacket, with large horn buttons, and a cap with a gold-lace band round it. He says something about it's being time to turn in, as four bells have gone; and having lit a cigar at the hall-lamp, he finally disappears, chanting—

A GOOD PENNY-WORTH.

Valentines have hitherto been sentimental. This is a sad mistake in a matter-of-fact age, when Love may knock at a person's door long enough before he will be admitted, unless he comes handsomely dressed, and with his pockets full of money. The old conventional altar, with a couple of hearts on it pierced through with a skewer, which postmen leave at houses wrapped up in pink covers, on the 14th of February, is but sorry fare for young ladies who have been educated upon a hot luncheon every day, and who would sooner have a basin of turtle than the prettiest pair of pigeons that were ever served up with pink ribbon on the best satin paper! Lovers forget that we are a nation of shopkeepers, and should play their counters accordingly. How much better, instead of sending an immense tulip with a gentleman sitting inside of it, it would be to forward a small view of their fortune, drawn out in gold and silver on their banker's cheque-book! Ladies might not take the trouble to look under the paper rose, which when pulled out discloses the portrait of a spooney Adonis, in a blue coat and black moustachios; but a sketch of what the same "Spooney" intended to do, when married, in the way of a carriage or an opera-box, would be a puzzle which every young lady could but be deeply interested in finding out. Beauty is completely a matter of taste; but a good establishment, with unlimited millinery, powdered footman, violets all the year round, and subscription to the French plays, is a simple thing which no two mammas could possibly dispute about, and which every well-regulated daughter must appreciate at the very first glance. In fact, the more such a Valentine was looked at, the more it would be admired. The question nowadays is not, whether you are handsome—that concerns your looking-glass only—but whether your fortune has a handsome figure. Hymen has gone completely into the commercial line; and the closer Valentines resemble advertisements, the easier young gentlemen who offer themselves at a "tremendous sacrifice," will find themselves go off. Cupid has turned butcher-boy, and it is wonderful how he has enlarged his business since he has taken to serving his customers with something richer than a couple of sheep's hearts every day for dinner! For further inquiries, the young lady is referred to the plate opposite.

SOMETHING LIKE A VALENTINE.

REVERSING THE OLD PROVERB—THE MOUNTAIN DOES GO TO MAHOMET.

PROBLEMS RATHER DIFFICULT OF SOLUTION.

THE MOST DIFFICULT PROBLEM OF ALL.

THE STOCK MARKET.

Old Gentleman.—Oh! my boy, you have called for the paper, have you? Well, I suppose you read everything—know of course all the news. I shouldn't be at all surprised now that you can tell me the price of stocks?

Newspaper Boy (very quickly).—Two bunches a penny, sir.

FULL MOURNING AND HALF MOURNING.

In this age of costumes, when everybody cries out for a particular dress, from a Puseyite to a charity boy, we think the poor shopmen in the Mourning Depôts have been shabbily overlooked. The Half Mourning Gentlemen should be dressed in the style of the old pictures seen in Wardour Street, one half black, the other white. And the Full Mourning Gentlemen, who have to wait on disconsolate widows, and offer them a choice of weeds, should be black from head to foot, and that effect not produced by art but by the hand of nature. No Ethiopian artificiality, but a real Nigger reality.

New Year's Day.—Now kill your dragon, for the friendly game of snap, and hire your blind-man, only take care he is a good buffer. Now get your needle ready for the purpose of threading, and hunt everywhere for a slipper, only if there is a wood pavement in the neighbourhood, you need not go far to pick up one. Now riddle your company well with conundrums, and bore them with acting charades, till every one is tired of the fun, and fairly gives it up.

The Height of Cowardice.—Kicking a man with a wooden leg.

LUMLEY'S TRUMP CARD

NOTES OF THE SWEDISH NIGHTINGALE.

192

"OH MY PROPHETIC SOUL! MY UNCLE."

A CURIOUS INQUIRY.
BY A MEMBER OF THE ANIMALS' FRIEND SOCIETY.

I wonder with what feelings does a cat contemplate a fiddle? Does the sight of it move his bowels of compassion? Does he look upon it as the hated persecutor of his innocent race for years? Is he vindictive against it? Does some inward voice tell him that on that very spot was murdered perhaps one of his dearest relations? Does he feel prompted to revenge? Does it ever strike him that it may be his own case to-morrow? If a cat feels all this, then the sight of a fiddle cannot be the pleasantest object in the world to him, and I fancy I see in my mind's eye a family of orphan kittens weeping over a violin as the cruel instrument of their father's death. But, alas! it's all fiddle-de-dee. Cats have no feelings, or else every Tom in every village would be a Hamlet!

How To begin the New Year.—The first thing is to take one year off your age. Recollect every year you grow older you are one year younger. Ladies are not restricted to any number. He must be a fine bore indeed who succeeds in piercing a lady's years!

How to put down Repeal in Ireland.—Agitate for it in England.

NOT WITTY HIMSELF, BUT THE CAUSE OF WIT IN OTHERS.

Poor Brook Green was always too ready to display his ignorance. Nothing could restrain him, when he found a good opportunity A gentleman was showing the Elgin marbles to some ladies in the British Museum, when Green rushed up to him, and said in the most positive manner, "Excuse me, sir, but I think you called those stones marbles!" "I did, sir," replied the gentleman, rather surprised. "Well, but now look at them, really you cannot call them marbles." "But I do, sir, I maintain that they are," exclaimed the gentleman in a simmering passion; "do you pretend to tell me that they are not the Elgin marbles?" "Pooh, pooh," said Green, with a contemptuous smile, "it's ridiculous—you can't be serious." "Since they are not the Elgin marbles, then, sir, perhaps you can tell me what they are?" "Oh! that's not for me to say," answered Brook Green; "but I can only assure these ladies that they're a precious deal more skittles than marbles," and he walked away quite triumphantly.

Smith and Jones were looking over a new portrait of Buggins, painted by Muggins. "It's too dark, much too dark," said Jones, "you can hardly see a thing." "I tell you what it is," exclaimed Smith, "the lights want bringing up; what do you say, Green? Don't you think the portrait would look all the better if the lights were brought up?" "Certainly," he said, and he left the room. They were wondering what had become of him when he walked in five minutes afterwards with a pair of lighted candles. "My dear Green," said Smith, "what have you brought those candles for?" "Come, that's cool," answered poor Brook; "didn't you say the lights wanted bringing up?" Jones gave him one of his frowns which lasted five minutes.

He thought every one was imposing on him, and no wonder, for he was being hoaxed almost every minute of his life. "What's this!" he asked, whilst looking over some engravings. "That's Cleopatra's needle, sir." "Well, on my word it's very like a needle, 194and a stitch of it must have saved nine of any other needle;" and he laughed away as if he had made the very best joke in the world. "And what is this, pray?" he asked, taking up another engraving "Why, sir, that is the great Pyramid." "Nonsense, my dear fellow, you make a mistake; if the last was Cleopatra's needle, this one must be her thimble," and he gave the shopman such a dig in the ribs that he was kicked out of the shop.

"Look at that idiot!" he cried, pointing to a man who was leading a watering-cart; "will you believe it, I have told him no less than ten times that all the water is running out of his cart, and yet he takes no notice of what I say."

You could persuade Green to believe any absurdity. "I wish you would step over to the Bedford, Green," said young Thomson, "and order me a dozen of port?" "I haven't the time," answered our hero. "Well, then, will you get me half a dozen; the deuce is in it, my good fellow, if you haven't time enough for that!" Green actually went; and he would do the same thing for you to-morrow. He has been known to get half way over a river, and then swim back again for fear of not reaching the opposite side. On another occasion he ordered a pair of globes, but sent them back because they were not exactly alike. He also had a sun-dial fitted up in his bedroom, to enable him, as he said, to rise every morning with the sun.

Brook Green's knowledge of literature was very superficial. The editor of the Quarterly made a wager with him once that he would not mention a single thing correctly out of Shakspeare. "Can't I, indeed!" he exclaimed; "why I know his works all through from beginning to end: first of all, there is a set of chessmen, then there are two dice-boxes, after that six dices, and lastly, a game of draughts. I'll just trouble you for the money, if you please." The poor fellow had always looked upon a backgammon board, which folded up like a book, as a copy of Shakspeare's Works, for so it was labelled; and he was quite indignant because the editor of the Quarterly would not pay him the wager, which he considered he had fairly won.

Agricultural.—Turn down your flower-beds to see if they are damp, and give them a good shaking. If they want airing, let them have an extra sheet of snow, and pass the warming-pan once or twice over them. Rub up your "Sweet William" with tallow, and let your "Old Bachelor" have a warm bath the last thing at night, if you fancy he has caught cold.

Direction for Husbands.—All the wards of a latch-key should be home-wards.

"92 IN THE SHADE."

We wonder the ladies never agitated for the reduction of the duty off tea. They should have formed an "Anti-Tea League." If they had only laid their tongues together, the death-rattle of the duty would have sounded for ever. The noise would have made ministers tremble, and the great wall of China would have shaken like a row of plates on a kitchen dresser with the tremendous reverberation. Imagine 12,000,000 tongues calling out "Repeal the duty off tea!" and then conceive, if you can, what the intensity of that clamour would be when every one of those 12,000,000 tongues was a female tongue! We pronounce this omission a terrible lapsus linguæ on the part of the Wives and Daughters and Grandmothers of England. Where, we ask, is Mrs. Ellis? that formidable female champion of Great Britain.

Let us suppose that this Utopia has arrived. Tea is free! Bohea has burst its fiscal fetters, and the "best black" is emancipated from its custom-house bonds. Now, it has been proved by every political economist that the cheapening of an article always increases its consumption. What oceans of tea then will be drank when the luxury can be procured at six farthings a cup cheaper! "A dish of tea" will be magnified into a soup-tureen; urns will swell into the size of beer-barrels; and a tea-caddy will assume the dimensions of nothing smaller than a corn-bin. The carts of "No. One, St. Paul's," will vie in grandeur with Barclay and Perkins' drays; and John will be told to go down into the cellar "to bring up another hogshead of the Best Sixpenny Mixed." Scandal, which, next to the sloe, forms the principal ingredient in every brewing of tea, will increase also in proportion to the consumption. No one's reputation will be safe. It will be quite frightful to calculate the dear innocents who will die the death of kittens in the "social cup," and the innumerable characters that will be put into scalding water, and scraped as clean as bitter-almonds, at every "Thé Réunion!" Washer-women too—the greatest trait in whose amphibious characters is proverbially the tea-tray—will be in a state of celestial scan. mag. all day, and will fine-draw their customers' respectability at the same time that they mangle their linen. Female society, in short, will grow into a species of Inhumane Society; and inquests will be held amongst gentlemen after dinner on the lost reputation of their friends, and the verdict will be "Felo-de-se at Mrs. Candour's Tea-party," or "Found Drowned in a Teetotaller's slop-basin." Husbands of England! beware of Cheap Tea, or else the sugar-tongs may be turned against you in the same way that St. Dunstan treated a certain French gentleman by the nose.

A GOOD CUP OF TEA. (WHEN THE DUTY IS TAKEN OFF)

197

LAYS OF MODERN BABYLON.
BY YOUNG WHAT D' Y' CALLY.
(AGED NINE YEARS AND A DAY.)
OLD MOTHER HUBBARD AND HER DOG.

DIFFICULT THINGS TO BE MET WITH ON THE
CONTINENT.

A table d'hôte without a single Smith.

A monument that has not an English name upon it.

A waiter at any of the hotels on the Rhine that does not sell eau-de-Cologne.

A bit of soap that can be persuaded to lather.

A Frenchman on the field of the Battle of Waterloo.

Two fine young Englishmen dining without champagne.

A Dutchman on the top of the spire of Strasburg Cathedral.

A Commissionaire, or a Conducteur, or a Portier, that has not served in the Imperial Guard.

A Frenchman speaking any language but his own, an Englishman that looks happy, a German that looks clean, or a pig that has the slightest resemblance to a Christian pig.

The precise rule of arithmetic by which hotel bills, particularly in Switzerland, are made out.

An Irishman, a Welshman, and a Gascon travelling together.

A party of English ladies the payment of whose luggage does not far exceed their railway-fare.

A looking-glass without a group of Frenchmen before it.

A regular John Bull returning home who is not glad to get back again to England.

ABSENTEES AND EMIGRANTS DURING 1847.

Lucy Neale has returned, after a sojourn of many months, to Ethiopia, where it is to be hoped she will pass the remainder of her days. She was accompanied by Mr. Daniel Tucker, Miss Mary Blane, a large suite of buffalo gals, and other sable bores. Specie to a very large amount was carried off by Bones, and his numerous instruments.

The Twelve Flounces which were conspicuous last year in the most fashionable circles, and were seen everywhere dangling after 200the heels of the finest ladies, have likewise left the shores of England. It has been said they have been "tucked up" comfortably in France.

The Wood Pavement has broken up its numerous establishments about town, and is now nearly swept away from the surface of London. Wood has been turned out of the city as well as Middlesex, though it was thought he would have been returned at the head of the poll, so numerous were the plumpers he received from the immense bodies of the corporation. He has been dreadfully cut up lately, and has retired into private life, for no one is better qualified to shine on the domestic hearth than Wood. When he is in one of his lively sparkles, every one draws in a circle round him, and even the coldest person holds out a hand to him, and is glad to stir him up.

Tom Thumb is at present in America, after having made his fortune in England, like a pastrycook, by selling kisses. He was the first to start the cheap 'busses. He has lately been married to a dwarf. Barnum, his keeper, says the marriage must be a happy one, for there can be no doubt about wearing the breeches, since husband and wife only make up between them

"A PAIR OF SMALLS."

The British Drama.—It has gone no one knows where. It is at present an absentee, but is expected to come before the public again shortly. Rumour says it is on a visit to Mr. Macready. It could not have a better guardian, for it is not the first time Mr. Macready has proved himself a perfect host for the British Drama. The last accounts, however, were that it was stopping at the Wells for the benefit of the waters, and that it was so far improved in health as to be able to draw a very large house.

The Old Parliament.—It left England last July, after an unusually long residence in London of seven years. It has left behind one representative, called "Free Trade," now aged two years. According to the latest inquiries, "it was doing as well as could be expected."

Eton Montem.—For particulars of this absentee, please inquire at the different masquerade shops.

"Smash" is a word peculiarly the property of the "Fast Man." We believe it means to break, demolish, crush, annihilate. Like repudiation, it is of American origin, for we recollect there is the elegant Yankee term, "eternal smash." A "smasher," consequently, is one who smashes; and the Universal Smasher is a young gentleman whose particular vocation and amusement is to smash everything and everybody.

We remember meeting with one, after the first night of a new comedy, at a popular café, where the clever young wits of the day mostly congregate to lay down the law for England upon fashion, literature, cigars, royalty, casinos, metaphysics, ballet-girls, and morality.

He attracted our notice first by speaking very loudly, and calling out, in a voice as voluminous as the late lamented Mr. Toole's, "Waiter, another bottle of ginger-beer!" It was not so much the order, as the martial tone in which it was conveyed, that first awakened our curiosity. We expected, at least, to see a giant. We turned round and only found a pigmy. It was our wonder how so big a voice could find a residence in so small a body. But if the voice was immense, what were the sentiments that we afterwards heard emanate from the same lips!

The poor author, whose piece but two minutes ago had been announced amidst the greatest applause "for every night until further notice," was declared to be "an impudent nobody." Every one of his brilliant jokes was stolen; all his points, only points gained by cribbage. The young gentleman before us traced the pedigree of every epigram, gave the descent of each witticism, proved the birth of the plot, and established beyond a doubt the parentage of each separate scene. "A comedy, sir! It's no more a comedy than Joe Miller's a comedy. Dramatise a Jest Book—give it a proverb for a title, and you will have a better comedy than that. I tell you what it is, sir,—Jones must be smashed!"

He had no sooner come to this decision than there sounded and resounded a tremendous echo of long-repeated "hip-hip-hurrahs!" We inquired whence they came. It was a supper-party upstairs commemorating the glorious triumph of the evening. Poor Jones! he little thought that moment, when probably he was returning 202thanks for his health, and was full of joy, champagne, and the happy intoxication of success, that the decree had just been irrevocably passed that "he must be smashed!"

The conversation travelled on. Our unknown friend next criticised the actors. One was "a stick," another a "pump;" the gentlemen were "muffs;" the ladies something that may be conceived, but cannot be printed. The unhappy manager even did not escape. "He had never seen a piece worse put upon the stage. It would disgrace a penny theatre. By Heavens! he would show him up—such a humbug must be smashed!"

We looked with awe upon this wholesale "smasher." We trembled lest we should be the next victim, and involuntarily curled ourselves up in the dark corner of the box to avoid his destructive notice.

A stranger who came in happened to lay upon the table a series of engravings, which had just been published, and were selling, it was reported, most extensively. "Excuse me, sir," he said, taking up one of them; "I hope you've not been buying this rubbish? It is nothing but a rank imitation of Hogarth—without any of his talent, execution, or purpose. It is satire diluted to the weakest gin and water. The fellow who has put his name to it deserves to be smashed, and I have a good mind to do it."

"In mercy, I hope, you will change your mind, sir," said the stranger, rising and taking off his hat; "or at all events, that you will stop till I have had my supper. You wouldn't smash a poor 'fellow' with an empty stomach, surely?" and he held out his hand with smiling good-humour to his intended "smasher."

The laugh went against the latter, and seemingly it did not sweeten much the fine cordial spirit through which he viewed men and things.

In the course of the general conversation "Macbeth" was mentioned. "Macbeth!" he exclaimed; "a stupid, vulgar melodrama, only fit for the Britannia Saloon. Why, it wouldn't succeed at the present day unless it was brought out as a pantomime with plenty of blue fire. In my opinion, Shakspeare is a tremendous do—I don't hesitate to say so—and I should like uncommonly to smash him."

Tennyson shortly afterwards was declared to be deserving of the same fate.

Byron also was a great mistake; Walter Scott, too, was no better, and they ought both of them to be smashed.

Shelley was an impudent pretender, and ought properly to have been smashed long ago. By Jove, he'd do it some day!

It was poor Goldsmith's turn next; but he relented, saying, with a mutilated sigh, he was scarcely worth smashing.

But Milton was "a ponderous take-in—a violent mistake." He was very good for old women, no doubt, but as heavy as cold dumpling; and nothing but sheer starvation could force him down his throat. He wished to Heaven some one would smash him!

Present authors were knocked on the head in the same heavy pavior's-hammer style of criticism. Who was Dickens, pray? only 203an inventory-taker! What was Bulwer? the hero of sixteen novels! James was a drug—a perfect James's powder: Sheridan Knowles a Fitzball in blank verse! And as for the ladies, they were all—poetesses, novelists, political economists, and generous Newgate visitors—the whole Fry of them, smashed indiscriminately of a heap! We wonder how so many of them have survived.

We never witnessed such cruel slaughter. It was a regular battle of great men and noble characters. Everybody, no matter how high or low in the world, was fair game for this Universal Smasher. His mouth was a Perkins' steam-gun, firing a hundred small shot every minute. Papers and periodicals were brought down by the same process of sharp-shooting. The Times ought decidedly to be smashed. It only wanted three good men to do it;—he'd put his name down for one. The Spectator was a block of Wenham ice—not even fit for sherry-cobblers. The Athenæum was an immense but, that butted at everybody. The Examiner bowstringed the Queen's English, and strangled common-sense. And as for Punch, it was a damp squib—that was fizzing, or attempting to fizz, every week; and the sooner it was smashed the better!

We felt uneasy in the presence of such a tremendous man. We longed to possess the faculty of the telescope, and slide into our selves one-sixth of our natural length. We felt confident, if we remained much longer exposed to the blows of one who hit so hard, that we should inevitably be smashed into such very small bits that if we were ever put together again we should always be pointed at afterwards as the most curious specimen of mosaic. A runaway engine in a crockery shop could not create a greater feeling of alarm amongst the cups and saucers than that infernal little smashing machine imparted to our fragile nature. We need not say, therefore, how relieved we felt when a venerable bald head in the room rose, and very quietly said, "Gentlemen, we have heard and seen a deal of smashing to-night. Everybody, great and small, has been smashed in his turn. Not a person, living or dead, has the slightest reason to complain; they have all been smashed fairly and equally together. Now, I only want to know, after our friend has smashed everybody—which he must do if he goes on at the present rapid rate—whatever will he do ultimately with himself?"

"Oh! leave him alone," we could not help exclaiming; "he'll smash himself!"

There was a general laugh, and the Universal Smasher left the room, giving us, as he passed us, such a look that we felt we were doomed. That look clearly said—it pierced us like an arrow with a message tied to it—"To be smashed in our next." We hope all benevolent souls will pray for us!

"Who is he?" we asked, as soon as we breathed again.

"Don't you know?" said our neighbour, with the greatest astonishment. "He's Brown!"

"Who's Brown?" we inquired, in a faltering voice, and a cold shiver.

204"It's strange you never heard of Brown! He's the editor of the Penny Whistle."

"Oh, indeed!"

We have inquired everywhere—we have offered any sum of money—we have begged and prayed of newsvendors and friends, and bookstall-hunters, to buy us, at any price, the Penny Whistle; but we have not seen yet that fearful work of extermination. We now offer a reward of 100l., and our blessing, to anybody who will send us a copy of it, no matter how dirty it may be. We shall not be happy till we know positively whether we are smashed or not!

THE RESPECTABLE MAN.

How to get a Ride for Nothing.—When you have reached your destination you must scream out in a loud voice of alarm, "Hallo! stop—I've got into the wrong omnibus," and rush out as quickly as you can, blowing up the conductor for having brought you so much out of your way.

"FULL INSIDE, SIR, BUT PLENTY OF ROOM ON THE TOP."

How to Live upon Nothing a-Year.—Get elected a Member of Parliament, and you may contract as many debts as you please without paying one of them.

How to get a Dozen of Wine for Nothing.—Go to twelve different wine-merchants, and get each of them to send you in a sample bottle. You have only to say afterwards the wine isn't exactly to your taste—you wanted a much fuller wine—and you may get another dozen by the same means free of expense.

How to get a Glass of Warm Brandy and Water for Nothing.—Fall in the ice, and you will be carried to the Royal Humane Society's establishment, and a glass of brandy and water will be given to you directly. If you are very bad a second will be administered, and you will be put to bed, and have a good "tuck in" into the bargain.

How to get a Library for Nothing.—Borrow books, and, of course, keep them.

How to get a Luncheon for Nothing.—Look in at the auctions, and patronize one where there is a sale of wine. Take a biscuit with you, and you may have as many glasses of port or sherry as you please. Just make a small bid now and then, for recollect Homer sometimes nodded.

How to have your Portrait taken for Nothing.—Just fight a duel, or run away with somebody's wife, and your portrait is sure to be given in one of the illustrated papers.

How to Dress for Nothing.—Go to an advertising tailor, and get him to take out your clothes in poetry. The same with your hatter, bootmaker, and hosier. Your poetry must be very poor stuff if you cannot get a suit of clothes out of it, and its feet must be lame indeed if they do not afford you a pair of Wellingtons.

Calculate the number of English ladies who understand French thoroughly; can read it, but cannot speak it.

Deduct the amount that has been lost at railways from that which has been made by them, and state what article of value the difference (if any) will purchase.

The ages of seven elderly ladies amount in their passports to 148; find out their real ages.

Ten friends of Green sit down to play at unlimited loo, and 93l. are lost before the morning. Everybody declares he has lost. You are to find out, if you can, which of the party has won?

The population of the earth is 800,000,000. Required to find one person who will mind his own business.

Thompson (of the Albany) pays 12l. annually for income-tax. His cigars cost him as much; his opera-stall four times as much; his horse six times as much; and his gloves, bouquets, bets, and tiger ten times as much. What is Thompson's real income?

A carpet-bag of an ordinary capacity will hold two coats, three pairs of trousers, one dressing-case, one pair of boots, six shirts, two night ditto, three pairs of stockings, six collars, and one dressing-gown. These articles can be put into it with perfect ease when you are going to make a week's stay in the country. How much will the same carpet-bag contain if you are going to Boulogne for an indefinite period?

Solomons buys a diamond ring for 1l. He sells it, and loses "thirty shillings, by Gosh, by it." He buys it again, and sells it at another loss of 2l. How much does Solomons make by the ring?

Your tailor applies for money; "He has a little bill to take up." There are 30,000 tailors in London. What is the sum total of all the little bills they have to take up in the course of the year?

A "Triumphant Success" averages generally from 5l. to 5l. 17s. 6d.; "Crowded Houses" hold 6l.; "Overflowing Audiences" will bring in as much as 8l. 12s. How much is a "Blaze of Triumph" worth?

The two Doves are always quarrelling. Mrs. Dove is very ill-tempered, and Mr. Dove very obstinate. He will smoke cigars at home—will stir the fire with the bright poker—will bring friends home late to supper—will whistle; all of which practices Mrs. Dove abominates. She remonstrates; Mr. Dove retaliates. A tiff ensues; and Mrs. Dove goes home to her mother. Ascertain the mean difference between them; and state the amount which Dove has to pay every year in diamonds, boxes to the opera, new velvet gowns, and trips out of town.

Stays were first invented by a brutal butcher of the thirteenth century as a punishment for his wife. She was very loquacious; and finding nothing would cure her, he put a pair of stays on her in order to take away her breath, and so prevent, as he thought, her talking. This cruel punishment was inflicted by other husbands, till at last there was scarcely a wife in all London who was not condemned to wear stays. The punishment became so universal at last that the ladies in their own defence made a fashion of it, and so it has continued to the present day.

Berlin Gloves.—The custom of servants wearing Berlin gloves at dinner was introduced by Sir Jonas Bullock in 1811. He had a favourite black servant who used always to wait at dinner. The Lady Mayoress was dining with him one Sunday, and she had occasion to call for some blanc-mange. His black servant brought it to her, when his large black thumb by the side of the blanc-mange had such a shock upon her ladyship's feelings that she fainted away and was carried home to the Mansion House in a state of great danger. She never rallied. Sir Jonas was so hurt by this melancholy event that he insisted upon his servants for the future always wearing Berlin gloves when they waited at table; and from this the fashion was introduced at Devonshire House, and then at Court.

Muffins.—We know very little of muffins previous to Johnson's time. They are supposed to have been invented by a Scotch physician, who was attached to the suite of a German Count who came over with George I. He gave the recipe for nothing to a baker, on condition of his providing him with the address of all his customers. The bargain was faithfully carried out. The physician died extremely rich, and the baker also. Crumpets and Life Pills were likewise their invention.

Bonnets were made, only fifty years ago, by a French milliner who was exceedingly ugly. The gamins used to follow her, and laugh at her, calling her nose, which was very large, the most ridiculous names. This annoyed the poor milliner, and she invented the bonnet to escape their ribaldry. The disguise was so effectual that every Frenchwoman who was no prettier than herself was glad to adopt it. Those who were not ugly formed such a small minority that whenever they appeared they were sure to monopolize all the notice and gallantry of the gentlemen. This exposed them to the sarcasms and envy of their own sex, till they were compelled at last to assume the same hideous style of head-dress. The marvel is that the fashion should ever have become popular in England.

Currant-Jelly was first eaten with hare in 1715. There were no potatoes at table, when the Duchesse de Pentonville (then an emigrant), asked what there was. "Nothing but confitures," was the reply of the maître d'hotel. "Bring me the confitures, then," said the lively Duchesse; and she selected the currant-jelly, much to the amusement of all the nobles present. The king, however, hearing of this, ordered hare for dinner, purposely to try it with the currant-jelly, and he liked it so well that he continued it for six days together; and so the currant-jelly spread all over London till it became an established fashion in the best English society.

Electricity.—Franklin brought down the lightning with a kite; but this stroke, wonderful as it is, is nothing compared to the daring flight of a Mr. 209Prettiman in the month of September last. After various trials, a few generous friends having supplied him with rope enough, he succeeded, by some great attraction, in bringing down 154l. 17s. 2½d., simply by flying a little kite in the city; and this, too, was achieved at a time when there was the greatest difficulty in raising the wind, and there was scarcely a penny stirring anywhere. He has since tried the experiment, but it has failed every time, owing, it is reported, to his paper being a little too flimsy.

Triumph of Magnetism.—Dr. Ell—ts—n declared, that by magnetizing a person he could make him see most clearly the interior of himself. The Marquis of L—nd—nd—y called, and insisted upon a trial upon himself; no other proof, he declared, would satisfy him that mesmerism wasn't a hollow humbug. Accordingly he was put into the most beautiful state of coma. "Now look into your head," said the Doctor, "and tell me what do you see?" "See?" answered the magnetized patient; "why, stuff and nonsense! I see nothing at all." "Look again." "It's quite useless: I tell you there's nothing in it." The Marquis was quite furious when told the result of the experiment; but he consoles himself with the reflection that there is a great deal more in mesmerism than meets the eye. The talented Doctor has since favoured us with the following aphorism:—

"In ridiculing a science, a man cannot look too deeply into his own head before he declares that there is nothing in it."

BEWARE.

Beware of a man who travels with a pair of duelling pistols.

Beware of a young lady who calls you by your Christian name the first time she meets you.

Beware of port at 30s. a dozen.

Beware of a lodging-house where you are "treated as one of the family."

Beware of every "cheap substitute for silver," excepting gold.

Beware of cigars that are bought of "a bold smuggler" in the street.

Beware of a wife that talks about her "dear husband," and "that beautiful shawl" in her sleep.

Beware of a gentleman who is "up" to all the clever tricks, and "knows a dodge or two," at cards.

Beware of giving an order to a deaf man on the first night of a new piece. He is sure to laugh and applaud in the wrong places, and so cause a disturbance which may be fatal to the success of your farce.

Beware of entering a French shop which has the following inscription:—

unless you can speak French very correctly, or are prepared to pay for the consequences.

General Observations.—When it is Fair, the servants or guests in the house can move about with the greatest safety; but if it is at all Cloudy, or the weather looks in the least Unsettled, then he had better look twice at the above table before he takes the smallest step, or else he will have the matrimonial storm breaking over his head. If missus is out, then the atmosphere is generally Fair; but it is invariably Stormy when master goes out and does not come home for dinner. If master and missus are both in, look out for a change or a sudden squall; and the eyes of missus will probably point to Wet.

212

THE GULL.

THE DOMESTIC SERVANTS' EARLY CLOSING
MOVEMENT.

A great domestic movement is in agitation, which, it is expected, will convulse the social fabric from the area upwards, and shake our households, not only to their centres, but to the very top of our chimney-pots, our weathercocks, and our cowls. The contemplated measure is a demand on the part of our domestic servants for a general early closing of all private houses at eight o'clock, so that after that hour the cooks, housemaids, nursery-maids, and others in our establishments may go forth in search of moral and intellectual recreation in the open air. It is argued, and with a considerable show of justice, that after cooking our dinners, and washing up our tea-things, the female servant has a right to go and get her mind cultivated, and her tastes elevated, or, as it were, put in soak in the fountain of the Muses, to be rinsed, and send forth its gushings when fitting opportunity might offer.

The Domestic Early Closing Movement will entail on the masters the necessity of limiting their wants, and allowing none to extend beyond eight P.M., which it is contended will be found quite long enough for all reasonable purposes.

The moral and intellectual training will generally be commenced by the policeman on the beat, but as boldness increases, the domestic servant may venture to improve her mind at some of the harmonic meetings in the neighbourhood of her master's residence. Adjacent barracks will be particularly sought after for the culture which it is the object of the Female Servants' Early Closing Movement to obtain.

A PRIZE BAD JOKE.

A gentleman of fortune having offered a prize of 100l. for the best bad joke, we beg he will send the money immediately to Mr. Bogue's, as we challenge the world to produce a better worse joke than the following:—

Why is a cab-stand, the horses of which have the new Patent Inflated Horse Collars, likely to be serviceable to ballooning?

Because it is the latest improvement in air-'os-station!

(Three cheers, boys! hip! hip! hurrah!)

"Saxon—oppression—moral force—dagger—forefathers—revenge—first gem of the sea—trampled upon—oh!—finest peasantry—Cromwell—slaughter—Erin's daughters—blood boil—ah! cruelty—debt of 80,000,000—robbery—sacrilege for 500 years—tyranny—be Irishmen—assert yourselves—pikes—iron bars on the railways—moral force—be patient—repeal—hereditary bondsmen would you be free?—pay in your subscriptions"—(tremendous cheering!)

By filling in any ordinary words to make a kind of grammatical sense of the above (though that is not absolutely necessary), an excellent Conciliation Hall speech, or a Monster Meeting harangue, inculcating peace, quiet, and content, in the true Irish incendiary fashion, may be produced during any month of the year, but if it is in the depth of the winter, the effect, of course, is considerably stronger.—N.B. Patriots' materials made up in the same way on the shortest notice.

SWEET ARE THE USES OF TEARS.

A German chemist has discovered this year that there is sugar in tears. We have been told by poets that there is "sweetness in all things," but we little thought that it lurked in the corner of every squint. We always thought that crying was a sign rather of a sour disposition, but according to this new discovery it would seem that the more a lady cries the more her temper is sweetened by it. By-the-bye, hysterics must be invaluable to a cook on board wages who has to find her own sugar! What a lump of sweetness, too, Niobe must have been,—for she was "all tears." To a grocer of the present day she would have been invaluable, for she would have supplied him all the year round with "the very best moist."

COPY-BOOK TEXTS FOR YOUNG AUTHORS JUST
BEGINNING TO WRITE.

Far-fetched puns corrupt good jokes.

Hate a Scotticism as you would a Printer's Devil.

Beware of Irish mad bulls.

There's many a slip between the MS. and the tip.

Whatever is, don't write.

One purchaser is worth a dozen pressmen.

The best proof of a work is in the selling.

If you wish to know all the errors in your book, get a friend to review it.

Persons who write to see their names in print should recollect that a hundred cards only cost five shillings!

There's but one step from the publisher's to the butter-monger's.

Paternoster Row is the beginning of Amen Corner.

Never pause for a word as long as there is "Finis."

EXTRAORDINARY FLIGHT OF LADY BIRDS ON THE SEA COAST.

THE LADY BIRD.

An extraordinary flight of Lady Birds distinguished the annals of Margate and Ramsgate last year. They covered the coast for miles, extending all the way to Herne Bay, and even as far as Gravesend. They are supposed to have been brought from London, as the decks of the steamers were completely strewed with them. The piers at all the watering-places, the hotels, the tea-gardens, the shrimp-parlours, were immediately occupied, and it was a matter of difficulty, soon after their arrival, to find a single bed empty. The inhabitants foolishly imagine that these Lady Birds commit a deal of injury, and they do everything they can to drive them away from the place. They lay traps in the windows to catch them, consisting of a piece of pasteboard, on which is inscribed a charm, of two simple words, "TO LET;" or sometimes it is only one word, as "tOLeTt." Directly the Lady Bird sees this, she knocks at the door, and flies into the house; but when once she is inside, she is subject to all the little persecutions which, since the sea-side was discovered, have been showered upon the poor race of Lady Birds. She is teased out of her life; she is not allowed to eat anything in comfort; her meals are taken away from her; till at last her whole enjoyment is poisoned, and she is glad to wing her way back again to London. Naturalists, however, have proved that the Lady Birds do incalculable good to every spot where they settle. Broadstairs has been built by their pretty exertions. Erith has been raised by them out of the sand; and Rosherville would never have been dug out of a chalk-pit if it had not been for the swarms of Lady Birds! It is true they buzz terribly, and make a great noise whenever more than two of them appear together; but this defect is more than counterbalanced by their gay colours, which resemble the richest silks and satins; and their dazzling appearance, which sparkles with all the force of diamonds when viewed by candle-light. Nothing prettier than to watch an assembly of them in the evening. They crowd at the libraries; they fill the ball-rooms, where they mimic the movements of the waltz; they throng Tivoli and St. Peter's, where the fireworks are not more brilliant than they; they sing, and dance, and laugh, and do everything like human creatures, but reason. And these are the poor little harmless creatures whom the inhabitants of the different watering-places delight in persecuting. Why, they carry gaiety and happiness wherever they appear; and as for hurting anybody, there is not a sting amongst a whole townful of them.

It is a fiction to suppose that the age of the Lady Bird can be told by the marks on her back. This provision on the part of nature would in fact be quite superfluous, for it is very curious that no Lady Bird at the sea-side is ever less than fourteen, or more than eighteen.

216The Lady Bird visits the watering-places generally about June, and stops there till the winter. The first gale blows them back again to London, where they pass the foggy months in the various shops, theatres, and ball-rooms. When Tom Thumb was in town, an extraordinary flight of Lady Birds might be seen every day at the Egyptian Hall.

THE MARINE APHIS VASTATOR.

Very different to the Lady Bird is the Aphis Vastator, or commonly known as the Sea-side Lodging-house keeper. It is a most ravenous tribe, to be met with at all watering-places. It will eat through anything. It has consumed, before now, a week's provisions in a day. It is always seeking somebody to devour. These vastators, or rather devastators, live mostly on the poor Lady Birds, who suffer dreadfully from their depredations. A Lady Bird, who has taken a lodging in the morning, has repeatedly been eaten out of house and home before the evening, and been obliged to fly for safety. Nothing escapes the fangs of the Marine Lodging-house keeper. It will work its way into locked drawers, and runs through a tea-caddy with as much ease as if it had the key. It will clear a trunk in a day, and empty a work-box whilst the Lady Bird is taking a plunge in the sea. Its fangs are so constructed that they close directly on everything they touch; and their eyes are so sharp that they protrude into every letter and parcel that comes into the house. What they do not consume they hide; what they cannot hide they destroy or else give away; for the male Devastator is just as nimble as the female, though he is rarely seen. He comes the last thing at night, and is off the first thing in the morning; walking off probably—for he has very long legs—with a coat, or a pair of trousers that was found lying about in your portmanteau.

The Aphis has generally a large brood of little Aphises, which she rears in the back kitchen. They all partake of their mother's nature. They crawl about the house in search of stockings and frocks, and from their small size can creep almost into anything. Their appetites, too, are almost superhuman. They will lift the lid of a rump-steak pie, which has been left on the landing-place, and, in less time than you can drink a glass of wine, they will have abstracted every bit of meat out of it. If they settle on a leg of mutton they will not leave it before they have picked it clean to the bone. In fact, their skill in polishing a bone would fill you with wonder, if nothing else. They shrink from no pastry; and the largest tart does not appal them. Their powers of suction, too, are just as great. A bottle is no sooner put upon the table than it is empty; and if there were twenty bottles they would go through every one of them, and the stronger the contents the easier the absorbing process seems to be!

Evidence of the Marine Blight on a Leg of Mutton.

When the winter comes round the Aphis Devastator looks over her stores, and begins to count if her provisions will last her till the summer. Her coals are put away into the cellar; her wine and 217spirits are arranged in the different cupboards; her candles are measured out; and everything placed upon the save-all system. Woe to her young then, if she catches one of them lifting the lid of a pie, and helping himself to the solids or fluids within! The chances are she would eat him up on the spot. The husband's appetite, too, is put upon a reduced scale, and he is only allowed a glass of grog when there has been stuffing for dinner, or when another Aphis drops in. The voracity of the whole family is kept under during the winter, but then it breaks out with all the greater fury afterwards. The legs and shoulders of the first lodger of the season generally feel this pretty sharply. He has not a joint which, after the first day, he can call his own. A blight invariably follows; for whatever the Aphis Vastator touches is sure to go immediately.

It is difficult to describe the Aphises externally, for they take up so wonderfully quick the habits of each new lodger that they are always changing.

YOUR ROOM IS PREFERRED TO YOUR COMPANY.
AN IMAGINARY CONVERSATION OVERHEARD IN BAKER STREET.

Mrs. Armytage, the greatest woman in the world (ringing the bell at Madame Tussaud's)—"Oh, if you please, madam, I have called to inquire if you wanted a 'magnificent addition?'"

Madame T.—"No, thank you; we're quite full."

Mrs. A.—"You might find a spare corner, madam."

Madame T.—"A spare corner? Why, bless me, my good woman, you wouldn't have me turn out the 'Royal Family' to accommodate you!"

BACON'S NOVUM ORGANUM.

What is the greatest obstacle to Jews sitting in Parliament?

The extraordinary quantity of gammon they must swallow.

Advice to Persons tbout to Marry.—Never attempt to buy furniture at a sale, excepting on a Saturday, for on that day only are the sale-rooms freed from the Jews, whose countenances never appear as at an auction so particularly forbidding.

was a chemist, not one of your ordinary men, who put their trust in huge coloured glass bottles, and drive a large trade in lozenges. No, Phipps was an experimental chemist, and he acquainted the public with the fact by means of an inscription to that effect over his door, while he confirmed the neighbours in the belief by occasional explosions more or less violent. On one occasion he went so far as to blow the roof off his house, but that, he said, "was an accident." Moreover, Phipps was a licentiate of Apothecaries' Hall, and jobbed the paupers at 1½d. a head, including pills and plasters. Mr. Phipps's establishment was evidently the home for natural philosophy. Experiments abandoned by every one else were eagerly sought after by Phipps; and he had a valuable auxiliary in his cat.

When science slumbered, the cat might be seen comfortably dozing on the door-step; but when anything new in medicine or chemistry turned up, the cat had an active life of it. The poor thing had taken poison enough to kill hundreds of rich husbands, and antidotes sufficient to restore double the number. It had a stomach-pump kept for its especial use. You might generally guess when anything extraordinary had happened, by missing the cat from its usual place, and seeing Dick, Mr. Phipps's boy, who had the job of holding it during the experiments, with slips of diachylon plaster all over his face and hands. It had become familiar with prussic acid and arsenic in all their insinuating forms, and had some slight knowledge of the smaller operations of surgery; still it went purring about, and was always at hand on an emergency, ready to have any drug tested on its person. Phipps was proud of it. "My cat, Tom, sir," he would say, "has done more for its fellow animal, man, than all the philanthropists that ever taught people to be discontented."

All went on smoothly till the introduction of ether, when Phipps determined to see if he could extract a tooth from a person under its influence. The cat, of course, was to be the especial patient. Dick was summoned, Tom caught, the ether administered, and Phipps 219selected one of the largest tusks. But the ether could not have taken proper effect; for, with a frightful yell, Tom freed himself from Dick's grasp, favouring him at the same time with severe marks of his esteem, which made him roar, and disappear, à la Harlequin, through the plate-glass window, doing immense damage to the chemicals and Galenicals displayed therein.

But Tom soon came back, for no one would have him. Science, who labels some men F.R.S.'s, or tags half the alphabet to the end of their names, had not forgotten to mark her humble follower, the cat. He had lost one ear in some acoustic experiment; one eye was closed for ever, from having the operation for squinting practically illustrated some dozen times; and he was lame in one of his hind legs, the tendon having been cut to exemplify the method of operating for club-foot; while his coat, once remarkably glossy, had such a second-hand, seedy appearance that it would not have tempted a Jew.

At last he died, a martyr to science. Phipps had invented some wonderful pulmonic lozenge, containing a great deal of morphia, which was to cure coughs at first sight. Tom had been rather asthmatic for some time, owing to inhaling noxious gases; so Phipps gave him a good dose to begin with. Next morning he was found very fast asleep, and extremely rigid in his limbs. Dick suggested that he was dead, but his master indignantly repudiated the idea; so Tom was kept, in the full expectation that he would one day start up quite lively, till at length the moth got into his coat, and Phipps was compelled to consign his furry friend to a grave in the garden. Phipps never had his usual spirits again. His experiments were at an end; for though he would sometimes furtively introduce some drug or other into Dick's tea or beer, that young gentleman soon found it out, and took his meals ever afterwards with his mother, who was the proprietress of a veal-and-ham pie depôt in an adjacent court. Phipps wanders about the College of Surgeons a melancholy man, and amuses himself dreaming over experiments he would perform if he could only get such another cat! He is not best pleased however, when he meets any young friend of Dick's, who violates private confidence by running after him and inquiring at the very top of his voice, "Who killed the cat?"

HUNTING AN HEIR.

Our pretty little pack of Belgrave Square Harriers had their first winter meeting on Thursday last at Lady Hurtleberry's.

It is impossible to conceive a more desirable place for the sport of their hunting than her Ladyship's. The gorgeous rose-coloured damask hangings give the finest possible tone to the complexion, the purple-flowered tapis sets off the foot to the greatest advantage, 220whilst a grand piano by Broadwood, and a harp by Erard, afford the most convenient opportunities for the display of accomplishments.

The "meet" took place at nine o'clock precisely, and a better "room" could not be desired.

As each member of the Hunt keeps her own harriers at "Walk," the first Meeting is always interesting from the number of new "drafts." In addition, therefore, to those harriers that hunted last season, with all of whom you are well acquainted, the following new entries were made:—

Lady Browbeater's Lucy Jane; "too short in the head," to my fancy.

The Hon. Mrs. Rattletrap's Julia Rose; a lively creature, and "gives tongue" beautifully.

Mrs. Major Fubbs's Clementina Louisa; very dumpy and dull—sure to be "latter'd."

Mrs. General Rowdedow's Lucidora; all that heart could wish—fine nose, capital mouth, splendid chest, and a forehand and arm of perfect symmetry.

There were one or two others introduced during the evening, but none of them possessed the necessary qualifications for the Belgrave Square Harriers. "The beaters" upon this occasion had been my brother Charles, whose Captaincy, by purchase, depends upon my being eligibly married off papa's hands; young Musparrot, similarly circumstanced; and old Major Muggs with four daughters, aged respectively twenty-six, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, and thirty.

THE HEIR-PRESUMPTIVE OF GREASE.

They had great fears at one time that our first meet would prove "blank," as they had beat up all the clubs during September and October without "pricking" an Heir either apparent or presumptive. Major Muggs had the good fortune to hit upon a track at last, and a finer specimen I never saw during my short experience. Five feet eleven, Roman nose, D'Orsay whiskers, and said to be worth twelve thousand a year when of age in January next. He was found lying in some elegantly furnished apartments in the Albany, sitting on a beautiful form of velvet. As soon as he made his appearance in the enclosure at Lady Hurtleberry's the pack was laid on. Amelia Frog-morton "challenged" first; I, you may be sure, was not slow in answering her.

The Heir first made for a Polka Quadrille, closely waited on by Amelia, with myself for a vis-à-vis. Having got as far as Pastorale, he "doubled" round by the piano, Mary Warbleton having "turned him" by Jenny Lind's Ran tan plan, from Il Figlia del Regimento. He then "took away" to the card room, but being "headed" by my 221brother Charles, who was purposely stationed in the doorway, he made for the harp, where I pressed him very hard with Bochsa's Fancies. He doubled again, and ran straight to the supper-room, closely followed by the entire pack, but the champagne coming on pretty briskly, Lady Hurtleberry thought it right to "call us off" for the evening, the Heir being ultimately bagged by the Major and Musparrot, and carried to the —— Club; for what purpose I leave you to guess. The Heir has been "turned down" twice since, and already shows symptoms of distress. I have not the least doubt that in a short time longer, I, yes I, my dear Eliza, shall have the pleasure (but this is entre nous) of introducing you to a real juggled heir.

By-the-bye, I must send you a copy of a song written by that rattlepate Rattletraps. It is to the air of

THE LANGUAGE OF VEGETABLES.

We do not think there is in the whole history of letters anything more beautiful than the two following specimens. Any one acquainted with the vegetable vocabulary cannot fail to be touched deeply by them.

The first was addressed to Sigismond by his devoted wife Toot-sichfootsich, when he was imprisoned by Kalbskopf II. in the impregnable fortress of Dummerkerl, in the Spitzbübe mountains, in Moldavia.

The originals, and the monuments of Sigismond's wonderful escape, are still preserved, with the greatest reverence, by the proud descendants of his wife's noble family. Admirers of conjugal 222affection have been known to journey to the Spitzbübe Mountains purposely to look at them. The first letter was scratched with a pin on a large cabbage leaf, and sent into the castle wrapped round a pound of butter:—

"Beloved Greens!—Dry thy Onions. There is Cabbage in the horizon. Suppress thy Spinage, there's a darling Bean. Support thy Haricots with Beetroot, and never let young Radish leave thy dear Asparagus. May Pickled Gherkins watch over thee, and Early Peas strew Mashed Potatoes, with Blessed Chickweed, over thy suffering Turniptop! Where is thy boastod Sourkrout? Have a little Brocoli, my own sweet Bean; and put thy Chickweed in Parsley. There is Tomata yet for both of us, so pray hide thy Cauliflower for a few short Sprouts, and Capers must soon be ours! Confide in Mangel-würzel. I enclose thee a hundred Greens from the bottom of my Green Stuff, and remain, my fondest Beetroot,

The answer, though in a humbler strain, was not less eloquent. It was rolled up in little crumbs of bread, which were made into the shape of pills, and thrown out of the prisoner's window:—

"My sweetest Marrowfat!—My Asparagus is well nigh bursting. My Salad is overflowing, and I cannot rest at night from too much Mustard seed. Send me, an thou hopest hereafter for Asparagus, a Scarlet-Runner, and a small Cow Cabbage. Trust in Sage, and throw thyself fondly on Watercress.

The Scarlet-Runner, which is the vegetable emblem for a file, was hidden in the heel of a boot, and the Cow Cabbage, which is the beautiful synonym for a rope, smuggled in to the poor prisoner through a large German sausage, of which he was passionately fond. He escaped that very night, and repaid with the affection of a whole life the devotion of his attached "Marrowfat," that is to say his wife; we do not give a translation of these memorable letters, as we wish our readers to refer to the Language of Vegetables itself; for we feel it is so fascinating a science that when once they go into it, they will not leave a single vegetable unturned till they have got to the root of every word.

If marriages are made in heaven, what a pity the happy pair should leave the place directly, upon a mere matter of ceremony!

If thou stoodest outside the door, thy hand upon the handle, hast thou ever paused to arrange thy curls, and to pull up thy collar, and to inspect first thy wristbands, and then thy boots? If so, thou hast loved, ay, and madly too.

If a good name were purchasable, how few would avail themselves of the luxury if they had to pay ready money for it!

If there is really "luck in odd numbers," we can account for the curious fact of so many ladies stopping half of their lives at the age of thirty-nine.

If two is company, and three is none, what a very melancholy time old Cerberus must have of it!

If "distance lends enchantment to the view," then the British Drama ought to hold out to speculators the most enchanting views in the world, for never were its prospects so distant as at the present moment.

If Napoleon had won the battle of Waterloo, Gomersal must have died comparatively unknown.

If man and wife had a plate glass to their hearts, how long would they remain together?

If soda-water had only been known in the time of Alexander, it is but fair to conclude that the murder of Clytus never would have taken place.

If England were to be divided to-morrow morning equally among all its inhabitants, we should not like to be the man whose dismal lot for life turned out to be Trafalgar Square!

If Janus really had two faces, we deeply pity him, if he ever drank a tumbler of Vauxhall punch, for he must have had the following morning two headaches instead of one!

If animals could speak, we can imagine the first words a donkey would address to man would be "Et tu brute."

If there were no "if's" in the world, there would be no arguments; no rules of three; no political economy; no more ingenious speculations about the fate of Europe if England had lost the battle of Waterloo (if it had, several shareholders would never have lost their money on Waterloo Bridge, by-the-bye); no more letters from Joseph Ady about certain valuable information if a sovereign is sent by return of post; no more liberal promises from fathers as to what they will do if their sons will only improve, and keep good hours; no more financial experiments (Sir Robert Peel's scheme for the income-tax was only one elongated "if," and its repeal is a still more extended one); and lastly, this clever little article upon "if's" never would have been written, if there had been no such word in the language as "if."

Tom, my boy, how are you? Precious slack here, I can tell you; business never was so dull. I haven't had an Atrocious Murder on my hands these three months. If this panic continues I shall be so much out of practice that I'm blessed if I shall know how to do a Murder when a good opportunity occurs. Unless some good lady has the kindness to kill her husband—(how fashions change! I can recollect the time when husbands used to kill their wives: however, it's all the same)—I must starve, without having the chance either of making a penny by my own death. By-the-bye, I have had serious ideas lately of committing an "Awful Suicide"—don't be startled, I mean only in the papers. I have reckoned it up, and find that I should make nearly a sovereign by it—a temptation, my tulip, in these times, and well worth an imaginary duck in the Thames.

See, my dear Tom, I make it out as follows:—

Now I know, Tom, this would be unprofessional, but really in times like these, when a capital execution scarcely turns up once a year, it doesn't do for a person to be over nice; besides, if I do extinguish my vital spark for six days, where's the great harm? Not a person sustains the slightest injury; I have no relations to blackguard me afterwards for not dying. I have no heirs to sue the paper for damages; I have no grandmothers to be hurried into an early grave by the intelligence; and I get a week's dinners by dying at a time I was never more puzzled how to live. My table, 225I can assure you, has not groaned under the luxuries of the season for ever so long. So where is the great sin of leaving this sublunary sphere for seven days, if I cannot keep soul and body together without it? Psha! it's all affectation, and I have a good mind to try an Awful Suicide to-morrow; and, to make it more interesting, call myself "a Gentleman of Fortune." All this scarcity comes of educating people, and the march of intellect, and the rage for improvements! Did you ever hear such nonsense? Why, I suppose civilization will be taking such rapid strides that the wood pavement—(I hope you have got one in your place; the bit of wood in the Strand lit my fires for two winters running: what a field it was for accidents, to be sure! I used to pick up two a day)—will be cut eventually from under our feet, and we shan't have a bit of orange-peel, or a slide even, to stand upon, or as much as a drop of prussic-acid to warm our hearts with before going to bed of a cold night. It's all a mistake; and if I am a victim to it I shall lay my death at the door of civilization, and charge them with it. Why, the cabs are nothing to what they used to be—they wont upset; and I do really believe the omnibus conductors are getting civil, merely to spite us. The lightning conductors, too, are very little better. I haven't been able to drink your health in a drop of electric fluid for many a day. Where it will end none of us can tell. The steamers have done a little for business, it's true, and I expect they will do a great deal more for us; but what, I ask you, is a Cricket amongst so many? Besides, one doesn't get such a good blow-out every day. Education, I see, will be the ruin of us all. I have serious thoughts of turning an informer, and reporting my own cases; or, if it comes to the worst, of going over to Dublin, and stopping there patiently till the row at Conciliation Hall begins. I wish it would take place to-morrow! They are a long time about it for Irishmen; for the winter is coming on, and I must give up all thoughts of coals, unless I get a good Destructive Fire or two. Candles, too, come dear when you cannot find, search where you will, the smallest bit of Seasonable Benevolence to pay for them. There's only Railways left us. Do you know, I drink the health of that dear Eastern Counties every time I am lucky enough to get an Awful Accident out of it. Why, Tom, my boy, I was only thinking this morning, as I was leaning over London Bridge, hoping an ill wind would blow me something good, that I would start a railway, and so make my own Accidents, and write them, for greater accuracy, on the spot. I might contract with the different papers to supply them cheap all the year round. But then I recollected, and a burning tear bedewed my eye, that that line of luck was all over, that the poor stags were fairly run off their legs, and that an end had been put for ever to Capel Court. Twelve months sooner, and the thing might have been done. I only wish I was in Hudson's shoes, that's all. What a deal of money I would make, 'lining—wouldn't I, just!

Well, Tom, I must leave you. The neighborhood has just been 226thrown into the greatest consternation by an "Enormous Gooseberry." I run to measure it with an India-rubber band, for that stretches the best. I hope it is a crammer; at all events I must make it large enough to serve me for dinner, and leave me something to fill my pipe with afterwards. Good-bye, Tom. I hope Liverpool (you lucky fellow, you had the Fever all last winter; you ought to have made your fortune, too, with the Irish) is better off in Accidents—it is much richer I know in Fires—than London. If not, I will make this agreement with you: you shall have my Inhuman Neglect by the Parish Authorities, if you bequeath me your Awful Death by Starvation. Is that a bargain?

The Ether's a failure; not a single explosion worth having. Can't you send me up a Shower of Frogs in your next letter? You shall have an Infamous Hoax by return. I say, the American Sea-serpent has not had a turn lately, or the Oldest Inhabitant, and, entre nous, Lord B—h—m has not been killed once these seven years; I have got his Life all ready. I will toss you for him, if you like. What do you say? Two out of three? or Sudden Death?

Young Flimsy was complaining at the Blue Bottle last night of the pressure of the Times. He said he had a most "Wonderful Appetite" on Thursday, and invited half-a-dozen "liners" to supper on the strength of it, but the Currency deprived him of every penny, notwithstanding he had a Curious Case of Instinct, which he made sure would bring him in half-a-crown.

Address to me at the Illustrated Weekly Murder Sheet Office.

ILLUSTRATED CONUNDRUM.
(THE OLDEST ON RECORD.)

Question.—W is a a

Answer.—W it is A

A drizzling mist begins to fall. The clock of St. Clement's strikes seven. A November fog lowers its invidious veil over the bright face of London. I hurry on, impatient to listen to the rival strains of the cricket and kettle, who, I know from a mysterious singing in my ears, are gaily carolling on my hearth in Clare Market. "There is no place like home!"

With these thoughts I redouble my speed, even as the jaded cab-horse quickens his broken knees when he sees in his mind's eye, through distant streets, the door of the livery stable. The fog has the thickness of repeated blankets. It is no light task for a blind dame to thread a needle in the dark. That task, however, is as light as the sun with 20,000 additional lamps on its birthday, compared to the difficulty of threading Temple Bar in a fog! But patience, like the boy Jones, will get through anything.

I have shaken off the mud of the city: I breathe the balmy smoke of Westminster. My high-low, or rather my high-lows (for I have two) heat once more the proud Strand. I pass the antique apple-woman on my left; on my right I leave Holloway and his far-famed leg of twenty years' standing—that Wandering Jew of advertisements which is perpetually running through the papers. I drop a sympathetic pill to the memory of Aldborough. Proud Earl! Never did mortal lay the flattering ointment to his soul as thou hast done! I hurry onward.

But what fragrant perfume, stolen or strayed from Araby the Blest, plays round my nostrils? It cannot be the fog, for it is so like stewed eels. It salutes my nose with all the warmth of a long-absent friend. I follow it, as Hamlet did the Ghost. An invisible attraction pulls me gently on, even as the magnetic duck which a child leads where he will by applying a load-stone to its nasal organ. I neither see, nor feel, nor hear; I only smell. My whole nature is standing on the bridge of my nose. How blind is man! In my ardour I have nearly upset a respectable stranger: I beg his most unadulterated pardon a hundredfold; but he heeds me not. A rich necklace of pies, Twickenham's fairest jewellery, dazzles his weak vision, and fastens, as with a golden hook, all his eyes. He is under a Savory spell, longing for More. A hundred appetites glisten from his cavernous brows. Epicurus and Dando seem to have chosen his high cheek-bones for their respective thrones. His mouth opens and shuts a thousand times, just like the Strand Theatre opposite; but, alas! takes in nothing by each new motion. Hunger could not well have spared a leaner Frenchman. Poor Monsieur! I have disturbed thy joyous reverie, and would fain make amends for it. "Here is sixpence to buy thyself luscious pies, freighted with all the boundless wealth of the generous eel." But he is as deaf as a relation that is rich. His thoughts are seated at the rich banquet within.

The parish engine is pulled along by a lusty beadle, like an invalid chair at Brighton by one of the plethoric Sons of Plush. Six little boys subscribe their voices and their strength, but there is more of the former than the 228latter. There is merriment in Drury Lane; loud cries of "Fire" play gaily upon the ear. Even a policeman—that rarest object of vertu—is seen. He illuminates for two seconds the busy scene with the "light in his laughing eye" of bull. The fire-escape is unrolled, like a tall mummy, from its dark slumber of ages, and stretches its spider limbs high into the air as it yawns again into life. It crawls, like a centipede on its hind leg, as far as Temple Bar, and there draws itself up, like a big note of exclamation, and makes a full stop. Peradventure it reaches the fire three days afterwards. There is a time for all things.

But whose is that ecstatic figure? It is as familiar to my vision as Cooper in George Barnwell. Who can it be? Yes—no—yes! It cannot be! By St. Jullien, it is the dismal Child of France! The clock of St. Clement's strikes ten. What! Monsieur, hast thou for three foggy hours been poring over those self-same pies? Thy admiration smacks, methinks, of the bigot. Thou art indeed an enthusiast. Hie thee to Soyer! Catch him between a poem and a pâté, bursting with the richest stuffing of the goose—I mean the pâté. Perform the same rites before his household pans of stew; let thy every limb speak thy admiration, and my head of hair, bought but yesterday at Truefitt's, he will give thee, for half such prodigal worship, thy weight in pies, be they of gooseberry or mutton, or the ham and veal dedicated to Thespis, or even the delicate eel, the dear object of thy silent love! Concealment has indeed fed upon thy damask cheek, and picked it—would I could say clean!—to the bone. "Voici, mon Noble Seigneur, de quoi te régaler." He sees not the proffered Joseph; he hears not my tones, sweet with charity. He stirs not: he stands on holy pavement. Poor Frenchman, I would tarry with thee, but I must rush me home to supper. Haven't I tripe waiting kindly for me! My clay, too, points to heavy wet; and my pewter will lose its head if I am not quickly with it. Adieu.

Night has spread its shutters over London. All is still, save a spirituous cry of "Va-ri-e-ty," that comes at muffled intervals leaping through the air. There is not a Gent to be seen. Even Lord Ellam has retired to his bed under the ducal counter. Sleep snores heavily in the Strand, and the nightmare rules in the City. All humanity, save editors and milkmen, is between the sheets.

All, did I say? It is false. There is one figure still, very still, on its legs. He is no purveyor of chalk, or human kindness. He is not a thief either, save one of Time; and better to rob him than Rogers' bank,—though, it is true, the notes may be stopped, but the minutes, alas! never. Whose is that figure? Egad! It is the Frenchman's.

There he stands, opposite the same identical emporium. He is wrapt in mystery and a Spanish cloak, with a collar borrowed from the poodle. He has not moved the whisper of a pig to the right or to the left. What fearful secret can chain him to that awful spot?

His iron glances seem as if they would pierce like nails at tenpence a-piece the shutters of that Depôt. The hunger on his countenance is not yet appeased. I offer him an Havannah, the best that the Green of Turnham can produce. He answers me only with a sallow smile. No complaint escapes his lips, though it is clear as Thames water that is filtered that he is ill at ease. Ah! perhaps he is doing penance for some early crime? Perhaps it is a vow he has registered in some album to please his Love? Perhaps—but I waste the valuable ink of the printer with these idle sur-mises; 229be the awful cause what it will, from the bottom of my purse, noble stranger from the noble Land of the Cancan, I do feel for thee! Thou wouldst never remain outside a piscatorial pastrycook's for nine long hours, transfixed like a pose plastique (only thou art dressed), unless there were some strange mystery at the bottom of it!

THE SPIRIT LEVEL.

I cannot sleep. My pillow is burning hot. Fever shares my bed. The vision of that unhappy Frenchman keeps pulling aside the curtains, and crying aloud in my ear, "Curiosity doth murder sleep." It is too true! Who can close his eyes, though they be weighed down with two bottles of port, of the best Public Dinner vintage, and sealed with the smoke of three-times-ten cigars, when he has a secret gnawing at his heart? I don my morning suit, and walk breathless, breakfastless to the Strand.

Clerks are plodding to their high stools in the City. All waistcoats are turned towards St. Paul's. Omnibuses are laden with cashiers—strict lovers of punctuality—who eat, and drink, and sleep, and make love, by the chronometer. The antique apple-woman is putting on her great coat, the relic of her late relict, a deceased cabman. Holloway determines to have an immense spread, and lays down a roll of ointment eight yards without a seam. Newspaper boys sing in quires as they canter along with wet bundles under their arms. The sun rises; the puddles reflect its golden smiles; the cocks and hens visit their daily cab-stand; the postman's knock is heard; the clock of St. Clement's strikes nine. London has begun a new day.

But what are these facts to me? No more than Spanish Bonds, for I do not even look at them. I have but one object in view, and that is the Frenchman.

But the cloak has disappeared, and the person inside it. His penance doubtless, is at an end—his humble vow fulfilled. He is gone: but, how strange! he has left his boots behind him. There they stand, in the middle of the pavement, bolt upright—one a Blucher, its companion a Wellington—as if they had risen out of the coal-cellar over night, like a couple of mushrooms. A phantom policeman attempts to take them up, but they are riveted to the spot. But, see! the poor exile comes this way: slippers are on his feet. He claims his boots. "Take them," says the man of law, bound in blue, and lettered B 32. No! They will not stir. He pulls them with a pair of boot-hooks, but if there were a Woman's Obstinacy in each sole, they could not maintain their ground more stoutly.

230A pickaxe is brought. The boots are pulled up at length, but in company with the flag-stone. They are carried on the latter, as on a tray, before the magistrate. Their disconsolate owner follows them in his slippers. He unfolds his simple unadorned tale of woe. First he identifies the boots. The name of "Marquis de Carambole" appears inside each. Next he states he had been giving a lesson in French for sixpence to a family in the Lane of Leather. On his way home he stopped to admire some pies arrayed most temptingly in a sumptuous window. He tarried longer than he intended, but the luxury of the sight beguiled away the unconscious moments. He felt his feet getting very warm, but he thought it was only the grateful steam of the shop. He still looked on, turning over the sixpence alternately in his mind and in his pocket, whether he should spend it, or keep it to have his hair curled. At last he resolved on the rash purchase. He attempted to move, but his right foot was fastened to the pavement, and his left foot too; he was motionless; he was literally screwed—he had grown to the ground. He was riveted to the spot, not only in admiration, but in positive reality. For four interminable hours he endured worse than the torture of Tantalus, for eel pies were not known in the dark ages of Pluto. A feast was before him which he could not touch. Twelve o'clock at last put a friendly termination to his sufferings: the shop closed. He was left in the streets of London all by himself. He felt cold. His feet were benumbed, but he could not do anything to keep them warm. Stamping was out of the question, for he could not even lift them. A policeman told him once to "move on," but unfortunately he came like a shadow, and so departed. He thought of his landlord, of his tailor, of his washerwoman, of everything that was dear to him. A tear washed his cheek. He trembled like a creditor. He did not like to shout for aid, his position was so very ridiculous. At last necessity, the coldest he ever experienced, conquered his vanity. He cut his straps, and ran away like a second Napoleon, leaving Wellington and Blucher masters of the field. Having finished, the poor Orphan of France demands, in a voice of tears, that his boots may be restored to him.

THE APPROACH OF BLUCHER.—INTREPID ADVANCE OF THE FIRST FOOT.

"Certainly," says the urbane magistrate; "but you must first pay for the damage you have done to the pavement."

231The poor Frenchman pleads that it is not his fault; but his plea is as bootless as himself.

A policeman, with the bump of science, craves leave to explain the mystery.

Leave is given to him; and, clearing his throat, he speaks thus:—"I think I can tell, sir, what is the mystery at the bottom of all this. It is Gutta Percha. This Gutta Percha, sir, is a new material of a waterproof substance; at first soluble, which afterwards hardens, and resists the action of water. It is used largely for boots. It is not proof, however, against heat. The consequence is that when it is exposed to a great warmth it becomes adhesive, and very tenacious of the footing it occupies. There is an instance of a cook whose Irish cousin was warming his feet at the fire; he had on soles made of Gutta Percha. His boots adhered to the hobs, and there he stuck in the kitchen for a fortnight till a frost came. It was called Hobbes' 'Essay on the Understanding.'"

The man of the oil-skin cape is reprimanded severely for this joke, and then resumes: "It is exactly the same scrape with this gentleman, if he will excuse the liberty I take in calling him so," he said, bowing to the Frenchman. "The fact is he remained so long admiring those eel pies that his soul expanded at the sight, and when he wanted to go he found he could not tear himself away: the Gutta Percha had become melted with the heat of the cook-shop, and strapped him to the pavement like a statue on a pedestal."

The mystery was as clear as if it had been strained with isinglass. The boots were investigated, and lo! the policeman's words for once were truth. Gutta Percha was at the bottom of each boot! The spell was solved, and so after a time were the soles. But let the reader scrutinize closely the pavement in the Strand; and on the left side, before he comes to Temple Bar, he will be able to pick out a flag-stone, opposite the "Royal Emporium for Eel Pies," which has on it the perfect imprint of the soles of a Blucher and a Wellington. It was on that very bit of granite where the poor Frenchman stood for nine hours, buffeted by the stream of people that kept flowing backwards and forwards, and tortured beyond any modern martyrdom by the tempting feast spread before him, which he could only devour with his hungry eyes.

Of all the new inventions there is not one which is likely to make a firmer stand, or keep its ground longer, than Gutta Percha.

The ladies are invading everything. The Stock Exchange, Capel Court, the field, the lecture-room, the betting-ring—places exclusively devoted hitherto to black coats and legs of the same colour—have been recently graced, or disgraced, as the case has been, with the presence the fair, and sometimes unfair, sex. The clubs, it is true, are still in the hands of men, and woman, though she has voice enough in laying down the law at home, has none as yet in Parliament; though we are confident if a handsome duchess, or Mrs. Nisbett, were only to put up for a county (say Bucks), that she would no sooner announce her intention of standing, than every Buck in the borough would rush forward to offer her a seat. Common politeness would carry her into the House of Commons. Government, however, is not the only floating and sinking thing that has a helm. Our yachts are open to the ladies; and, till they can steer the Vessel of State, they are at full liberty to soil their gants de Paris in handling the tiller of a Yacht. Are the quick-sands of office more dangerous to thread than the Needles? And what are the breezes, and the ups and downs of a parliamentary life, to those of the ocean? Go, ask Earl Grey, and he will tell you that he would sooner have fifty berths under Government than one in a royal yacht, any day!

The example set by the Queen every year has turned all the ladies mad for a Yacht. It is customary now, instead of packing up the drawing-room furniture whilst the family is out of town, to have it carried on board, where it is fitted up on deck, or does state duty in the cabins. The Turkey carpet covers the vulgar planks, the bell ropes are substituted for the coarse ropes; and chairs, richly inlaid with mother-of-pearl, replace the plain lockers. The whole household is transported generally as well, though apoplectic footmen sometimes desert after the first day, preferring board wages in May Fair to the best wages on board, in the Mediterranean.

The following extract from a Lady's Log Book will best illustrate this new fashion. It is written in the beautifully small handwriting of the enterprising Lady Augusta Fiddle-Faddle, who sailed in the Jenny Lind on a cruise to Paris, last October.

Sept. 2nd.—Started from Cowes. Sea just like a rocking-horse, up and down, up and down; not at all pleasant; very giddy; wind blowing all day at my back, nearly breaking my beautiful ostrich feather; no appetite for dinner; took an early tea, no muffins, not even a sally-lunn. Gave orders that the French cook (a promising pupil of Soyer's) might be told "to take good care it didn't occur again." In bed at eight, very unwell; ordered the rocking of the vessel to be stopped immediately, but not a soul paid any attention to my sufferings.

YACHTING FOR LADIES—MAYFAIR IN THE MEDITERRANEAN.

2333rd.—No new milk for breakfast; told the butler to send for some directly; the impudent fellow sent word, "that there was no possibility of making Cowes so soon." Ordered his beer to be stopped. Dreadful noise overhead. Told Adolphus to inquire what it was. The intelligent lad brought me intelligence that it was the housemaid sweeping the carpets on deck. Went upstairs, and asked the reason why the deck was not ready before twelve o'clock. Told Jane and Maria Louisa that I would have the strictest discipline maintained in my Yacht, or else they had better suit themselves at once with other situations. Superintended the dusting of the ottomans, and reprimanded John Thomas for going up the dirty ropes without his Berlin gloves on. Detected a faint smell of tar, and ordered the carpet to be sprinkled with eau-de-Cologne, and feathers to be burnt in every room in the Yacht. Threw my glove over the railing of the vessel to see which way the wind blew; but on its going straight down and sinking very rapidly recollected that my purse was inside. A thorough draft arising at that moment blew off my fichu towards the right, and proved beyond a doubt that the wind was in a straight line to Brighton. Determined to go there, and told the coachman in charge of the Yacht to make as much haste as possible, as I wished to make a morning call on Lady Bandury Bunn, who was staying there, with all her little Bunns. It turned out, however, towards four o'clock, that we were not many hundred yards' distance from Havre; but as I had not a French bonnet with me I declined going on shore. In the evening, a ball, and I played a small concertina (I had brought with me to charm the dolphins), to enable the poor servants to dance. John Thomas and Jane Hussey went through a hornpipe as well as the uneven state of the Yacht would allow them. Served out tea and sugar at eight. Towards nine there was a very strong smell of tobacco; searched the Yacht, escorted by Adolphus, who carried two wax candles before me; we found the smell proceeded from the servants' hall. Descended the narrow staircase cautiously, and surprised, in the pantry, the butler, John Thomas, and the French cook, each smoking with the window open, what is called, I believe, a pipe. Ordered these offensive articles to be seized, and to be instantly thrown into the lowest depths of the sea; and did not retire to rest before my orders were strictly executed. Looked into the housekeeper's room, and gave directions for a muslin cover to be made for the gold Cupid that holds the compass; if I am correct in so terming the long darning-needle that is kept under a glass shade.

4th.—Wind very fair to-day. Curled my hair for the first time in ringlets. Inspected some Valenciennes lace I have bought, a perfect bargain, of a French smuggler; it will look well on a velvet dress. Told John to drive direct to Paris. The insolent fellow asked "if I would go by Brussels, or did I prefer Vienna?" Gave him instantly warning. He turned the vessel round with its head towards London. Told him that was not the road to Paris, when he said he "was going back to Southampton to suit himself with another place." Rang the bell, and told Grisetta to tell all the servants to come upstairs. The poor girl only speaking French, the stupid servants, who worry my life out, did not understand her. Directed my page Adolphus to summon the butler before me. Mr. Smithers appeared with his hat on; I asked him how he dared to appear in my presence with his head covered? His answer was, "that he had had two wigs blown off already, and he had caught a violent cold in his head." Asked him "What was his cold in the head when the discipline of the ship was at stake?" and he could not answer a word. Told him I should report him to Sir Valentine as soon as we landed in Grosvenor Square. Being determined to punish the coachman, ordered him to leave the box, and took the whip out of his hand in the presence of my maid and the German governess. The menial coloured, and to make his degradation the more striking, I pulled the cockade off his hat. I then took the what-d'ye-call-it, the long pole that pushes the vessel along, and attempted to guide it. The fatigue, however, was too much for my wrists, and I split my gloves in the exertion; was afraid, besides, of turning the vessel upside down, but disguised my fears before the dependents. Left the pole, and picked my way down to the servants' hall. Found the servants, male and female, at dinner, the butler in the chair, and Mrs. Bantam, the housekeeper, at the bottom. Apologized for intruding, for I thought it was best to be civil. Spoke kindly, and told them to serve me properly, and their rations of tea and sugar should be doubled. Mrs. Bantam thanked me. Then told them that "a great act of insubordination had been shown by the coachman above, and that I had been obliged to strip him"—(Here I paused to take note of the effect of my words; but no sympathy was, I am glad to say, evinced)—"of his situation." I reminded them of their duties, and conjured them to be faithful to their mistress, and they should not repent it when their wages were paid; but I told them plainly, if they coalesced with the coachman it should be as much as their situations were worth. If any one of them was displeased, and thought herself ill-used, or out of her proper element, she might leave the ship that instant, and I would be the last person to prevent her bettering herself. Not one amongst them took me at my word, and I was pleased more than I can express at their fidelity. I told them as much, and confessed I had anticipated a mutiny, but had made up my mind fully how to act in case the smallest soupçon of treachery had declared itself. "I would have opened the plugs at the bottom of the yacht," I said loudly to them, "and we should have all sunk together, after I had taken the precaution to write a letter to the Times, in which every one of your names would have been reported at full length, with your christian names and ages." I was going on in the most eloquent strain, when the most dreadful thumping occurred to the ship, and there was a noise overhead such as I had never heard before, even at one of Verdi's operas. I nearly fainted, for I thought a whale had run against us, and had burst in one of our panels; but a young footman, who had run upstairs and down again whilst I was losing my colour, assured me it was only the bowsprit (for so he called the long pole which protrudes from the front of the vessel) which had been shattered to pieces in consequence of its coming in collision with Southampton Pier, which happened at that moment to be in the way. I then recollected that I had left no one in charge of the Yacht, and hastened upstairs. I found a Custom-House officer coming up the rope ladder by the side, and gave the coachman into custody for having violated the laws of his country. The man searched him, and said, with the greatest nonchalance, that there was nothing about him that warranted his detaining him. He then asked me if I had anything to declare. "Anything to declare?" I said. "Yes, I declare that your conduct is the greatest piece of impertinence I have ever heard of;" and I went on in a great passion for a long time. The man got very angry, and I had a very good mind to have him thrown into the sea for his insolence; but I conquered my pride, for at that moment Prince FitzunStartz, the young Bohemian nobleman who first brought over the polka, came tripping on the yacht, and I was too glad, in order to escape, to take his arm, though he had just been smoking. I recounted to him the dangers I had gone through, and he would have it I was "quizzing" him, just as if I was likely to joke upon such a matter of life and death. We had scarcely reached the end of the pier when an officer stopped us, and informed me that the Jenny Lind was seized by the Custom House authorities for having on board a quantity of smuggled goods. Oh dear! oh dear! that Valenciennes will cost me dearer than what I might have got it for at Howell and James's, and they wouldn't have asked me for the money for six years to come at least; whereas I paid that smuggler every bit in sovereigns. Oh! that stupid Yacht!

234

Hints To Agricultural Societies.—About November stuff your calves for approaching show, and put the tails of your pigs over night into curl paper. Rub a little bear's grease on the head of your sheep, and pass small-tooth combs through their fleecy wool. Wash your Southdowns in warm soap-and-water, and let your little porkers have a good lathering, particularly about the chops. Trim your cows with satin ribbons, part the hair on their foreheads down the middle, and fix it with bandoline. Black the hoofs of your bulls, stir up your Durhams well, and see that they are properly mustered.

Pretty Thought.—"I would not be a pig," says a Dutch poet, "for then I could not eat it."

The Seat of Pain.—A seat in the front row of the dress circle of the Adelphi Theatre, judging from first impressions, which they say last the longest, is decidedly the Seat of Pain.

A pew in a fashionable church is a religious ordinary, held every Sunday, price one shilling!

The weathercock, after all, points to the highest moral truth, for it shows man that it is a vane thing to a-spire.

The Horse Guards are the Bright Pokers of the army. They are kept up exclusively for show, most highly polished, but never intended to go into the thick of the fire.

Sons treat their governors like oysters: they never cease "sticking" them till they have made them "shell out."

The Press of England and the Press of France are both noted for their convictions—but the first are moral convictions, and the second legal ones.

Abd-el-Kader and a Turkey carpet are very much alike. They never come out so strongly, their designs are never so apparent, and their colours never have so much effect, as after a thorough good beating.

The Albert Hat is one of those things very much better described than felt.

Many ideas are exceedingly pretty, which, when inquired into, are found, like a necklace of birds' eggs, to hang upon the slightest thread, and to have absolutely nothing in them. Some authors evidently look upon ideas as children do upon birds' eggs—public property which there is no harm in stealing. They string them, too, very much in the same strain—drawing everything they can out of them, and decorating themselves afterwards with the empty shells.

Agricultural Sports.—About Autumn catch your prize labourer, and joke him at your annual Show; put him on a platform, and make good quiet fun of his having brought up sixteen children on five shillings a week for twenty years. Compliment him most highly on his sobriety and all the cardinal virtues, and give him a good-natured dig about his little potato ground. Give him a glass of wine and five shillings; and when you are tired of the absurdity, tell him to sit down, and call up your fattest pig and bull, and sustain the rollick of the day's amusements by awarding them premiums of 10l. and 15l. each. This is capital sport, and gentlefolks come far and near to see it, only we doubt if the poor labourer sees exactly the fun of it.

Truefitt on Shakspeare.—An aspiring hairdresser, who has been to see Romeo and Juliet, wishes to be informed whether the "parting" which the lady describes to be "such sweet sorrow" was in the middle, or only on one side? We are really unable to say with any certainty; but the faults of lovers, which often lead to a parting, are generally on both sides.

237

Portrait of Jim Crow, after Herbert.

MOVEMENT OF THE FINE ARTS.

The Fine Arts are seized at present with a strange movement; they are all going backwards. One would fancy they were retreating, or that they had lost something on the road, and were turning back to pick it up. We scarcely imagine it was worth while going out of their way to embrace the Middle Ages; it shows but little taste on their part. They might as well dress in the costume of that period, and wear Gothic night-caps, and mediæval high-lows, and talk, and write, and flirt in the language of that period, as to attempt to reconcile its hard angular painting (all their pictures look to us like coloured problems—as if Euclid had been their drawing-master) to the spirit of our own times. Imagine portraits of the heroes of the present age in the stiff kitchen-poker style which Messrs. Pugin, Dyce, and such like retrograders, would wish to revive! How would the immortal Simpson look? How would the popular Jim Crow appear to us, when carried two hundred years back? Why! we should not know them again.

Perhaps this going backwards is for the purpose of enabling the artists to jump farther onwards, as the French proverb says, "Reculer pour mieux sauter;" or is it to make the Fine Arts so much younger, by knocking some three hundred years off their age? We always thought that art was of no particular period, but for all time. Antiquated ladies may gain by the above process of youth-making, and we can imagine in our own mind's ear (if the mind has an eye it must have an ear) a very old man saying, "Ah! I wish I could go back to the Middle Age!" but really the Fine Arts should be above such weakness. This love of going backward may account, perhaps, for so few artists getting forward in their profession. Let them turn their backs upon the past, and the future may smile brightly again upon them. The English school of painting will not stand long, if it is built with old materials; some four hundred years old.

238

THE FIRST NIGHT OF A PANTOMIME.

CHANGE.

THE UNIVERSAL PHILANTHROPIST.

THE CITY "FAST MAN."

Faddle is a distinguished member of the Stock Exchange, and decidedly one of the "fastest men" in the City. He makes his appearance in the City at about half-past eleven every day; strolls about the neighbourhood of the Bank, with his hands in the pockets of his coat-tails; takes a sandwich at the Auction Mart, or oysters in Finch Lane; and goes away about three, with the idea that he has been very busy. We first met him at the Hanover Square Rooms. His dress was rather peculiar; and at the first glance you said (to yourself), "This is no common man;" and it is rather singular that the more you knew of him, the more you became confirmed in that opinion. His coat was very long in the waist, with singularly capacious sleeves; his neckcloth very narrow; and his whiskers a triumph of art in the curling line. His waistcoat was considerably larger than any you ever saw, except on an ostler; his shirt was embroidered and very transparent, with some pink substance underneath, that made one fancy he had recently been using the flesh-brush very vigorously. His trousers were very tight about the legs; and his boots very tight about the feet. The first remark he made was on a young lady, who he said was "a good stepper." He next stated 242that he had been at the "Corner" all day: on our inquiring where that was, he said, with a contemptuous look, "Tattersall's, to be sure!" He then told us that Lord Levant's "Wide Awake" was a likely horse for the Leger; and said, if we were doing anything on it, we had better not lay out our money on Captain Spavin's "Flare Up." His next inquiry was if we knew Tom Spraggs? and upon our answering in the negative, he ejaculated, quite loud, "Don't he drive cattle, that's all?" We fancied at first that Mr. Spraggs might be a drover, but abandoned the idea in favour of its being some technical term we did not understand. Here the conversation flagged, and to resuscitate it we made a remark on Mr. Faddle's coat-studs, and asked what they were made of? "Teeth," he said. "Teeth!" we could not help exclaiming; "what teeth?" "Why, foxes' teeth, to be sure," he said, turning away with an air of infinite disgust, and never spoke to us again.

We watched him at supper, and found he did not wait on other people much, but took great care of himself. We heard him offer to get a spaniel of some extraordinary breed for a young lady; but he never thought of asking her if she would take anything, though he was eating all the while himself. His appetite, in fact, was rather extensive. He partook largely of the substantials, then addressed himself to the plovers' eggs and lobster salads, and finished with a deep tankard of beer, which he called "malt." Later in the evening we thought a strong odour of tobacco pervaded the hall, and going out we found the "fast man" with a "weed in his off-cheek," as he elegantly expressed it, just preparing to start. His dog-cart was at the door, he jumped in, the small tiger (quite a portable boy) climbed up behind, Mr. Faddle blew a few loud notes with his post-horn, and we saw him no more.

EXPRESSIVE CHINESE PROVERBS.

New milk is not got from a statue.

An emperor may have the measles.

A disobedient son is a mad bull tied to his father's pigtail.

The man who breaks his egg in the centre is a fool.

He who marries an angry woman must sleep in a bed of fireworks.

One bird's-nest in the soup is worth two hundred in the bush.

A wise man at court is like a mermaid in a ball-room.

Carrying a peacock on your head does not make you a nobleman.

Teaching a woman scandal is like teaching a kettle to boil.

A comet can be caught any time by putting a little salt on its tail.

Ambition is like hunting for fleas.

If a golden key wont open a woman's heart, try one of brass.

Shave with a file, if you like, but don't blame the razor.

Looking into the future is like giving a blind man a pair of spectacles to see through a millstone.

The hasty man drinks his tea with a fork.

FORMATION of the new railway across the Isthmus of Suez is suggestive of some curious speculation as to the mode in which business will be conducted by the Turks, whose tree of knowledge is rather green upon such matters, and may get its owners into a line from which it will not be easy to extricate themselves.

The Lamp of Aladdin, of course, will be used as a safety signal, and the bow-string (that "great moral engine" which draws everybody in the East into one common terminus) as a signal of danger. It is also understood that the celebrated "Slave of the Ring" will be posted by turns at the different stations to announce the arrival of the trains; and that in place of the electric telegraph, the celebrated telescope of Prince Ali (which beat Lord Rosse's hollow) will be used in conjunction with the Prince Hassein's carpet to discover accidents and despatch assistance; while the apple of Prince Ahmed, which cured all diseases, will be used for the relief of the sufferers. The solemnity of Eastern manners will have a singular effect among the—to us—every-day associations connected with railway travelling. We can fancy a director, on a dividend day, exclaiming, "Holy Profit!" but we can not fancy the chairman and directors dining together afterwards at the Bosphorus Blackwall, wherever that may be, without wine or whitebait, and getting through the gormandizing process with their fingers. Then, on coming away, what a tedious process it must be; the finding of the slippers which have been left in the hall—an annoyance which an English director could imagine if he had ever been obliged to leave a festive party at the Crown and Sceptre in a small Wellington and a big Blucher, belonging to other gentlemen. Of course, the subordinates on the line will be equally polite with their betters. As a train arrives at a station, the Oriental guard will rise from his chibouk, and say, with a profound salaam, "Kosh Amedid! You are welcome!" and express a hope to the party, Pasha or highly-fed Aga, as they alight from the first-class carrages, that their respective shadows may never be less—which, by the way, to men who are wont to indulge in habitual oxen, stuffed with perpetual pistachio nuts, is rather an uncharitable wish than otherwise. Then the official will solemnly approach the second class, and exclaim, "Mashallah, oh ye gents—(there are doubtless gents in the East)—but are the tickets of the faithful ready?" and add, on receiving them, "Bishmillah, the Mare of Mahomet be praised!" To the third class, where the unbelievers will throng, the expression will be—"Allah is great, and 244Mahomet is his Prophet. Dogs of Christians, tickets!" Reversing the English custom, a carriage must be set apart in every train for the infidels who do not smoke.

THE POTATO ITSELF AGAIN.

We are glad to announce the recovery of the Potato. It has been too long absent from the festive board, and we are sure its reappearance at the dinner table will be hailed with all the warmth of a public friend, whose generous nature enables thousands to keep the pot boiling all the year round. How rejoiced the Baked Leg of Mutton will be to embrace its old companion once more! The two agree so well that they never should be separated. We can imagine the pans and kettles too, which have been growing rather rusty in its absence, will now brighten up again at its return, and bless "its dear eyes," à la T. P. Cooke, to see it looking so well. In Ireland its recovery will be quite a national feast. The "whole biling" of them will be, let us hope, in every man's mouth. In England, also, it will be a guest everywhere, from the palace to the potato-can. England is proud of its Champion; and justly—for no Champion strips so quickly for his rounds as the Potato. May it never leave us again! We could well spare a better vegetable.

HOW TO MAKE SURE TO WIN.
A TALE OF A FAT CATTLE SHOW.

MORAL.

WHAT A GENTLEMAN MAY DO, AND
WHAT HE MAY NOT DO.

He may carry a brace of partridges, but not a leg of mutton.

He may be seen in the omnibus-box at the Opera, but not on the box of an omnibus.

He may be seen in a stall inside a theatre, but not at a stall outside one.

He may dust another person's jacket, but mustn't brush his own.

He may kill a man in a duel, but he mustn't eat peas with his knife.

He may thrash a coalheaver, but he mustn't ask twice for soup.

He must pay his debts of honour, but he needn't trouble himself about his tradesmen's bills.

He may drive a stage-coach, but he mustn't take or carry coppers.

He may ride a horse as a jockey, but he mustn't exert himself in the least to get his living.

He must never forget what he owes to himself as a gentleman, but he need not mind what he owes as a gentleman to his tailor.

He may do anything, or anybody, in fact, within the range of a gentleman—go through the Insolvent Debtors Court, or turn billiard-marker; but he must never on any account carry a brown paper parcel, or appear in the streets without a pair of gloves.

247

THE GENEALOGICAL SHIRT.

SHIRTICULTURE.

A new branch of the Fine Arts has lately flourished, which we do not know how to designate by any better name than Shirticulture. It is the art of painting on shirts—an art which cannot fail to go to the bosom of every one who enters at all into it. It was a favourite maxim of Buffon, that "Le style c'est l'homme." With all due respect to one who dressed animals in the finest language, we beg to say, that nowadays "La chemise c'est l'homme." The shirt is the man. Depend upon it, that shortly the particular profession, trade, penchant, or weakness of every one, will be laid bare to the whole world upon his breast. The gent has nearest to his heart a ballet-girl; and the sportsman is immediately detected by the last winner of the Derby peeping through his "Dickey." The noble game of cricket has been got up on a piece of lawn, no bigger than your chest; and we have seen Jack Sheppard breaking through a publican's shirt-front. Rowing matches not unfrequently run down the back of a river swell; and we know a gentleman who never appears on the turf without a whole steeple-chase galloping right over him, with a tremendous hunter jumping over each shoulder. The rage for pictorial shirts will ultimately spread over everybody in the kingdom. Men of noble descent will be drawing out their genealogical tree on a square of fine calico; and admirers of the "Fancy" will be putting their pet bull-dogs into muslin. We shall have heraldic shirts, theatrical shirts, military shirts, archæological and antiquarian shirts, temperance and convivial shirts, and shirts with portraits of puppy-dogs, men, parrots, and women. We shall have artists in shirts, as we have artists in hair; and every washerwoman's drying-ground will be an exhibition, to which the public will be admitted without having to pay a shilling to witness the pictures. A catalogue, in fact, could be drawn up, and might run as follows:—

EXHIBITION OF SHIRTS IN THE WASHING ACADEMY OF MRS. TUBBS AND
JACK TOWELL, ESQ., BALL'S POND.

1. Portrait of a Fat Cook, in the possession of A 1 and B 2.

2. A Lion's Head, sketched from a celebrated door-knocker in Portland Place, which was taken off on November 15, 1842, by a noble marquis.

3. Cleopatra, a beautiful pug, and Sulky Bob, a lovely terrier, belonging to the Houndsditch Stunner.

4. The Last o' Peel—Sir Robert tendering his resignation to Her Majesty.

5. Leg of mutton and trimmings—the shirt of an alderman.

6. Views of Canterbury and York cathedrals—The two sleeves of a bishop.

2487. A Soldier's Beer, and Relieving Guard; the shirt of two Blues—The souvenirs of a housemaid.

8. "'Till so gently stealing;" Jack Sheppard helping himself in Mr. Wood's shop—The shirt of a young gentleman in Field Lane.

9. The Last Man—the property of a life-pill manufacturer.

10. St. George's, Hanover Square—The bosom comforter of a young lady.

11. "When hollow hearts shall wear a mask;" a view of Jullien's Masquerade—A False Front, late the property of a medical student, but now belonging to his cherished Uncle.

12. Distant view of Reading—The shirt of a critic.

13. Polly, a celebrated Hampshire pig, who won the prize for short snouts and curly tails, at the Royal Agricultural Show, 1845—The chemise of Mr. Giblett.

A LONDON INTERIOR.

If you have ever been to the Casino, you must have seen young Watts O'Clock. He aspired, in his Gentish soul, to be "a Fast Man;" and certainly his ambition was gratified, for he was universally looked upon as the "Fastest of the Fast." He went so fast that eventually he disappeared altogether.

I was going home very late, one dark morning, when I heard my name called out. I looked up, and noticed before my door an immense advertising van. The name issued again from one of the little windows at the side, and, lo! I recognised the Roman nose of Watts O'Clock peeping through it. Where there is a nose, I said, there must be a face; and if there is a face, it is highly probable that there is a body somewhere to it.

"Come up, my boy," the same voice and nose continued. I needed no further invitation. In another minute I was inside the van. True enough, it was young Watts. The interior was fitted up not very stylishly, but just as good as any lodging-house. The walls were papered with a handsome pattern, at three-halfpence a yard. In one corner of the room was a turn-up bedstead, and in the other a large sofa. A table and two chairs completed the furniture—with a meerschaum and a lucifer-box.

"Glad to see you," he said; "make yourself at home."

"It's a queer place for home," I could not help saying.

"Not at all. I've been here ten days, and I can assure you it's precious comfortable. No taxes; and rent only three shillings a week; and nothing for attendance. Not an extra, except occasionally a turnpike."

"And it has one advantage, you can go wherever you like, and move as often as you please."

"Exactly. Last night I slept in Drury Lane; the night before in the Borough; to-night, you see, I honour your neighbourhood with a visit; this morning I make a call in Tottenham Court Road, and then on to Gretna Green."

"Gretna Green!" I exclaimed; "whatever is taking you in an advertising van to Gretna Green?"

"A matter of affection," he said, seriously. "Jack, did you ever see an elopement in high life? Well, then, my good fellow, you shall see one this morning. Here, I say, old slowcoach," he exclaimed, putting his head out of the door, and speaking to the driver. "The old shop, Great Russell Street; and take care of the corners, mind. The stupid fool nearly upset the van the other day, driving sharp round Percy Street. I was breakfasting at the time, and received the teapot in my bosom, besides stamping a medal with the exact copy of my features on a pound of butter."

249"But how came you here?"

"Why, the constable drove me to it. We had a running match together last week. The long-legged runner of the law was gaining rapidly upon me. I saw Whitecross before me. Fear lent me the rapidity of a mad bull. Every one got out of my way. I bounded through the Little Turnstile like a pea through a tube. I found myself in Holborn. I felt the asthma of the bailiff close behind me. My left shoulder ached with the ague of a thousand writs. There is a touch in human nature which makes all mankind run; and that is the touch of a sheriff's officer. I ran across the road, but lo! an immense tower, a moving house, a mountain on wheels, in short, an advertising van, obstructed my path. Hope whispered into my ear, 'Get into it, you donkey!' In another minute I had jumped over the driver's head, and was inside these hospitable walls. I peeped through one of the eyes of 'Grimstone's Snuff' posters, and saw my pursuer looking wildly for me in every direction, wondering where I had disappeared to. I bought that good driver's silence, and I have remained his tenant ever since. We go on remarkably well together, excepting when he takes a strange turn, and upsets me by his clumsy driving. I stop here, because it is not safe to venture out, and so I have furnished my portable apartment as comfortably as I can." Here the van stopped, and Watts said, "Now, my good fellow, I must trouble you to leave me. This is the house where my flame lives. You see it is burning now in the bedroom window. She elopes with me to-night. I have been courting her now, thanks to that long ladder, for the last week. A modern version of Romeo and Juliet. She has consented to entrust her fortune to me. She is an heiress, as I needn't tell you. But her window opens. Dear creature, how anxiously she's expecting me. Fondest Emily, I fly to you. Leave me, Jackey, and witness this elopement in high life outside my humble habitation." So saying, he ran up the ladder which was perched against the side of the interior of his lodging. I watched him from the street. The top of the monster cart was just on a level with the bedroom windows. A fair form issued out of one. A pair of arms caught the trembling figure, and they disappeared together down the hollow square of the van. The next moment a handkerchief, with a portrait of the winner of the Derby, was waved out of one of the little windows of the vehicle, and I heard Watts's voice call out, "Coachman, Gretna Green!" Whether the van ever reached its destination is a mystery which must remain in darkness for the present.

POPULAR CONTINENTAL DELUSIONS RESPECTING ENGLAND.

That Englishmen never eat anything but "biftecks" and "pomme-de-terres."

That a Lord, when he is displeased with his wife, can take her to Smithfield, and putting a rope round her neck, sell her in the market for a pot of beer, or whatever a drunken drover chooses to bid for her.

That brandy is allowed to be drunk in the House of Lords.

That no daguerreotype can be taken in London, in consequence of the perpetual fogs; and that the church clocks are illuminated for the same obscure reason.

That the only pastry is plum-pudding; the only wine, ale or porter; the only fruit, baked potatoes; the only song, "God Save the Queen," and the only national amusement, boxing.

That no gentleman's establishment is complete without a bull-dog.

That the ladies propose to the gentlemen; that Gretna Green is an omni-bus-ride 250from London, and that half the marriages in England, those of Royalty and cooks included, are celebrated by The Blacksmith.

That commissions are purchasable in the police force, and that the sons of noblemen are proud to serve in it.

That the result of every dinner-party is for the gentlemen to drop, one by one, underneath the table, after which they are carried upstairs to the ladies.

That half the population is "milors," and the other half "millionaires."

That there is no English school of painting, excepting that practised by Clowns and Ethiopians.

That the Boy Jones is (if the truth was known) a member of the Royal Family.

That George the Fourth was in the habit of going to the Coal Hole.

That Watt stole his steam-engine from the French; and other absurdities by far too numerous to mention.

NEW YEAR'S GIFTS.

A little Wrinkle for next Session.—If the parliamentary privilege of freedom from arrest is done away with, we are afraid that the question of the Jews in a British Parliament will touch not only the prejudices but the persons of certain members too closely ever to be admitted.

Curious Discovery of a Skeleton.—The perfect skeleton of a goose is found in November next in Thames Tunnel by a police-officer looking for an escaped criminal. The poor animal is supposed to have taken refuge there on Michaelmas day, and to have died of starvation. This little paragraph is written to record its sagacity. Readers, if you have any sympathy, you will drop a tear to the memory of that goose!

Why do sailors serving in brigs make bad servants?

Because it's impossible for a man to serve two-masters.

A Novelty.—Prince Albert's pig does not get a prize this year. The law is a long Chancery Lane that hath no turning but Portugal Street.

"Our Natural Enemies"—tailors.

"The Bottle."—"Ah, my dear fellow, you're gradually drinking yourself into the grave," as the Pint Bottle said to the Quart.

Proverb just Imported from Boulogne.—A moustache covers a multitude of debts.

QUESTION AND ANSWER.

Shakspeare.—"What's in a name?"

Widdicombe.—"The continual nuisance of writing your autograph."

FULL-FLAVOURED SIMILE.

Men are frequently like tea—their real strength and goodness is not properly drawn out of them till they have been for a short time in hot water.

Who says it isn't?—The reason so many whales are found about the North Pole is, because they supply all the Northern Lights with oil.—Communicated by a Traveller.