The COMIC ALMANACK For 1846 |
  ANOTHER RAILWAY NEWSPAPER.
THE RAILWAY BELLE ASSEMBLÉE 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 ZODIAC.—JANUARY
AQUARIUS.—THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN.
Out Door Instruction. 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. "Belle of Norwood! dark-eyed gipsy, come, and let me cross thy hand, Give me knowledge of the future, if it be at thy command: Full one thousand shares in railways, I have been let in to take; Tell me, swarthy star of Beulah, when will they my fortune make?" "List, my pretty gentleman, with piece of silver cross my hand, I will tell you when your shares will bring you money, beeves, and land— When the figures for the base of Nelson's column shall be made, And the throng of population chokes the Exeter Arcade. When the leading streets of London are not closed, and altogether; And the lamps of Vauxhall Gardens are not put out by wet weather. When the Byron of Thorwaldsen in the Abbey takes its place; And the Turf shall be surprised by something like an honest race..bn 142.png When the Income Tax is talked of, as a legend of the past; And St. Paul's is seen for nothing, gratis, unto all, at last. When the hostess at a party says, 'You must not go away,' All the time hopes entertaining that you will no longer stay. When all these things come to pass, in honour bright, and no mistake, Then, my pretty gentleman, the railways will your fortune make." 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? THE ZODIAC.—FEBRUARY.
PISCES.—THE FISHES.
The Song of the Unsuccessful Angler. I cannot tell the reason,—it is really very odd,— My tackle is first-rate, and I've a most expensive rod, Bought at the Golden Perch, the shop that's always selling off; And yet, with all my outlay, I've got nothing but a cough. I think the fish are altered since old Walton wrote his book; They shun the simple gentle, and suspect it "with a hook." I think I mayn't be deep enough: in vain I move the quill, For fish as deeply as I choose, the fish are deeper still. No pike I've seen; the only one was that unpleasant wicket, Where threepence I was forced to pay, and now I've lost the ticket; Nor yet a single perch, for which my lucky stars to thank, Except the perch I've taken on this damp, rheumatic bank. I can't pick up a chub, though on the lock all day I stick; They say it is impossible a lock of Chub to pick: A flounder would be welcome; but unfeeling wags remark, I shall get lots of them to-night returning in the dark. Upon that bobbing quill, all day I have done nought but gloat, Till I've almost become one; as the song says, I'm a float! Come soles, brill, flounders, fresh or salt; however flat ye be, Be sure you will not fail to find a greater flat in me. 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 of 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. BALLAD: The Lay of the Blighted Potato. Air—"I had a Flower within my Garden growing." I saw a murphy in a garden growing; I boldly prigged it—nobody was there;— Rich in all charms familiar to the knowing; Of size unrivalled, and of kidney rare. At ev'ning hour I put it in my cellar, Where never murphy had been put before: I thought myself a very downy fellow; I smiled upon it, and I shut the door. Next day I took the murphy out to peel it, Casting the peeling carelessly away; When—horrid fact! I shudder to reveal it!— I found it blighted—hastening to decay. Vainly I strove the wholesome parts to cherish; But nought remained of what is now so dear:— Only with life shall the remembrance perish, How bad potatoes have turned out this year! THE RIVER.
BY COVENTRY PATMORE. It is a venerable pier, Though anything but sound; So old, the Rainbow shatters it, To Hungerford when bound; And over all the mud expanse A river runneth round. Upon a rise, where pewter pots And rows of benches tall Look pleasantly, the "Swan" beneath, Where concert singers squall, Resteth, in quiet dignity, A shrimp and winkle stall. Around it, heads, and tails, and ends, Are scattered left and right; Above, its long Suspension Bridge, For railways far too slight: And faces through its railings gleam, A taking of a sight. Beyond the river, bounding all, A crowd of chimneys stand, The Shot-concern their central point, As sooty as a band Of sweeps around their May-day Jack, Extended hand in hand. The verdant Greenwich boat is come, The touter's lungs are strong; The cornet bloweth lustily, The "gents" indulge in song; And running down, the river flows Like black pea-soup along. NEW LINES OF RAILWAY,
IN CONTEMPLATION FOR 1846. Capel Court and Queen's Bench Extension, with a branch to Whitecross Street. Somerset House and Andover Direct Junction. Central African. Herne Bay and Hanwell. Liverpool and New York Suspension. Golden Square and Michaelmas Day Junction. ARIES—Ram-pant jollities. THE ZODIAC—MARCH.
ARIES.—THE RAM (IN SMITHFIELD).
Sonnet to the Ram Inn. Shrine of the sainted Bartlemy! whose fÊte Was kept up in thy sanctum all the night, When for the booths the hours got too late, And stern policemen snuffed out every light From hoop of dips, or lamp balloon so bright, Leaving nought else to snuff but morning air; Fair temple! once a scene too gay to last, In every sense the focus of the fair!— But now thy glories all away have past! No more thy fiddlers country dances play (Polkas, thank goodness, were not known); no more Thy earnest votaries danced in wild array— Until they sent their feet right through the floor;— No—all have gone! the blight has seized thy hops! Unwieldy brutes block up thy very door! Sheep, laden with long loins of mutton-chops, And living steaks and sirloins by the score, Hereafter sent to "Dick's," the "Cheshire Cheese," The "Rainbow," and a hundred taverns more, Where waiters, frantic, ceaselessly do roar, "Cook, single mutton,"—"Small steak, underdone!" Or, "Chops to follow, with eschalot for one!"— Oh, Ram! my pen can't paint such scenes as these, The pens of Smithfield only should attest thy fun. 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. THE STAG
A NEW READING FROM "AS YOU LIKE IT." Scene.—The Alley. Present, Two Directors. 1st Dir. Come, shall we take a look at Capel Court? And yet I'm sorry, when I see the stags, To think how we, being as bad ourselves, Do call them rogues and knaves. 2nd Dir. Indeed, my friend, The many-sided Brougham doth grieve at that, And in that point swears we are more to blame Than are the rascals that have gammoned us. To-day, another genl'man and myself Did sit beside him, as he took his lunch In a steak-house, whose antique sign peeps out Of a dark court, not far from the Exchange. To the which place a poor sequestered stag, That from a fall in shares had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish: and indeed, my friend, The wretched animal heaved forth such groans, That their discharge annoyed the diners round, Almost to cursing; and the big, round tears Coursed one another down his innocent nose Into his stout; and thus the hapless stag, Much marked of the many-sided Brougham, Sat o'er the poor remains of a small steak, Moistening his plate with tears. 1st Dir. But what said Brougham? Did he not moralize this spectacle? 2nd Dir. Oh, yes! into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping in his needless stout; "Poor stag," quoth he, "thou makest half-an-half As tapsters do, putting more water in To that which had too much." Then, being alone, Cleaned out, forsaken by his moneyed friends, "'Tis right," quoth he, "I foresaw what would come Of joint-stock companies."—Anon, a lot, Who'd sold in time, sat down hard by to dine, And ne'er asked him to join 'em. "Ay," quoth Brougham, "Dine on, ye fat and greasy citizens; Had all their rights, you'd be in the same book As that decayed and broken bankrupt there." Thus most invectively he pierceth thro' The Stock Exchange, the City, Capel Court. Yea, and Directors; swearing that we, too, Are men of straw, humbugs, and something worse, To fall foul of the stags, and drive them out Of their assigned and native dwelling-place. 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. THE ZODIAC—APRIL.
BULL IN THE PRINTING OFFICE.
By W. Wordsworth, Poet Laureate. Oh! Bull, strong labourer, much enduring beast, That with broad back, and sinewy shoulder strung, Draggest the heavy wain of taxes, flung In growing heap, from thy poor brethren fleeced. Hadst thou a literary sense of shame, How wouldst thou crush, and toss, and rend, and gore The printing press, and hands that work therefore, For the sad trash that issues from the same. If they would print no other works than mine, The task were nobler; but, alas, in vain, Of audience few and unfit I complain, Bull wont believe in Southey's verse and mine. Arouse thee, John, involve in general doom All who bid Wordsworth rise for Byron to make room. 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. NOVEL CHESS PROBLEM.
NEITHER SIDE TO WIN IN ANY MOVES. Punch takes the Press, and checks the Albert Hat. Albert Hat retires, and Punch checks the Queen. Times' Thunderbolt checks Railway Engine, surrounded by Stags. Church makes a move towards O'Connell. Corn League retires one square. Albert Hat mates the Crown. 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. The 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:— "Tomassin, tomassine, alabra, Parlak vak abracadabra." 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. THE ZODIAC—MAY.
GEMINI.—THE TWINS. 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). Merryman. 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:— "In April, Grisi opes her bill; In May, To hear her you pay; In June, She's in full tune; In July, Her benefit is nigh; In August, Take a stall you must." 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. THE ZODIAC—JUNE.
THE LAND-CRAB. [Extract from a forthcoming Novel, by the Author of "The Spy," "The Pilot," "The Red Rover," &c. &c. &c. &c.] "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. [To be read with liveliness.] If you're waking, call me early, mother, fine, or wet, or bleak; To-morrow is the happiest day of all the Ascot week; It is the Chiswick fÊte, mother, of flowers and people gay, And I'll be queen, if I may, mother, I'll be queen, if I may. There's many a bright barÉge, they say, but none so bright as mine, And whiter gloves, that have been cleaned, and smell of turpentine; But none so nice as mine, I know, and so they all will say; And I'll be queen, if I may, mother; I'll be queen, if I may. I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, If you do not shout at my bedside, and give me a good shake; For I have got those gloves to trim with blonde and ribbons gay, And I'm to be queen, if I may, mother; I'm to be queen, if I may. As I came home to-day, mother, whom think you I should meet, But Harry—looking at a cab, upset in Oxford-street; He thought of when we met, to learn the Polka of Miss Rae— But I'll be queen, if I may, mother; I'll be queen, if I may. They say he wears moustachios, that my chosen he may be; They say he's left off raking, mother—what is that to me? I shall meet all the Fusiliers upon the Chiswick day; And I will be queen, if I may, mother; I will be queen, if I may. The night cabs come and go, mother, with panes of mended glass, And all the things about us seem to clatter as they pass; The roads are dry and dusty; it will be a fine, fine day, And I'm to be queen, if I may, mother; I'm to be queen, if I may. The weather-glass hung in the hall has turned to "fair" from "showers," The sea-weed crackles and feels dry, that's hanging 'midst the flowers, Vauxhall, too, is not open, so 'twill be a fine, fine day; And I will be queen, if I may, mother; I will be queen, if I may. So call me, if you're waking; call me, mother, from my rest— The "Middle Horticultural" is sure to be the best. Of all the three this one will be the brightest, happiest day; And I will be queen, if I may, mother; I will be queen, if I may. [Slow, and with sad expression.] If you're waking, call me early; call me early, mother dear; The soaking rain of yesterday has spoilt my dress, I fear; I've caught a shocking cold, mamma, so make a cup for me, Of what sly folks call, blackthorn, and facetious grocers, tea. I started forth in floss and flowers to have a pleasant day, When all at once down came the wet, and hurried all away; And now there's not a flower but is washed out by the rain: I wonder if the colours, mother, will come round again. I have been wild and wayward, but I am not wayward now, I think of my allowance, and I'm sure I don't know how I shall make both ends meet. Papa will be so very wild; He says already, mother, I'm his most expensive child. Just say to Harry a kind word, and tell him not to fret; Perhaps I was cross, but then he knows it was so very wet; Had it been fine—I cannot tell—he might have had my arm; But the bad weather ruined all, and spoilt my toilet's charm. I'll wear the dress again, mother; I do not care a pin,— Or, perhaps, 'twill do for Effie, but it must be taken in; But do not let her see it yet—she's not so very green, And will not take it until washed and ironed it has been. So, if you're waking, call me, when the day begins to dawn; I dread to look at my barÉge—it must be so forlorn; We'll put it in the rough-dried box: it may come out next year; So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear. 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. THE ZODIAC—JULY.
LEO.-ANDROCLES.
A LAY OF ANCIENT HISTORY. 'Tis of a foreign gentleman, Androcles was his name, Who being somewhat "seedy"—many others are the same— Having no shares to stag, no scrip to get from a new line, Walked off into a savage place, with Humphrey's duke to dine. Chance brought him to a rocky cave, whence issued cries of woe; A lion there was screaming, with a splinter in his toe: He volunteered his services; the noble brute, not proud, A surgical inspection of his tender foot allowed. Androcles drew the splinter out; the lion joy expressed— This ends the first part of my lay; Part II. contains the rest. There's tumult in the Forum, and the people onward press; Androcles, now a criminal, is in a precious mess: He's got to meet a lion, hungry, savage, and unchained; And act Van Amburgh with a beast that never has been trained. The Colosseum's rows are filled with citizens of mark— Vespasian's amphitheatre, not the one in Regent's Park— The tribunes and ?? p????? are all making up their books, Or drawing for a lion "sweep," with eager turfish looks. The den is opened, horror reigns, no soul is heard to speak; Androcles strikes an attitude, like Keller's Poses Plastiques; When Nero, darting from his cage, no longer fierce and wild, Takes up the doomed one in his arms as though he were a child; And roars and dances gaily on his hind legs loud and long, As we have seen the Nigger when he sings the Banjo song. The criminal is innocent!—he need no longer stay; And with the lion arm-in-arm he bows and walks away.— And so long live Androcles, and the lion long live he; And next time such a thing occurs, may we be there to see! LEO—Androcles and the Lion. 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. THE BOW-STREET GRANGE.
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. With blackest mud, the locked-up sots Were splashed and covered, one and all And rusty nails, and callous knots, Stuck from the bench against the wall. The wooden bed felt hard and strange; Lost was the key that oped the latch; To light his pipe he had no match, Within the Bow Street station's range. He only said, "It's very dreary;" "Bail will not come," he said; He said, "I have been very beery, I would I were a-bed!" The rain fell like a sluice that even; His Clarence boots could not be dried, But had been soaked since half-past seven— To get them off in vain he tried. After the smashing of his hat, Just as the new police came by, And took him into custody, He thought, I've been a precious flat, He only said, "The cell is dreary;" "Bail cometh not," he said; He said, "I must be very beery, I wish I was in bed!" Upon the middle of the night, Waking, he heard a stunning row; Some jolly cocks sang out till light, And would not keep still anyhow. He wished to bribe, but had no change Within his pockets, all forlorn, And so he kept awake till morn Within that lonely Bow Street grange. He only said, "The cell is dreary;" "Bail cometh not," he said; He said, "I must be very beery, I'd rather be in bed!" All night within that gloomy cell The keys within the padlock creaked; The tipsy 'gents' bawled out as well, And in the dungeons yelled and shrieked. Policeman slyly prowled about; Their faces glimmered through the door, But brought not, though he did implore, One humble glass of cold without. He only said, "The night is dreary;" "Bail cometh not," he said; He said, "I have been very beery, I would I were in bed!" At morn, the noise of boys aloof, Inspectors' orders, and the chaff Of cads upon the busses' roof, To Poplar bound, too much by half Did prove; but most he loathed the hour When Mr. Jardine chose to say Five shillings he would have to pay, Now he was in policeman's power. Then said he, "This is very dreary;" "Bail will not come," he said; He said, "I'll never more get beery, But go straight home to bed!" 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. THE ZODIAC-AUGUST.
VIRGO.—THE OLD MAID. You like it weak, Miss Patience Crab,—the same, just as the last? (As I was saying, all those Smiths are living much too fast.) One lump of sugar more, my dear? Thank you, that's just the thing. (No income can support those trips to London every spring—) Another crumpet, dear Miss Quince—nay, just one tiny bit? (The set the girls made at Sir John did not turn out a hit.) Poor Carlo don't seem very well; I think he has caught cold— (The eldest girl is passable, I own, but much too bold.) The poor dear darling little dog is anything but strong. (Depend upon it, we shall hear of something going wrong.) Another cup, love? Sugar? Milk? I hope you like your tea? (I don't mean to insinuate—no matter—we shall see.) Now let me recommend the cake; you'll find it very nice. (I really hope that those poor Smiths will take some friend's advice.) [Cats and dogs begin to fight—parrot screams—confusion. The conversation is broken up.] 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. HISTORICAL MEMORANDA:
KINDLY FURNISHED TO THE EDITOR BY THE MEMBERS OF THE OLD
ORIGINAL "ARCHÆOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION," RESPECTING
THE NEW HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 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— "As the husband, so the wife is: thou art mated to a clown." 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. The 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, ????? sea?t??, 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 extirpated 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:— "Here lies Priestley. Whose treatment was beastly." 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:— "Take him for all in all, he cannot fail, To point a moral, and adorn a tale." THE ZODIAC—SEPTEMBER.
LIBRA—THE WEIGHTS AND MEASURES.
FROM SPENSER'S "FAERIE QUEENE." And next inspectors came, with boics arounde, And porters heavie laden with the spoyle Of "cheapest shoppes," wherein false weights were found, Which did the chapman's reputation soyle, As fylching what poor folk did gain by toyle, Making their little less, by sly transfer Of "jerrie," pennie-piece, or wire coyle, To get a draught against the purchaser, But never 'gainst himself in such way did he erre. 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. THE REVELATIONS OF LONDON. 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? AN UNPUBLISHED POEM.
BY ROBERT BURNS. "Lilt your Johnnie." Wi' patchit brose and ilka pen, Nae bairns to clad the gleesome ken; But chapmen billies, a' gude men, And Doon sae bonnie! Ne'er let the scornfu' mutchit ben; But lilt your Johnnie! For whistle binkie's unco' biel, Wad haggis mak of ony chiel, To jaup in luggies like the deil, O'er loop or cronnie: You wadna croop to sic a weel; But lilt your Johnnie! Sae let the pawkie carlin scraw, And hoolie, wi' outlandish craw, Kail weedies frae the ingle draw As blyth as honie; Amang the thummart dawlit wa' To 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." THE ZODIAC—OCTOBER.
SCORPIO—THE SLANDERER. Well, I really can't see how a laugh can be got Out of slander, and scorpions, and lies, and what not; If out of such subjects grow matter of mirth, 'Tis for gentry in black who live lower than earth. And I know for my own part I've reason to grieve That young women anonymous letters believe; What a Scorpion was he who wrote my Mary Anne That I was a very "irregular man!" Oh! cruel George Cruikshank, how could you invent Such a horrible picture with comic intent? I hope that if ever you've your Mary Anne, You'll be called, as I was, an "irregular man." 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. 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. TUBAL CAIN.
BY CHARLES MACKAY. [To be sung by Mr. H. Russell.] Old Tubal Cain was a cunning file, In the days when men were green; But not till night, when the gas burnt bright, Was he ever to be seen. And he fashioned reports for the daily press, Of sudden deaths and fire; But a penny a line by his industry Was all he could acquire. And he sang, "Hurrah! for my handiwork Hurrah! for the street called Bow; Hurrah! for the tin that its office brings, When pockets run rather low!" But a sudden thought came into his head, As he gazed on the Evening Sun; And he thought, as its lists of new lines he read, That a great deal might be done. He saw that men whom nobody knew Soon swallowed up every share; And he said to himself, "I will do so too, And date my note 'Eaton Square!'" And he sang, "Hurrah! for my handiwork; As he posted it then and there; Not for wealth and trade were the new lines made," And he stagged the first railway share! And for many a night did Tubal Cain write, In the tap of the "Cheshire Cheese;" And the penny stamp, with paste still damp, Procured him his scrip with ease. And he rose at last, with a cheerful face, To seek his own house and grounds; For he very soon made, by his capital trade, Above twenty thousand pounds! And he sang, "Alas! how I ever could think Of my newspaper work to brag; The only use of a pen and ink Is to bring all the scrip to the Stag!" FIRST ANNUAL REPORT OF THE ASTLEY'S
ASSOCIATION
FOR THE DIFFUSION OF GENERAL INFORMATION. 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 of 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. "There was a sound of revelry by night; And Astley's manager had gathered then His supers and his cavalry; and bright The gas blazed o'er tall women and loud men. The audience waited happily; and when The orchestra broke forth with brazen swell, Apples were sold for most extensive gain; And ginger beer popped merrily as well!— But hush! hark! what's that noise, just like our parlour-bell? "Did ye not hear it?—No, sir!—Never mind; P'raps 'twas the Atlas bus to Oxford Street. Strike up, you fiddlers!—Now, young feller, mind! Don't scrouge, or you shall go where police meet, To chase the knowing thieves with flying feet!— But hark! that sound is heard again—once more! And boys, with whistle shrill, its note repeat; And nearer, clearer, queerer than before!— Hats off!—It is, it is—the bell from prompter's door! "Ah! then was hurry-skurry, to and fro; And authors' oaths, and symptoms of a mess; And men as soldiers, who, two nights ago, Went round the circus in a Chinese dress! And there were rapid paintings, such as press On those who ply the arts, with choking size, Which ne'er might be completed! Who could guess How all would look before the public eyes, When on that 'Street in Brussels' the act drop would rise!" 1.Nathan, Lord Rosherville, and Baron of Kennington, has been immortalized in Punch. His Terpsichorean ingenuity is remarkable. Perhaps his "Polka Hornpipe, in chain armour and handcuffs," is his most remarkable dance. SAGITTARIUS—The Archer—(Not "Venus' Son divine.") THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN NOVEMBER. 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. 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." HINTS TO NOVELISTS, FOR 1846. 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 egress, 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 the 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.] 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:— "Beauty always fades away; Virtue will for ever stay." Or,— "The best affections of my heart are thine, If you to my petition will incline." Or,— "What is beauty but a bait, Oft repented when too late?" 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:— When the master and mistress smile through the night, Oh, do not believe that their bosoms are light; Think of the plate they have had to borrow, And the state that the house will be in to-morrow! Though, after a Polka with somebody nice, You get sentimental whilst down stairs for ice, Before you attempt her affections to win, First try and find out if she's got any tin. Oh! had we but a little isle, On which the sun might always smile; There to reside alone with thee— How tired out we soon should be! Recollect, a bad Polkiste don't get much renown, If you can't dance it well, you had better sit down. Love's like a trifle, fleeting soon; Vows are the froth, and man the spoon. If the night's not very dry, Find out those who've got a fly, Whose way home your own one suits, Because wet walking ruins boots. He whose gloves are new and white, Can clean them for another night; But he who wears them parties twain, Can never have them cleaned again. 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. CORN CAPERS.
THE PAS DES MOISSONNEURS. We sing the Viennoises so famed, And those who at their laurels aimed, And were the danseuses Anglaises named. Who made the other opera elves Begin to look about themselves, Dreading to be put on their shelves. Who raised a doubt, in costume wild, When in the final tableau piled, Which was the sheaf, and which the child. They heard the loud approving cheers, From stalls, and pit, and all the tiers; For little wheatsheaves have long ears. And knew, whilst they pursued that track, Nor showed of energy a lack, Their wheat would never get the sack. No league about them did declaim; The only league, linked with their name, Was that which oft their audience came. We hope to see them back again, Fresh flowers and bonbons to obtain, Those charming little rogues in grain. And all the world will be there too, The stage with fresh bouquets to strew, And their "corn-rigs so bonnie" view. 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. 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 skaters, 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. MARCH. 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. "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:— "Oh say!—To be, or not to be? That is the question grave; To suffer Fortune's slings and darts, Or seas of troubles brave. To die; to sleep! perchance, to dream!— Ay, there's the rub!—when we Have shuffled off this mortal coil!— To be, or not to be! "Ah! who would bear Time's whips and scorns, The pangs of disprized love; When he might his quietus make By one bare bodkin's shove? Who would these fardels bear, unless That bourne he could foresee, From which no traveller returns!— To be, or not to be!" 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. Dreadful 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, will 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 several 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.
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