  COMMONS, BUT NOT SHORT COMMONSThe bar of the House. A sergeant at arms. Milton on Stilton. MARTYRS IN PRISON.Sheriffs in custody!—in very quod! Deep, but still jolly, in their dreadful sin; Both reg'lar rum 'uns, Each a noble feller, And living just as if the House of Commons Had got a splendid cellar, And shoved 'em in the Duff and Gordon bin! How very odd! A sheriff's officer's the soul of trap, Like pot-house people, always at the tap, Though not a bar-gent. Thanks that no sheriff here was sent to prison By any officer of his'n Tapp'd in the time of "tarms:" But simply handed over to a sergeant At arms! These are no poets robb'd of attic bliss, For when did Grub-street feed on grub like this? Ham, chicken, veal, or tongue For supper, 'stead of the "Night Thoughts" of Young; Stilton, Instead of Milton, Champagne most sparkling, eau de vie most fiery, And baskets full of cards of fond inquiry! J orums of punch, the bowl a very fixture, A nd made, like snuff, a sort of Prince's mixture; N o end of wine, and, ergo, no repining, U seful distinction betwixt wine and whining; A prison-palace—comfortable, airy, R ather a safe than dungeon, though terms vary; Y our sheriffs keep good terms with January. 6. Twelfth Day. That biggest cake, so prime and nice, What's its price? Guineas two!—well, there I'm done! What's the other?—guinea one! Humph! that little 'un—you can buy For half-a-guinea:—O my eye! If you please, a penny bun! TWELFTH NIGHT.(Not Shakspeare's.) Miss Miffins was a blooming nymph, Of almost half a cent'ry, Who long had grieved her book of life To keep by single entry. She'd once a quiver-full of beaus; Old, young, short, tall, dark, light: Stokes, Nokes, Tibbs, Nibbs, Hill, Till, Fox, Knox But never Mister Right. In fact, she was a leetle proud, And loved to play and park it; And so, like many another fair, She'd overstood her market. The Baker woo'd her once, and oft At eve love's tale would tell her; But all she said to him was this, "Begone you kneady feller!" The Pieman, too, had tried his luck: But there again her pride Stood in her way: she couldn't bear To be a Tarter's bride. The man "wot drives the pleasure wan" Had loved her to insanity; But, as she said, "What's pleasure? Stuff! And wans is nought but wanity!" The Miller next, in honey'd words, That love so promptly teaches, Assail'd her heart. But "Come," said she, "None of your flowry speeches!" The Clothesman, too, although a Jew, Desired to be her beau; But finding Phillis look so cold, Return'd to his old "Clo'." The Pawnbroker had also shown A flatt'ring predilection: But "No," said she, "don't look to me For Pledges of affection." Thus all the men she jilted then, And one reply they got: "She'd rather live without a tie"— But now—she'd rather knot. So one twelfth-day—that is, one sixth— She went the cakes to view: Like all the world, who feel, that day, A cake-oËthes too. (No greater plagues on earth!) And her poor gown became the vic- Tim of their boy-strous mirth. A cracker, too, by sad mischance, And while with fear she panted, At one fell bounce, soon fired her flounce— Though not the spark she wanted. A hero bold who stood close by, Quick to her rescue flew, And tore away the flaming robe:— Her pocket vanish'd too. She went into a fit—so strong, That two young Tailors swore They'd never seen in all their lives So tight a fit before. The swain into whose arms she'd fall'n, When to herself she'd come, Seeing that she was "all abroad," Begg'd he might see her home. Arrived, they talk'd of this and that, Love, war, and heroes dead. A soldier he—a man of rank (And file, he might have said)— A Polish Count, a Knight Grand Cross, K. X., and Q. E. D.; Grand Master of the Blood-red Dirk, And R. O. G. U. E. In fine, to make a long tale short, He tickled her ambition; And soon at Church persuaded her To altar her condition. Then off she wrote to all her friends— Aunt Smith and Cousin Cole; To tell them all the news, how she Was tied to a great Pole. But, oh! pride, pride must have a fall; Her cash he soon got through: And then, one mizzling Mich'lmas day, The Count he mizzled too. And ever since, on fair Twelfth Night, A wand'ring form is seen: A female form, and this its cry:— "Vy vot a Cake I've been!" A MARRY-TIME VIEW.10. Queen Victoria's marriage. A wedding ring. General Jam. A Watchman in Seven Dials. To gaze upon the wide expanse of ocean, Far as horizon, I confess, sublime; To feast our eyes on nuptial groups in motion, Is, notwithstanding, just as marry time. A Royal wedding host and pouring rain, Both rushing on to-gether, and to boot, By the park railway, carriages in train, With shoals of footmen and of men on foot. A gathering of the people, all from home, The reigning Queen and raining sky to view; In Italy the millions rush to Rome, Are they not free to roam in London too? Throngs of the curious—curiously met, An inconsistent batch of low and high; Drunkards, for instance, getting drench'd with wet, And still declaring they were very dry! Women with pattens found to clog the way, Young thieves aspiring to the golden fleece, 'Mid torrents fair, that soaked, with equal play, A new policeman, or a new pelisse. Tea-totallers, with spirits under proof, And lots of water for them overhead, There was, because men would not stand aloof, A general jam, but one that wouldn't spread! Matters grew pressing, and, without regard To toes or ribs, a bonnet or a belly, The jam I speak of soon became so hard, It nearly jammed some people to a jelly! Yet at that Royal wedding, people say, The pickpockets their trade did sadly botch; For one industrious youth came all the way From Seven Dials to steal a single watch! The new Belle and Crown. 12. 11th Hussars, called Prince Albert's own. God save the Queen!—we love her, and the sign is— Millions of warm huzzas still greet her throne; One thousand prime hussars she gives his Highness But she is more than them—Prince Albert's own. SAINT VALENTINE.Des Oiseaux. Sweet Valentine, thy praise is heard In ev'ry grove so green, oh! And thousand birds press on to join The Concert Valentino. There's not an oak, or ash, or elm, But some fond couple bears; The very apple-tree itself Is cover'd o'er with pairs. And though the groves are bare of leaf, As far as eyes can reach; And not a bough one bud can boast, They've lots of flow'rs—of speech. There's young Jack Daw, and young Mac Caw, And Phil O'Mel (though late), Each pressing on his am'rous suit, With all his feather weight. The beaux so very pert are grown, That, when their lady wills, Like oppositionist M.P.'s, They wont withdraw their bills. There's Mister Ostrich 'mong the belles Is quite a forward chap, Which, Ostrich-like, he seems to think A feather in his cap. Miss Pelican declares her beau Is got beyond endurance; And wonders at—she really does— His Pelican Assurance. Miss Pigeon's trying to look shy, He's calling her "crosspatch!" But, though a Pouter now she seems, 'Twill be a Pigeon match. The Peacock leads his belle along, And presses her to wed; And now he gives his lips a feast, Then gives his tail a spread. Each fowl has got some pretty gift Beneath his am'rous wing: Some offer wreaths of orange flow'r; The Dove has brought his ring. But feels that love has caught her: The Eagle wants a little sun, The Daw a little Daw-ter. It's no use feigning this and that, For little Love, ifegs! Is firm, and makes each lady bird Confess that "eggs is eggs." List to the loves of Lisson-grove, From robin, lark, and linnet; While busses from the Nightingale Are passing ev'ry minute. The very bosom of the deep Seems under love's soft sway; And flocks of water-fowl are seen Indulging their fowl play. There's rev'rend Rook, and Daw, his clerk, Sitting with well-stuff'd craws, Read to lend a helping hand To forward the good caws. Each bird a poet now becomes, And sings some sad refrain: The Yellow-hammer ev'n has got His yellow-ham'rous strain. Some try to shine in repartee, Who can't be smart in ditty; The very Peewit on the heath Turns all at once peewit-y. I know not if the birds have part In our new marriage laws; But if they've not, it's clear they ought To have their special claws. In faithfulness they beat us far; For, spite of all their freaks, You never see the feather'd tribe Going before their beaks. So fare-you-well, fair ladies all; I hope, before next spring, Throughout the land you'll set the bells All of a wedding ring.
Alderman Armour. HAT-ON GARDEN.Vell, I'd give a farden to know vy they calls this here Hatton Garden. I'm sartain sure it must be done in jest; for if every hat aint hoff instead of hon, I'm blest! Hat on, indeed! vell, sartinly it's vindy; and here's a pretty shindy. They've rose the flat'lent element at last, and here it's peppering on, a precious blast! It's nuffin but a reglar blast of ruin, undoin' every von vith vot it's doin. Vell, blacksmiths must be most unconscionable fellows, if, such a day as this, they vants a bellows. I can't even svear; my pals u'd hardly know me: I don't feel no occasion to say "blow me." Oh! oh! here's a go! The voman's blowing over; she's a reglar charmer, but so unkimmon fat it can't much harm her. Vont there be chimbley accidents:—ay! lots. Look, look at Harmer and Flower's flower-pots; they're a fallin' on that old gentleman's head as valks below; and vot's vurse, it's too vindy for him to return the "blow." [They say as Alderman Harmer has left the town off, and he's made a breeze in the city vith the vind as he vhisk'd his gown off.] Vell, I'm hoff, so here goes; my eyes, how it blows! That ere image-boy can't hold his tray; ain't his kings and queens, and dukes, a rattlin avay. There goes a couple slick; the vind's broke Vellington and little Vic. Go it, my hearty! that's it, you've shivered Bonyparty; and, notwithstanding the furious vay in vich it blows and rains, if he ain't a stopping to pick up Napoleon's remains! Vell, I've heard of "mad as a March air," and precious mad I find it is, still I can't say as I care: as long as I get home safe, and there's nobody killed, I sees no great harm in it; only I hopes that them as vere particularly anxious to raise the vind, is vell satisfied this very minit!
"Will you not take another cup?" said the mistress of the tea-party. "No," answered the awkward gentleman, who had prematurely risen to depart; but, upon the word, his foot slipped over the hearth-rug, and he fell. "In refusing that cup of tea, and tumbling so soon after, you remind me of 'Gibbon's Roman Empire,'" said the wag of the tea-party. "Why?" "Because you are a living illustration of the decline and fall." THEATRICAL FUN DINNER.The Bard of Avon summon'd his ghosts Around his own bright shade, in hosts, And the characters came to the Poet of Fame, To hear his mighty say. "Well, now," he cried, "bright spirits all, Hither to-day you have my call, To quit the volume in which you are bound, And make, together, a holiday round, And go in a group to the play." So the principal characters, giving a look Of delight, jumped out of the Shakspeare book; Daylight was on the wane. Out they skipped, ready equipped, And started for Drury Lane. In full-ness of his fat led Falstaff, spruce and clean, (No false staff wanted he whereon to lean)— The van. Othello, black, beneath his dazzling vest, Polished with Warren's best, Look'd just the man For women fair to love him, You felt you couldn't take the shine out of him! Romeo escorted Juliet—pretty lisper, she fed on Romeo's whisper. Hamlet, the fencing dueller, (The only modern Hamlet we can boast, Was born a jeweller; Just as each uncle that our poets sing Reigns now a pawnbroker, and not a king); Hamlet, I say, took up his princely post, Between his uncle and his father's ghost. Shylock, the Jew that Shakspeare drew, Had nobody to draw him now—so walked; Macduff, Macbeth, Iago, and the rest, Marched all abreast. The witch alone, dress'd in her riding-hood, Travelled upon her broomstick, as she should. Grov'ling below her, in the rear, Crawled Caliban, While Clown Turned somersets eternal up and down, That he was born, to make it plain appear, A Somerset man! On, a few paces, jolly Bardolph goes, To light the party with his flaming nose. Now they gain Drury Lane: There, of course, they need do no more Than present themselves at the free-list door; Over the book Jack Falstaff bends, To write the name of "Shakspeare and Friends." When, lo! with sighs, and tears in his eyes, And to everybody's immense surprise, Mr. Parker cries, "I'm exceedingly sorry to tell you so, But 'Shakspeare and friends' are now no go; No go, I say, but to go away. They are struck entirely off the list; For the whole concern has taken a twist. It's the Chamberlain's pleasure, I vow, with pain, And Shakspeare's diddled at Drury Lane!" By Falstaff's flabbergastered frown, You see he now is thoroughly down, Where he stood before like a swell so nobby, He's ready to burst with passion and thirst, And he'd get up a row, and bully 'em now, But he sees the new police in the lobby. So, to hide what he feels, he turns on his heels, And to all his retinue making a sign, Shouts, "Boys, follow me on the road to dine! As we are not free at this house of base uns, We'll march at once to our own Freemason's; The Cuff that will greet us there, we know, Is better than this last knock-down blow; And there—of us every mother's son— Shakspeare saint, or Shakspeare sinner, As bonny before we've often done, On the fat of the land, will feast at a grand Theatrical Fun Dinner!" The tavern is open, they've gathered 'em there, Fat old Falstaff has taken the chair; He's eating away like an old gormandizer, Who's been into College and come out a sizer. And Bartley perceives, now he's taken enough in, That Falstaff himself cannot play without stuffing. Close behind his benevolent face, And belly and back, as he's taking his whack, Good Master Clown is making grimace, And acting toastmaster-in-chief of the place. Falstaff glows, from his top to his toes, His great big body keeps warming his clothes, As he puffs and blows, while his glass overflows, He is lighting his clay pipe at Bardolph's nose Drury Lane has dismissed him, alack! But Falstaff's accustomed to getting the sack! There he sits like a friar or monk, Till the guests around grow uncommonly drunk; The witch of the party, with gin they cram her, In their eager strife for the good of the dram her; But Shakspeare's voice, from bottle and stoup, Warned all the spirits to go their ways, And Cruikshank had hardly finished his group, Ere they'd all got home to their several plays! Dandies ask, How will the weather go? A heavy swell. Rainbows for fine beaux, whether or no! FISHER'S LAKE SCENERY.Among sweet April showers there's no dangler So persevering as your fervent angler: Left, by less fond companions, in the lurch, Upon his lonely boat he'll take his perch, And fish for ever there by line and rule, His poets must be all of the Lake school, The only prose writers he'd ever brook, In social brotherhood, are Pool and Hook; Beat him on land, he thinks the insult odd, Beat him by water, and he'll kiss the rod; Has he a secret you would know past doubt, Your only chance with him's to worm it out: Take him abroad to ride, he'd rather die Than have a coach, if he could get a fly: He'd like to sit for life upon a raft, In perpetuity of gentle craft! What if a little hostel, by the stream, Offer "fish, gratis!" what is that to him? He'd rather sit, when clouds have hid the sun, Between the rain and river, catching none. What are the jolly inmates all about? Drinking warm brandy, genial ale, or stout:— And he? Oh! he is taking cold without! 12. Easter Monday. "Mayn't I go to the fair, ma'am?" Bet inquires; "Suppose all sorts of evils there beset you:" "Missis, I aint that sort of girl, you know, Harmless fair fun is all as I desires:" "Well, if the weather's fair enough to go, I think it will be only fair to let you:" So fair, fair girl, fair day, and fair permission, With the fare to the fair crown Bet's condition! Poet's corner. 23. Death of Shakspeare, 1616. "Sweet Bard of Avon!"—"Well," says Jack, "how you Can call him Bard of A-won, goodness knows! I'm sure as I don't: stop! I think I do; He stands A 1, at Poet's Lloyd's, I s'pose!" POETIC LICENCE.I say, lend me a crown! I've only three shillings in my pocket: Well, hand them over, and then you'll owe me two! DIVIDEND DAY AT THE BANK.What a crowd! what a crush! What a row! what a rush! What screaming, and tearing, and noise,— Of cabmen and footmen, policemen and bus-men, And poor little run-over boys! From Lombard-street, Prince's-street, Broad-street, King-William-street, On they come driving full spank: Old and young, great and small, Fair and brown, short and tall; For it's Dividend Day at the Bank. Oh! it's Dividend Day! Oh! it's Dividend Day! And all sorts of queer incongruities: Old men and young maids, deaf ears and bright eyes, Are coming to claim their annuities. All questions now cease— Is it war? is it peace? Who cares! Or for news of the Frank! For Fleet or Conscription, Turk, Russ, or Egyptian?— It's Dividend Day at the Bank. "Dear uncle," says Miss, With a smile and a kiss, "How rosy you're looking to-day! Stay! stop! stand you still! There's a fly on your frill! Psh! there, now I've brush'd it away. And here, look, dear nunks, is a beautiful purse: There, take it—no words—hush—don't thank!" And another great buss Accomp'nies the "puss"— (?It's Dividend Day at the Bank.) The merchant on 'Change Thinks it looks rayther strange That his wife should come out all that way— From Kennington-common— Such a very fat woman! And such an "uncommon hot day!" To meet her "dear duck," And then she's so hearty and frank, Prates and chirps like a bird,— But, of course, not a word About Dividend Day at the Bank. The Minister now, With pre-occupied brow, On some "secret service" is gone; While loyal committee, From borough or city Is left in its glory alone. "Yet he promised to be Here exactly at three— Only think! and a man of his rank; And possessing such zeal For the national weal!"— But it's Dividend Day at the Bank. Now summer suns glow, And summer buds blow, And summer birds gladden each hour; While soft strains of love Are heard from above, And Beauty sits lone in her bow'r: Sits lone in her bow'r, And droops like the flow'r That of rain or of dew hath not drank To her lover she cries; But no lover replies!— It's Dividend Day at the Bank. Oh! the poet may sing Of the beauties of Spring, In a hymn to the sweet first of May; The hero attune, To the eighteenth of June, His glorious, uproarious lay; To Saint Valentine's morn Let lovers forlorn Write verses, in rhyme or in blank; I'll carol my lays To the glory and praise Of Dividend Day at the Bank. I wish MAY GAMES.—Hogg's-Wake.The village is out, the village is out, Peasant and clodhopper, fool and flout; Fast in the collars the grinners are seen, And the squeaking grunter is loose on the green: Halloo him, follow him, frighten him on! Whip him and skip him, fast bid him be gone! 'Bout him, and knout him, and give him the flail, And put plenty of soap on his curly tail! Thus, in the midst of a beautiful run, My tale is begun, my tale is begun! Like a man after lodgings, who's got a first floor, You're down on your belly, you country boor; And his tail has given your fingers more Soap than they've seen for a year before; Good little tail, sleek, greasy, and lean, Trying the villagers' hands to clean; And see how they flounder, and see how they fail, In seeking to hold by the slippery tail! Thus, while pig and tail the villagers diddle, My tale's in the middle, my tale's in the middle! 'Mid laughter, 'mid laughter, ran after! run after! The tail of the grunter taunts great and small! Catch it you can't, for it bobs aslant, Like an eel that's beating the heels of you all! That pig so sleek, it'll hold for a week Its present connexion 'twixt Grisi and squall; Till fairly worn out with its slipping about, When you catch it, it wont have a tail at all: So here, at the tail of the sport, my friend, My tale and the pig's tail are both at an end! Cotter's Saturday Night. 27. Order of the Bath. 1725. Water witch. (Family Tale of a Tub.) 31. Wit Monday. Admiral De Witt. Pray, who is the fellow of infinite fun, Of whom men declare that his wit, like the sun, Shines and sparkles along—that its bright sallies glide Like a fresh summer river at flow of its tide?— Why, join wit, sun, and tide, and it's perfectly clear You mean jolly young Whitsuntide—Prince of the year! SETTLING DAY AT "THE CORNER.""As I was going to (the) Derby, All on, &c."—Old Song. I wish I'd never bet; I wish I'd never seen a horse or colt; I wish I'd never join'd that jockeying set I wish I'd stopped away From Epsom on the Derby Day— And all such places! I wish I'd kept at home, And never shown my person at a Hippodrome. I wish, instead of going like a dolt To those horse races, I'd gone to Cowes Regatta! We've all our ups and downs, I know, Both great and small; But, oh! Those Epsom Downs are worst of all. What could have made me join those gambling jockeys? (Out-of-door Crockies:) How could I reckon so without my host? How could I, cockney born and bred, So run my head Against that betting post? Brought up in staid pursuits (Not among nasty animals and brutes), How could I think, to such a blust'ring clan, My reason and my cash to yield? I never was a martial man; How could I "take the field?" Why did I, stupid dolt, Back that confounded, desperate Solace colt, Or of that mulish Muley make a pet? No doubt, large sums I thought of soon amassin'; But what a double ass I was to bet On that Ass-ass-in! The bounds of prudence how hard to regain! When once a man o'ersteps 'em! But I have done: Richard's himself again! Yes, be assured, I'm now completely cured; At least, this shall be my last dose of Epsom. (Especially for those young minors short of tin!) I own I felt my heart sink then, And all my thoughts seemed driven into a "Corner:" And then I thought of North America, and Canton, And then I turned a scorner Of men, And thought of Joseph Manton. And then the race-course whirled before my eyes; And then I heard a voice, in words of thunder, Say, "Heyday, Good sir! you seem to have some great surprise." "Yes, and it's Little Wonder!" However, now That's past, And I have made a vow That bet shall be my last. All wagers now I nauseate and detest ("Odds" and the rest); All jockeys hate, (Welter and feather weight); All meetings fly (October and July); In short, I think all racing sad, And all its courses bad. And as for the stupidity of those who go, The difference, I trow (If there's a tittle), 'Twixt Donkey-ster and Ass-cot's mighty little. I've burnt my "books;" no horse again I'll back (Racer or hack): No more I'll hedge: and by the Grecian gods, I'll not stand on the long odds. With tens, and fives, and fours, and threes to one I've done. I've done with saying "Done, done, done!" My means no more I'll stake upon a Derby Day: It's my last lay. From this day forth for evermore, Though I should live to four—or forty score, I'll never lay another shilling— If I do I'm a villain— (Be this the moral of my tale), Though you should make me the most tempting offer— Golconda to an empty coffer— A thousand sterling to a pint of ale— You shan't prevail. No matter what the sum I wont. * * * * * Come, I'll bet you half-a-crown I don't! JUNE—The unlicensed Victuallers Dinner.
THE OXFORD ARMS.Deer Suzan, I set up all Knigt to set down to rite u a bout a horrit deed that has put all the grate Law yers to work, and has been a drawin Thiers from the Nayshuns hies. It is a shock King crime, no less than a shoot in at the Queen. The assassin-hating will-in was quite in low life—nort but a pot-boy! (not as that is any dis-a-peerage-ment; for I here there is Potts a arch deecon, and Fill pots a Bishup;) but he did not ware his best to go before her Mad-jest-i, but own lie his work-a-day close, which I think was tatterd and torne, for I hurd mast her say he went there with ragged Side intenshuns. One thing is de-litefull to no, that the Queen got off as well as the pistoll, witch the will-in tuk. From the way he prescented the weppon, it is thort he is one of the leveling classes, though it is won-durd what his aim could be. Sum say he wos like Sir Wall-ter scots True Bar door, "Burn-in with luv—to fire for fame;" which I cant see, as that true bar door came "beneath his lades windo;" but this pot-boy went into the O pen park, and turn'd the Queen quite pail, a shoot in thru the pail-ings! The Public in dig Nashun nose no bounds: the Public Houses of the People, with their benches and their bar, are to Congrat tulerate the Queen on her he scape from the pot-boy. He was a errand will-in; and as he was tuk in one Park, i understand he is to be tried by another, wot is as good a Judge as he. His name is oxford, and a hug lie feller he is, tho no feller, I am tolld, of the Oxford wot has a call edge on the banks of the Ices, which is a river, you No, and, I spoze, is all ways froze. They say the grand jury cant help find in a true Bill aginst him, which reminds me of my own true Bill, who lives with farm her Constant. Give my luv to him, and all so kep it for yourself; and so for the present good buy. Yours till deth, Carry Line. A Bacon Frier. 11. Bacon died. 1294. A con about Ba-con. "Why is a good cook like a Student of Philosophy?" Because she has long been accustomed to fry her bacon. Bacon's a bygone, for him I don't care, More than girls care for school when they're out of their teens; Don't call him a bygone—of Bacon I swear, It's more proper to class him among the has-beans. 19. Queen Victoria's Accession. As once our Queen succeeded to the throne, Setting her people all to merry-makings; So may she not succeed to that alone, But eke succeed in all her undertakings! AN UNDERTAKER.Pray, sir, what has been your largest undertaking in life? Why, I once took ten shillings in the pound on a debt of ten thousand, and that was the largest undertaking I ever had. THE LICENSED VICTUALLERS' DINNER.The dinner of the Licensed Victuallers is better to them than the wisdom of Solomon, or the ore of lore: it is their feast of literature, for they consider it in the light of a splendid annual—magnificently bound in calf for society—with the cloth edition especially reserved for themselves. It is a pleasure to behold their spread, the chairman soaring into Epicurean sublimity, like the spread eagle, or feasting like the golden vulture upon quid vult. See, they have gathered in the strength of their conviviality. Every one of them is a landlord, if not a lord of the land; how they labour at their vocation of cram! Their festive board has become a board of works; and they are all busy about the pleasantest half of the trade of carver and gilder. Every man, like a tailor, is taking his full measure; their whole vision is given to the pro-vision; and they are now, more than doctors and lawyers, among the feed. Pollok's "Course of Time" is nothing to the course of victuals now produced. All the creatures that figure on their sign-boards have been brought up and dressed for the nonce. Rarities are here, which it must have required a new edition of "Cook's Voyages" to procure. The Goose with the Gridiron, the Magpie without the Stump, the Swan with two Necks, and the throttle of some youthful Boniface acting Lad-lane for the luxury: a joint from the Pig in the Pound; the Blue Boar done thoroughly brown; the meek Lamb sent saucey from the Mint; the Dolphin, by off-slicing process, changing its size and not its dyes; the "Cock" with exquisite stuffing, so that it emulates a firm of city silversmiths, and becomes "Cock Savoury;" the Hen and Chickens, quite a gentle brood, roasted for food; "the Salmon," accustomed to swim, now beginning in consequence to sink; and last, not least, the Peacock assisting at the spread! Sure here is food for reflection, and the great body of Licensed Victuallers may rejoice in the victuals thereof. Dinner is now over. The "Queen" is disposed of; the "Royal Family" are settled; the "Army and Navy" are dispatched. Although it is not an ordinary, they have gone through the ordinary toasts: the business of the evening is about to be commenced; the Chairman is on his mettle, and on his legs. He is a wit and a wittler; a patriot on the side of the public-houses and the public. Bodily, as well as oratorically, he is a great speaker, and his eloquence is now let loose. He informs the company before him of the great importance of the humane and intoxicating society to which he belongs. He tells them that the Licensed Victuallers are connected with all that is elevating (spirits for instance), civilizing, and admirable, in town and country. They are identified equally with the lush and the literature of the land; for he is prepared to contend that whatever has been great in literature is deducible from lush. Every author of eminence has been more or less inspired from the tap, the bin, the cellar, or the bar. The Edinburgh Castle has never been a Castle The toast is drunk with applause—the Chairman shortly after follows its example, and by two in the morning the company have got under the table over their wine. DID YOU EVER?Did you ever know a sentinel who could tell what building he was keeping guard over? Did you ever know a cabman, or a ticket-porter, with any change about him? Did you ever know a tradesman asking for his account who had not "a bill to take up on Friday?" Did you ever know a turnpike-man who could be roused in less than a quarter of an hour, when it wanted that much of midnight? Did you ever see a pair of family snuffers which had not a broken spring, a leg deficient, or half-an-inch of the point knocked off? Did you ever know a lodging-house landlady who would own to bugs? Did you ever know the Boots at an inn call you too early for the morning coach? Did you ever know a dancing-master's daughter who was not to excel Taglioni? Did you ever know a man who did not think he could poke the fire better than you could? Did you ever know a Frenchman admire Waterloo Bridge? Did you ever know a housemaid who, on your discovering a fracture in a valuable China jar, did not tell you it was "done a long time ago?" or that it was "cracked before?" Did you ever know a man who didn't consider his walking-stick a better walking-stick than your walking-stick? Did you ever know a penny-a-liner who was not on intimate terms with Lytton Bulwer, Capt. Marryat, Sheridan Knowles, Tom Hood, Washington Irving, and Rigdum Funnidos? Did you ever know a hatter who was not prepared to sell you as good a hat for ten-and-sixpence as the one you've got on at five-and-twenty shillings? Did you ever know a red-haired man who had a very clear notion of where scarlet began and auburn terminated? Did you ever know a beef-eater go to the play in his uniform? Did you ever know a subscriber to the Anti-Cruelty-to-Animals Society who didn't kick the cat? Did you ever know a lady with fine eyes wear green spectacles? Did you ever know an amateur singer without "a horrid bad cold?" Did you ever see a cool fat woman in black in the dog-days? Did you ever go to see Jack Sheppard without feeling a propensity to run home and rob your mother? Did you ever know an author who had not been particularly ill-used by the booksellers? Did you ever know fifty killed and fifty wounded by a railroad accident, without the fifty who were not killed being congratulated by the directors that they were only wounded? Did you ever know a man who did not consider that he added ten years to his life by reading the "Comic Almanack?"
THE USHER OF THE BLACK ROD.Boys go back in coaches. Thrashing time approaches. ? ? ? Now School-storms reign; ? ? ? Begins again the Hurry—cane. The time of holiday is fled from little Master J., He's going to the school instead of going to the play; His master is come home, his fate 'tis easy to forebode, And heartily he wishes now the "schoolmaster abroad:" He cannot love him, though he be sweet-temper'd, 'tis in vain, Unable is the boy to see the sugar in the cane! A chaise is waiting at the door, in which he's doom'd to go, He knows and feels its very wheels will bear him to his woe; The thing he rides in he derides, and there, for joy, would dance If master, chaise, and all, were safe at PÈre la Chaise, in France! To force a young and chubby boy to school, away from home, 'S like taking a young Regulus to Carthage, back from Rome: Upon his bed, more like a board, he cries and lies awake, His fruit is fruitless, and he feels he doesn't need his cake! His bat is chang'd into a bawl, the rod'll never stop, It's always whipping bottom, now, instead of whipping top: Book'd for a flogging, whether book proclaim him dunce, or clever, Kept from the playground, oftentimes upon no ground whatever: Penned in from good hard exercise, hard exercise to pen, And told that slaving present boys is saving future men! School exercise. 23. Chinese Expedition blockaded Canton. Sailed for Chusan. Picking and choosing. Our British Bull, whom nothing well can stop, Directed by Victoria Regina, Went, right ahead, into a China shop, And set himself to work a breaking China! Be sure he didn't preach or Cant on there: The expedition he had set his shoes in, Kept fighting with an expedition rare, And didn't stop for picking or for Chusan! The town was well besieged; for Johnny took Position up too strong to be evaded; And, like the wood-cuts of this comic book, Canton was soon most thoroughly block-aided! ODE TO THE SEA:(WITH INTERRUPTIONS). Written on Margate sands, by Miss Belinda Bucklersbury. Oh! lovely Sea; sweet daughter of the sky! To thee I pour my soul; on thee I cry: Oh! let some sister NaÏad float this way, Lend me her wand, then 'mid the waves I'll stray. [Here you are, my lady. Bathe you for a shilling. Comfortablest machine on the beach; and no hextry charge for soap and towels.] Oh! for the merry sea-bird's wing, to fly To where yon sunny cloud floats in the sky, And seems a fairy palace built of light, A happy home, where all is gay and bright. [Try a donkey, ma'am. He'll carry you as quviet as a lamb, and nuffink von't tire him.] Ocean! how strange, how wondrous strange thy power, At morning's dawn, or glowing sunset hour! Ev'n now my heart earth's narrow bounds hath pass'd; My swelling brain for its cribbed cell's too vast. [Take a pair o' sculls, ma'am. I'll row you a mile out and a mile in for half-a-crown; and there aint a trimmer little craft in all Margate, than "Moll o' Wapping."] All sweet emotions on thy shores abound: All gentle passions gentler here are found. 'Twas here first sprang to life bright Beauty's Queen; Nurtured and cradled on thy billows green. [Buy a Wenus's ear, Miss? or a box o' powders to perwent sea-sickness? Only von and sixpence the lot.] Here soothing thoughts come borne on zephyr's wing, And round the heart, like summer flowers, spring, Sweet thoughts of love, that all thoughts else control, And in one mighty passion bind the soul. [Here's a prime box o' smuggled cigars, Miss, for your sweet-heart! or a nice little keg o' rale French brandy, for yourself! Let you have 'em a bargain.] While yet a child, Ocean, I loved to stand Gazing and list'ning on thy pebbly strand; And, even now, the song I seem to hear— The mariner's song, to my young heart so dear. [Yoi-hoi!—Yoi-ee-ho!—Yow!—Yoi-ee-hey!—Eiugh?—Yoi-oi!—Oi-yoi!—Ee-ow-oi-yo hough! &c. &c.] Of giant force thou nursest in thy storms! Here pond'rous whales 'mid crashing icebergs stray; There vast leviathans with tempests play. [Here's your perriwinkles! penny a pint! Winkle-winkle-winkle-winkle-winkle-man! Fine fresh winkles, only a penny a pint!] Behold, along the beach, these beauteous shells! In each, I ween, some ocean-spirit dwells: Pluck we the first. It's pearly depths behold! What hues of crimson, em'rald, azure, gold! [Oh! crikey, Bill; vot a conch that lady's got!] Alas! I'm but a hapless child of earth; I cannot stray where syren songs of mirth Are heard in coral bowers with pearls bedight; On me sweet Fortune never smiled so bright! [Try your luck, marm, in the Lottery? A musical box, two paper nautiluses, and a piece of the wreck of the Royal George. Only von shilling a ticket, and only two numbers wacant.] Ofttimes at eve, when the pale moon shines clear, And soft winds sigh, those notes I seem to hear: Ev'n now, methought I heard the magic strain, Oh! syren, sing that well-known song again! [Nix, my Dolly, pals, fake away— Ni-ix, my Dolly, pals, fake away.] But, oh! a weight oppresses my sad soul; My spirits sink beneath its dread control. [Ease her!—Ease her!] Thy boiling waves my daring footsteps spurn; To earth again in grief I'm forced to turn. [Half turn astarn!—Half turn astarn! Go on!—Go on!] Farewell! farewell! though I could stay and gaze On thy bright tide, sweet Sea, for endless days; But earthly voices call me to the shore, I must away; fare—fare-thee-well once more! (In a very small voice, half a mile off.) [Holloa, marm, you can't get back! you've let the tide come up all roun you, and if you attempt to stir you're a drownded woman. Stop where you are, and hold fast by your camp-stool till the man comes; and he'll bring you ashore wery comfortable on his back for half-a-crown.] A WATER PARTY. | ||||||||||||||||||||
| OCTOBER. | [1841. |
|---|---|
Harper.
Bowman.
Platt.
Cooke.
A PROMENADE CONCERT.
Low note.
High note.
Sharp.
Flat.
A flourish of Trumpets.
LONDON LIONS.
"i now Take up my cast mettle pen & ink to inform yew that i arived safe in lundun by the Hup train without bean Blowd to attoms, haveing proffidenshally tuk my plase in a fust clas carige, wich the charges is for bean Blew to bits in a 2nd class twenty shilin & bean Only yewr arm broke in the fust clas 30 shilin. Allso their is a 3rd clas lately aded, wear in adision yew may catch a Bad cold & rewmatisum for life for the smal charge of 14 shilin. But to return to ariving in lundun, my i! it is a rare plase. Off its size yew may juge wen i tel yew i have Bean hear a weak & hav not yet seed awl, But i hav seen a grate menny wunders—plays & conserts & cosmyrammers & diarammers & call-and-see-ems & one think or anuther. But i wish i had cum herlier in the seson, ass threw the fog i hav Mist a gud dele.
"Ass naturaly xpex i 1st pade my cumplements to Sent Pawl: it is a Bewtifull bilding—only the lower ½ wich yew carnt sea for the sut & the hupper ½ wich yew carnt sea for the fog. Leastways such was the case the day i was their: allso the Same afterwoods at West minster aby, partickly the poets korner bean quite cuvverd with Rhyme. And appropo i doant advize strangers to vissit lundun like me by the Gide buke, ass i found the disadvarntige of taking the lions ass they ar set down, namely 1st goin to Sent Pawls, then to West minster aby, then to sent Marys witechappel then to sent Looks chelsy & cettera. And the same of uther xibisions, ass from axual xperiance canot recummend going from the sologgicle gardns in the regensy park to the sologgicles in the Sorry side, & then to the diarammer & then to the tems tunnel.
"But to return to sent Pawls, i went inside & was lost in Asstonishment, partickly at the smal space ass is aloud for servess, wich deer wilyam, it is just ass if at Trent hall master was to shut up the Drawing rume, & the dining rume & the liberary & the sirvents awl & so forth & only live in the Butlers pantry. After lissenin to the singin for about ¾ of a nour i axt 2 off the beetles as was crawling about wen theyde begin to pray, but insted off replying the 2 blak beetles busted their selves out a laffin & ran off like Devvles coach orses.
"My next vissit was Doory lane, which is the 1st Inglish theater going——for frensh fidlers and Jerman orn bloers. The musick was verry Bewtifull, partickly the basune, which quite went to my art, & put me in mind off Deer ome & the grene feelds & meddows & evrythink—it was so like the cryin of a yung carf that had Lost its muther. Wat aded verry hi to the Afect off the musik was the yung gentel men & ladys a beatin time with there walkin stix & umberrellows, wich aded to sum Humming the hair and uthers a marching about exact to the tune rely shows wat may be Dun in such a plase ass lundun & ow sirvissable sich things is to improve the Nashonal taste. Allso the same of dres, wich it cumbines the hellegancys off a maskerade & fancy bawl, menny of the yung men bean Drest in the karecters of plowmen with smok froks & cettera, and uthers like hakny coach men & homynibus cads, and sum Disgized in likker. Allso it is verry pleesing to sea how atentif the yung men ar to the percedings, for even if a lady cums in during the performense they woant so much ass Stir from there seats—for feerd off Disturbing the musik.
"Allso, deer wilyam, i musent forget the briges. they ar realy Wunderfull & ass for the arches i nevver sea sich Archery in awl my Days. But Wat yew woodent Like is makeing yew pay tol, just ass if yew was a hoss or a has, only with this difrance, not alowing yew to cum Bak the same day without paing afresh, which the 1st time i went over Waterloo brige i ad quite a Waterloo batel with the man about it, & wat was wuss for the unperlitenes of the thing, a Bewtifull yung lady cuming that way, i axualy cort the feller a Tolling the bell. But the most curus of awl the briges is 1 bilt by mister brunel wich goes Hunder the warter insted off Hover it, & in lew off entering threw a turnpike gate as usuel, yew are obleegt to go down a Wel ole, tho for my own part i Declind the later, ass the old maxum ses Let wel alone.
"From their i perceded to the blue cote skule, a wunderfull site, wear underds & underds of litel bys & gels of boath sexxs is tort evrythink free, & ass befour observd the bys is nown by their Blu cotes & the gels by their Blu stokkins. Same day went to sea Gys ospital, so cawld on acount off the yung docters makin sich Gys off them selvs: allso from there to Sent tommasses, but unfortynat coodent gane admision, not bean 1 off Sent tommases Days. Consequensialy, wishing to have a pepe at the shiping, i inquired my way to the flete, but insted off Old inglands wudden wals found nuthink but sum uncomon big Stone wals & on axing a noo polease wear i cood sea a gud large Ship or 2 was Derected to Smithfeeld.
"Anuther day i went to sea the towr, wear is anuff guns and canons to canonize old Maimit aley & all his raskly egipsions put together. Allso the mint ust to be hear, but not off late ears, tho they stil presserve the ax as cut off the hed off Hanna Bullion.
"Yestoday i vissitted the ile of Dogs and spent the hevening at the indyan Bow Wow, wich, deer wilyam, a indyan Bow Wow is the same thing ass a inglish Row de Dow. But to conclude, deer wilyam, in spite of lundun & awl its wikkidnes i shal be glad to cum down to deer natif stafordsheer agen, for ass i say, Ome's ome after awl—wen yewr munnys spent & deer wilyam, giv my Tru luv to yewr sister mary & beg her exceptence off the inclosd smawl trifl off a steal bodkin wich i wood have maid it a silver thimbull but unfortynat wayed moor then ½ a ounse, & deer wilyam, if theirs anythink i can dew for yew in lundun doant say no, i wood go threw fire and warter to serv yew, but pleas to send the munny, & rite ass sune ass yew can, not forgeting to pay the post, wich is ass follos namely for ½ a oz. 1 peece of stikkin plaster, for a hole 2 ditos or 1 Blu un, for 1½ oz. 3 ditos or a Blak & blu, and so on up to a pound, abuv wich, as a pork pi or a stilton chese or anythink of that sort, it wood be Beter to send it by the Rale rode or pikfords van. So no moor from yewr umbel sirvent
ON GOOD TERMS.
Termagants.
TERM-AGANTS.
5. France in a state of spontaneous combustion.
dark as
dirty muslin,
Duke of Guys.
The city people
go
a-guzzlin.
21. Princess Royal born, 1840.
CRADLE HER (NOT HYMN).
Lords in waiting.
A LONDON FOG.
Now, the sun, after a vain attempt to catch a glimpse of St. Paul's, or the Monument, gives it up in despair; while his morning herald, Lucifer, finds the fog more than a Lucifer match for him, and goes out like a damp Jones-and-Co. of a windy night. Now, the sleepy housemaid is in a fine trepidation, on discovering that her missis was right in giving her seven-o'clock ring an hour ago; she (the maid) having just counted eight in full, on the kitchen clock. Now, hook noses and cries of "clo" are more rife than ever; and, somehow or other, silver spoons and forks disappear more frequently from the "domestic hearth." Now, the poor behind-hand city clerk, who must be at his desk, in Lombard-street, by nine (it is now half-past eight by Lambeth Palace clock), determines to sacrifice fourpence on the Iron-boat Company; and, having passed an agonizing ten minutes in the cold, sloppy cabin, is at last annihilated by the steward's informing him that, in consequence of the denseness of the fog, the captain has determined not to run the boat this morning. Now, invisible cabmen drive unseen horses along viewless thoroughfares, and omnibusses go, flitting like so many Flying Dutchmen, through the mist and fog. Now, the two young gentlemen who have a coffee-and-pistol appointment at Chalk Farm, find it anything but agreeable to be set up only three yards asunder, instead of having the length of Primrose Hill between them, so as to have had a reasonable chance of missing one another. Now, a walk in the neighbourhood of Smithfield is by no means improved in its desirableness; it was bad enough before, but nothing to what it is under the "Bull's new system." Now, young Government clerks, who have to trudge "from the west," as they call it (namely—Marylebone-lane, "Chesterfield-street, Portland-place," and so forth), are highly indignant, and more than usually vituperative of the superiors of their departments, whom they commonly describe (particularly if of a political turn) as vile sinecurists, "grinding the last drop of blood from the brows of a suffering people, to pay for their own pleasures, and to minister to their own inordinate desires!" Now, nursemaids not "accustomed to the care of children" (in a fog), suddenly find their tender charges minus divers coral necklaces, ostrich feathers, gold lockets, &c. &c.; while the interesting young lady who leads dear little Fido about the parks, in a string, and reads Lord Byron the while, is horrified on finding that, for the last half hour, she has been engaged in dragging after her a mere remnant of blue ribbon. Now, omnibus cads only shake their heads in reply to your most earnest appeals and uplifted fingers, for their vehicles are all full, and can take in "no more." Now, "blacks" come down in torrents; and coal-heavers and chimney-sweepers are the only persons that can show a decent face on the occasion. Now, wood pavements are in nice condition; particularly that in the pleasing bend by St. Giles's church; where
Now, housemaids do their work in no time; for it's of no use looking out for raps from chamber windows. Now, on the 5th, little boys exhibit their Guys in all parts of the town; and, on the 9th, "children of a larger growth" make Guys of themselves all the way from Guildhall to Westminster and back. Now,
De Porkey's Tresor.
Shortest Day.
So dark, I can't see my hand.
Bosom Friends.
A STIRRING TIME.
Puddings, as well as people, begin to go to pot; cooks, as well as drunkards, get their coppers hot. Lemons excel hypocrites in getting candid: currants, from house to house, like crooked legs, are bandied. At moist sugar, instead of white, the busy servants jump; and wisely begin to like that which they cannot lump. Mothers who beat their children, whenever the whim comes in their head, now actively betake themselves to beating eggs instead. The family assemble, but it's no longer "my lovely Rose," or my sweet William, with his pretty stock, the flour of the Christmas pudding is now the flower of the flock! Father, the only one who never would to their low obscurity demur, is now just as anxious as any to join in a general stir. Ambition, alive in his breast, awakens a mighty surprise, to think that he, who was always mincing matters, should begin to mince pies! and they prophesy, as he rakes the plums, in the bowl of China or delf, that he'll live to a Christmas-day that shall see him worth a plum himself. "How fond he is on 'em all," says nurse, meaning to be clever; "I declare he's a mixing with his family more than ever!" "Yes, nurse," responds his spouse, who thought she could do no less, "your master's acting the part of president of the family mess!" and so on—nothing whatever their placid temper a-spoiling, until the pudding's made, and tied up, and shut down, and in the copper a-boiling!
Clock after Sun.
21. St. Thomas, the shortest day.
25. Christmas Bills:—
CHRISTMAS COMES BUT ONCE A YEAR.
BOTHERUM ASTROLOGICUM PRO ANNO 1841.
Note now, oh! reader, the denotements of my prophet sketch: open your eyes upon the symbols which I symbolize. Behold the Cross and the Crescent in neighbourly collision; yet the Crescent is not Burton Crescent, nor the Cross, King's Cross, though these localities approximate in as close degrees: but they tell of Europe cooking the Goose of a Pacha for the Turkey of a Sultan; and, by this time, the bird is plucked and basted, and may be considered as thoroughly done. Witness, too, how the dismayed tee-totaller gazes on the wreck of the Chinese world below. But Bull is in the heart of the shop; no juggler could save the jugs; every cup is a cup too low; the plates are dished entirely, and the case of cruelty is equal in atrocity to the murder of Ware. Now is exemplified the difference between a Man-darin and a daring man. It is breaking-up time, but no holidays. Loud is the music of Handle among the crockery, but its verbal oratory is demolished by the entire annihilation of spout. It is going to pot with a vengeance, and occasions, in China, the perfect distortion of every human mug. Tea, however, is scarce for a season. They refuse to give us their green for our gunpowder: they mix their mixed with poison, and it is now "How queer!" instead of "How-qua!" They refuse the bidding
DR. CHURCH'S ENGINE.
LATEST NEWS FROM COURT.
Nov. 21st, 1840.—Princess Royal brought in, and "ordered to be laid on the table," like a bill.
Dec. 3rd.—Bill Jones found under the table, and ordered to be sent to the Counter like a willain. ("So much for Buckingham!")
ORIGINAL NOTES.
FROM THE
BIRMINGHAM MUSICAL FESTIVAL FOR 1840.
Sept. 23.—Birmingham Musical Festival.—Ordered a cab; made for Euston-square Station; landed awkwardly; got into port; ran against a man; trod on his toe; gave my own port-man-teau to the porter. Paid my fare; had the satisfaction of hearing the clerk say, "That's the ticket!" Was told I must be sure to shew it when called upon; said, "Very well;" always did like to have something to shew for my money. Travelled briskly; steam engine a giant apparatus—a sort of Colossus of Roads; found they'd got me into a line; couldn't help it; obliged to go; been a long while going. Arrived at last; put up at the Hen and Chickens; thought, from the sign of the house, charges might be fowl; agreeably surprised to find them fair.
Monday.—Attended rehearsal. Splendid hall; grand interior; glorious outside; ruined the builders. Brought the stone from the Isle of Anglesea; sent the architects to the Isle of Dogs. Good rehearsal; noble orchestra; organ finely developed. Knynett acted non-conductor; stamped as if he was paying stamp duty; very droll; took the flats in, put the orchestra out. Glorious array of singers: Miss Birch stuck to her perch; Miss Hawes obeyed the laws; Dorus Gras—made no faux pas; Braham's throat gave tenor note; Phillips shone in barritone; big Lablache gave bass sans tache; Cramer led with cap on head; Loder and Cooke played by book; Dragonetti and Linley worked very well-o, on deep contra basso and violoncello; bassoon of Beauman bothered no man; horn of Platt came in pat; Harper's trumpet obligato, capitally took its part-o; Cook played show-boy with his hautboy; and, to end without a blunder, Chipp's drum had, its leather under, half a ton of smothered thunder. Heard 'em play; remembered the railroad, and couldn't help thinking that I'd got off the line into the chords.
Tuesday.—Festival began. Shop full; a crammer for Cramer. You've heard of the Chiltern Hundreds, they're nothing to the Birmingham thousands. The seats were all uniform, but no uniform for the staff officers, only ribbons in their button-holes; beaux with bows. Singers came on, and performance went off admirably.
Wednesday.—Town crowded; weather wet, but the people pouring in faster than the rain; music hall made fine shelter; full again; Mendelsohn's hymn of praise produced lots of praise of him; people delighted; performance stupendous; singers tired; Phillips almost knocked up; went out to refresh himself; strolled too far, and was quite knocked down; robbed of his purse by three brutal button-makers; he treated them to some sovereigns; they treated him to an extra allowance of punch; he was bruised considerably,
Thursday.—Influx of nobility—nobs and bobs—Sir Robert Peel among the latter.
Friday.—Festival over; grand fancy ball at night:
Drinking, dancing, all revel, no rest; proggery, toggery, all of the best; whisking, frisking, whirling about, till daylight comes, driving the candle-light out: then tired, not fired, their pillows they clinch, and the festival's come to its very last pinch.
MANNERS MAKE THE MAN.
BRANDY AND SALT.
The wonderful cures effected by these ingredients have made such a noise in the world, that we cannot resist the temptation to publish a few facts and testimonies which have fallen under our immediate knowledge.
The first case was that of a poor man, who had been for years a martyr to the gout, and being desirous of trying the effects of the miraculous compound, but unable to purchase the ingredients, he tried another plan, and perfectly succeeded in removing every symptom of inflammation, by merely sitting a quarter of an hour with one foot in a brandy-keg, and the other in a salt-box.
THE FOLLOWING IS FROM A CORRESPONDENT.
"Dear Sir,—May I beg your insertion of the following?—I was terribly afflicted with cancer, heartburn, chilblains, thickness of breathing, warts, headach, numbness of the joints, deafness, sore throat, lumbago, toothach, loss of appetite, falling off of the hair, corns, &c. &c., when I was recommended to try the newly-discovered panacea; and, I am happy to say, after two bottles of the stuff, I am perfectly recovered. You are at liberty to make what use you think proper of this letter.
"N.B.—None but the best French brandy will do, some very fine samples of which are on hand at my Warehouse, No. 99¾, Gammon Street, Hoaxton."
FROM ANOTHER CORRESPONDENT.
"sur—i Take the libberty of adressing yew about the brandy & sawlt. i was aflicted with dredfull lownes of sperits & rewmatism wich having freely aplide the abuv has boath Disapeard. sir my way of Aplying is the sawlt outside wonst a day & the brandy in twice evvery our. its effex is sumtims realy Asstonishing. my wife allso takes the abuv Meddisin in her tea, & finds grate bennifits.
"P.S.—sir a neyber of min Tride the abuv on his wife bean Bad skalded kiling a pig but Unlukky forgot to Put in the sawlt. owevver it was awl Verry wel, for the brandy aloan Cured his wife & now he's got the Sawlt to Cure his bakun."
ASSOCIATION OF BRITISH ILLUMINATI.
[The following Extracts from the Proceedings of this illustrious Body, at the Meeting of 1840, will be read, no doubt, with the interest they deserve.]
Some very curious statistical and general reports were made by Mr. Colley Wobble, on the street refreshments of London. It appeared that the proportion of baked potatoe receptacles, or, as they were commonly termed, "hot tator cans," over kidney-pudding stalls, was as six to one. Of these
Mr. Bobbledabs inquired what species of light was burnt inside these transparencies?
Mr. Colley Wobble defined it as produced by the combustion of atmospheric air, acting on a half-consumed continuity of a twopenny thick, set in argillaceous candlesticks. He was led to make these observations from having perceived a hole burnt in the lantern, where the candle had tumbled over. The learned gentleman added, in continuation, that one of the most favourite exhibitions was "Kerim and Sanballat fighting for a kidney-pudding, from Timour the Tartar." He had likewise observed William Tell shooting a kidney-pudding from Albert's head, and Mr. Stickney riding five kidney-puddings at once for a horse—he meant to say—that is—the Association would know what he meant.
Mr. Snuffantupenny inquired if these piquant preparations were expensive?
Mr. Colley Wobble estimated the general price at one penny each. When purchased, the vendor made a hole in them with the nail of his little finger, and poured in some warm compound, out of a blacking-bottle, with a quill in the cork. The liquid had been analyzed by Mr. Faraway, and was found to contain one part fat, one part furniture oil, two parts infusion of melt, and sixteen parts of hot water, with dirt in solution.
Mr. Gambado then read a talented paper on "The imaginary barrier precluding pickled whelks from the tables of the aristocracy;" and having finished, he begged to propose a Committee of Inquiry—why boiled crabs were sold at three a penny in Union Street, Middlesex Hospital, when you might purchase four, for the same sum, on Kennington Common?
Mr. Bobbledabs trusted his talented friend would remember that Kennington Common was nearer the sea-coast than Union Street.
Mr. Gambado sat corrected. While they were on the subject, however, he wished to say a few words on the connexion supposed to exist between the anatomical school of the said hospital—that was to say, the Middlesex—and the number of shops for the sale of old bones and doctors' phials, with which Union Street abounded; and why so many dissecting cases were to be seen in the window of the pop-shop at the corner.
Dr. Corfe thought the reason was obvious. The scalpels hybernated with the watches towards the end of November, and the students were thus, unavoidably driven to use penknives for lancets, and the small ends of tobacco-pipes for probes and blowpipes.
