Chapter VIII: Part III (2)

Emma Logo was the first to know her future husband, whose name was Henry ----. Mary Palmer was the second, whose intended husband’s name was George ----. The third was Jane ---- (our readers must pardon us for the omission of her surname, as were it to be known it would be the ruin of her and her family), Harry ---- was the husband of Eliza Smith; and last, but not least, was Emma All, but to whom the fortune-teller would not tell her future husband’s name, the only clue that she gave her was, that he was a very dark man and always laughing and never out of temper (?)

The poor deluded young females were on the point of leaving, when all of a sudden a most terrific and unearthly noise was heard at the door; at the same time there was seen a gigantic figure with head, legs, and a tail of the most enormous size; it had eyes like flames of living fire, and from its mouth proceeded forth dense volumes of smoke, completely filling the house; the smell of sulphur was so great that for hours after the visitation it was found impossible to dispel the suffocating fumes which remained; the terror of the party may be better imagined than described, and who with the old hag as their leader set up some most dreadful shrieks, completely rousing the whole neighbourhood. Some of the neighbours rushed to the house from whence the shrieks proceeded, and found the furniture in the greatest disorder, the cards spread all over the room, and the six black cats were altogether on the top of the house.

* * * * *

The foregoing is a statement made by one of the young women, and is published as a warning to ALL young females not to believe in such silly and superstitious nonsense, nor encourage those wicked old hags who prey upon the thoughtless and ignorant. It is all the devil’s work; and it frequently happens that servant girls are induced to rob their masters and mistresses through the agency of these pests of society. Beware! girls, beware! spurn all who attempt to lead you astray; do not be deceived, but look on fortune-telling as a delusion and a snare.

H. Such, Printer.

_Strange and Wonderful Account of the_ REV. JOHN MILLER, MINISTER, OF THE CITY OF BATH, WHO REMAINED IN A TRANCE For Four Days and Nights,

_Also the Mysterious Sights he witnessed, and the Prophecies he related that are to take place_.

COPIED FROM THE “BRISTOL MERCURY.”

In laying the following interesting and mysterious case before our readers, we vouch for its authenticity, and considering the good results that are likely to follow from the examination of the circumstances, we at once proceed with the details.

NARRATIVE.

The Rev. John Miller has been engaged in the ministry since the year 1841. He is a man most remarkable for his piety, of a mild and gentle disposition, and very kind to the poor. In the pulpit he was eloquent; his language forcible and persuasive. He is indeed a good man, a powerful preacher, and of unsullied reputation. Since the beginning of the present year he has been in a bad state of health, and during the past month he grew worse, and on the 14th, whilst his beloved wife and children were standing round his bed, he fell into a kind of a doze, and gradually became cold and rigid. Dr. Truscott was immediately sent for, who on his arrival pronounced him dead. His sorrowing family were removed from the room, and the usual preparations made for laying out the body. Mrs. Miller, having expressed a wish to have his portrait painted after he was placed in the coffin, a young lady artist was soon in attendance for that purpose, and was busily engaged at her unpleasant task until the third day, and while looking intently on the pallid features of the deceased, previous to giving a finishing stroke to the picture, she perceived a movement of the eye lashes, and in a moment the reverend gentleman opened his eyes and said to the young lady, “Who are you?” The fair young artist, instead of fainting, took instant measures to complete the restoration of her subject. A medical gentleman was again called, and in less than an hour the supposed deceased became so far recovered as to be able to sit up in bed and converse with his now rejoicing family and friends.

On the following day he sent for the Rev. J. Ransom, his colleague in the ministry, Mr Henry Lewis, a member of his congregation, and before these gentlemen he made the following disclosures relating to what he had seen during the time he was in a trance. The account was taken from Mr Polkinghorne. The following is _verbatim_ from the original copy.

“When I first fell into that state I was fully aware that I was supposed to be dead, and could hear my wife and children crying, and the remarks made by Dr. Truscott. I attempted to speak, but could not move a single muscle. The fear of being buried alive terrified me and filled me with such agonies of mind that I gradually became unconscious of all earthly things. How long I continued in this state I know not, but I felt like one awakening from sleep when I was borne away by an unseen power to the place of the damned. To attempt to describe what I saw is utterly impossible: no tongue can convey any idea of such a place. At that moment an hideous fiend was about to grasp me in his arms, when an angel appeared at my side and whispered with a kind and heavenly voice, ‘Be not afraid, he has no power on the righteous; this is not your place, let us go!’ I thought I was then conveyed on angels’ wings to the abode of the blessed, and to enjoy such a sight again would be worth an eternity of years in this world. I was surrounded suddenly with a glorious light, the exceeding brightness thereof was such a sight I had never before seen, and saw such things it is impossible to represent, and heard such ravishing melodious harmony as I can never utter, and I saw innumerable bright attendants, who welcomed me into the blissful seat of happiness, having in all their countenances an air of perfect joy, and of the highest satisfaction.

The ineffable Deity exalted on the high throne of his glory, receiving the adoration of myriads of angels and saints, who were singing eternal Hallelujahs and praise to him. (Well may he be called the Glory of God, for by his glorious presence Heaven is made what it is). Amongst the saints I discovered good old Wesley, Whitfield, and many others, some of whom belonged to this Town. After I had witnessed these things my heavenly guide told me that I must remain an inhabitant of this world for several years to come, as the work I had to do was not yet accomplished, and proclaim throughout the land that unless the people repent of their sins and abominations, evil shall come upon them both in the town and hamlets, for there shall be wars, rumours of wars, pestilence and famine, many great men shall fall by the sword, and whole armies shall be cut off in a short time, but peace shall be established in the nations that fear the Lord, and the fruits of the earth shall be multiplied exceedingly, praise and thanksgiving shall be heard in every house on the Sabbath; but until the source of evil is removed,--go, warn the people, that they perish not.’ With these words he left me, and I found myself in darkness, and gradually regained my senses. When I awoke and saw Miss Hall gazing on me,--and you know the rest.”

Those who listened to these statements corroborated the same by adding their names to the document as follows:--

JOHN RANSOM, Minister.
HENRY LEWIS, Draper.
ROBERT POLIGNENOR, Tutor.
J. TRUSCOTT, M.D.

Re-printed by H. Such, 177, Union Street, Borough, London.

THE FEMALE SLEEP-WALKER.

An Affair which happened in this Neighbourhood.

LONDON:--H. Such, Printer and Publisher, 177, Union Street, Borough.--S.E.

A young gentleman, going to the house of a very worthy gentleman, to whom he had the honour to be related--it happened that the gentleman’s house at that time was quite full, by reason of a kinswoman’s wedding that had been lately kept there--he therefore told the young gentleman that he was very glad to see him, and that he was very welcome to him; “but,” said he, “I know not what I shall do for a lodging for you, for my cousin’s marriage has not left me a room free but one, and that is haunted; you shall have a good bed and all other accommodations.”

“Sir,” replied the young gentleman, “you will very much oblige me in letting me lie there, for I have often coveted to be in a place that is haunted.”

The gentleman, very glad that his kinsman was so well pleased with his accommodation, ordered the chamber to be got ready and a good fire to be made to air it. When bed time came, the young gentleman was conducted up to his chamber, which, besides a good fire, was furnished with all suitable accommodations; and having recommended himself to the Divine protection, he retired to bed, where having laid some time awake, and finding no disturbance, he fell asleep; out of which he was awakened about three o’clock in the morning, by the opening of the chamber door, and the coming in of somebody in the appearance of a young woman, having a night dress on her head, and only her smock on; but he had no perfect view of her, for his candle was burnt out; and though there was a fire in the room, yet it gave not light enough to see her distinctly. But this unknown visitant going to the chimney, took the poker and stirred up the fire, and by the flaming light thereof he could discern the appearance of a young gentlewoman more distinctly; but whether it was flesh and blood, or an airy phantom, he knew not. This lovely apparition, having stood some time before the fire, as if to warm herself, at last walked two or three times about the room, and then came to the bedside, where having stood a little while, she turned down the bed clothes and got into bed, pulling the bed clothes upon her, and lay very quiet. The young gentleman was a little startled at this unknown bedfellow, and on her approach laid on the further side of the bed, not knowing whether he had best rise or not. At last, by lying very still, he perceived his bedfellow to breathe, by which, guessing her to be flesh and blood, he drew nearer to her, and taking her by the hand, found it warm, and that it was no airy phantom, but substantial flesh and blood; and finding she had a ring on her finger, he took it off unperceived. The gentlewoman being still asleep, he let her lie without disturbing her or doing anything else than only laying his hand upon her to discover of what sex she was, which he had just time to do, when she threw off the bed clothes, and getting up, walked three or four times round the room, as she had done before, and then, standing awhile before the door, opened it, went out, and shut it after her. The young gentleman percieving by this in what manner the room was haunted, rose up and locked the door on the inside, and then laid down again, and slept till morning, at which time the master of the house came to know how he did, and whether he had seen anything or not. He told him there was an apparition appeared to him, but he begged as a favour that he would not urge him to say anything further until the family were altogether. The gentleman complied with his request, telling him, so long as he was well he was satisfied.

The desire the whole family had to know the issue of this affair, made them dress with more expedition than usual, so that there was a general assembly of the gentlemen and ladies before eleven o’clock, not one of them being willing to appear in her dishabille. When they were all together in the great hall, the young gentleman told them that he had one favour to desire of the ladies before he would say anything, and that was, whether any of them had lost a ring. The young gentlewoman, from whose finger it was taken, having missed it all the morning, and not knowing how she lost it, was glad to hear of it again, and readily owned she wanted a ring, but whether lost or mislaid, she knew not. The young gentleman asked her if that was it, giving it into her hand; which she acknowledging to be hers, and thanking him, he turned to his kinsman, the master of the house:--

“Now, sir,” said he, “I can assure you,” taking the young lady by the hand “this is the lovely spirit by which your chamber is haunted,” and thereupon repeated what has been related.

Words cannot express the confusion of the young lady at this relation, who declared herself perfectly ignorant of all that he said; but believed it might be so because of the ring, which she perfectly well remembered she had on when she went to bed, and knew not how she had lost it. This relation gave the company a great deal diversion; and after all the father declared, that since his daughter had already gone to bed to his kinsman, it should be his fault if he did not go to bed to his daughter, he being willing to bestow her upon him, and give her a good portion. This generous offer was so advantageous to the young gentleman, that he could by no means refuse it; and his bedfellow, hearing what her father had said, was easily prevailed upon to accept him for her husband.

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN DEATH AND A SINNER.

COMPOSED BY A SUNDAY SCHOOL TEACHER.

DEATH.

May we come, by heaven’s decree,
For I am here to summons thee;
And whether thou’rt prepared or no,
So unresisting thou must go.

SINNER.

Then ghastly Death, but thou look’st pale,
Thou ope’st a door to heaven or hell;
But woulst thou not with me forbear,
Oh! spare me for another year.

DEATH.

And years and months are gone,
And thou must stand before the throne,
To give account of all thy ways,
And how thou spent thy youthful days.

SINNER.

O Death! have mercy on my age,
And spare me yet upon the stage:
I’m but a flower in my bloom,
And wilt thou cut me down so soon!

DEATH.

Of age or youth I’ve never spared;
And if thou’lt look in yon church-yard,
Thou’lt see them there, in hundreds lay,
Whom I have made my lawful prey.

SINNER.

O Death; behold my parents dear
Stand round my bed with many a tear,
And loath they are to part with me,
A fruitless and a barren tree.

DEATH.

The tears of friends or parents dear,
Can neither break nor blunt my spear:
My name is Death, my sting is sin,
I’ll close thine eye and stretch thy limb.

SINNER.

Oh that my time were to begin!
I’d hate the road that leads to sin,
And to my God would earnest pray,
And wrestle till the break of day.

DEATH.

Thy Saviour thou hast grieved sore,
But time with thee shall be no more;
For when the Lord did thee invite,
The ways of sin was thy delight.

SINNER.

Oh spare me, Death, a little space,
That I may run the Christian race!
Methinks I hear the Saviour say,
Oh spare him yet another day;

DEATH.

The Lord so long hath spared thee,
A fruitless and a barren tree;
But Heaven’s command I must obey,
And cut thee down this very day.

SINNER.

In vain, in vain, do I persist,
If Heaven commands I can’t resist;
But spare one night for Jesus’ sake,
For, oh, my heart is like to break;

DEATH.

Poor sinner! I know thy heart is broke
Yet I must surely give the stroke,
For sin hath opened many a grave,
Since man to sin became a slave.

SINNER.

O Death! no mercy wilt thou show,
But unto Jesus will I go,
Who rose triumphant from the grave,
A guilty wretch like me to save.

DEATH.

Though sin consign thee to the gaave,
Jesus hath died thy sins to save;
His blood did flow in streams divine,
To cleanse that guilty soul of thine.

SINNER.

Oh, when that blood extracts the sting,
I’ll tune my harp and sweetly sing
To Him who rose me when I fell,
And saved my soul from death and hell.
The cross I see all stained with blood,
I view the suffering Son of God;
His precious blood was shed for me,
He paid the debt, and I am free!
Now, Death, thy sling I will defy!
For, lo, I see my Saviour nigh
Draw near, O Death, and strike the blow,
And let me to my Saviour go.
Glory to God! I now do see,
That death becomes a friend to me,
To take me from a world of woe;
Then let me to my Saviour go!
Now O my friends, whom I hold dear,
I hope you will to God draw near,
And do not shed a tear for me;
Where Jesus is, there I shall be.
My dying words do not forget,
But turn before it be too late,
And seek the Lord until you find,
For Jesus would leave none behind.
So, earthly friends, we now must part:
Give me your band, and Christ your heart.
Adieu, my friends, a long farewell
For now the love of God I feel.

H. Such, Printer and Publisher, 177, Union Street, Boro’--S.E.

THE RAILWAY TO HEAVEN.

This Line runs from Calvary through this vain world and the Valley of the Shadow of Death, until it lands in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Oh! what a deal we hear and read,
About Railways and Railway speed!
Of lines which are, or may be made,
And selling shares is quite a trade.

The Railway mania does extend,
From John O’Groats to the Land’s End;
Where’er you ride, where’er you walk,
The Railway is the general talk.

Allow me, as an old divine,
To point you to another line,
Which does from earth to heaven extend,
Where real pleasures never end.

Infinite wisdom sketched the plan
To save apostate, ruined man;
And Jesus Christ, Jehovah’s son,
The mighty work Himself has done.

Of truth Divine the rails are made,
And on the Rock of Ages laid;
The rails are fixed in chairs of love,
Firm as the throne of God above.

At Calvary’s cross it does commence,
And runs through all the world from thence;
Then crosses Jordan’s swelling flood,
Before the royal throne of God.

One grand first-class is used for all,
For Jew and Gentile, great and small;
There’s room for all the world inside,
And kings with beggars there do ride.

In days of old, for ever past,
Men quarrelled about first and last;
And each contended loud and long,
My church is right, and yours is wrong.

We’re next the engine, some would say,
Our carriage here does lead the way;
But oft we see the train reversed--
The first is last, the last is first.

Let no one of his carriage boast
Nor in his outward duties trust;
Those who shall see the Saviour’s face,
Must be renewed by asking grace.

About a hundred years or so,
Wesley and others said they’d go:
A carriage mercy did provide,
That Wesley and his friends might ride.

’Tis nine and thirty years, they say,
Whoever lives to see next May,
Another coach was added then,
Unto this all important train.

Linked to each other, on we pass,
Supported by the Saviour’s grace;
When to the better land we come,
We’ll mix together round the throne.

Jesus is the first engineer,
He does the gospel engine steer;
The preachers of the sacred Word,
Co-workers with their dying Lord.

We’ve guards who ride, while others stand
Close by the way with flag in hand,--
The flag of white, of red, and green,
At different places may be seen.

When we behold the flag that’s white,
It cheers the heart, for all is right;
But when the green we do behold,
Caution, it says, and be not bold.

Red tells us there is danger near,
Be not high-minded, rather fear;
Place all your trust in God alone,
And in the blood which does atone.

Then let not poor nor rich despair,
He still delights to answer prayer;
Remember he will not despise,
Your humble wailings--mournful cries.

Afflictions are the tunnels drear,
Through which we go while travelling here;
But these will all be shortly past,
And heaven appear in view at last.

To cheer the dark and gloomy night,
We’ve lamps which give a brilliant light,
And while we urge our course along,
The cross of Christ is all our song.

We’ve several laws about this road,
Wrote by the finger of our God;
Ye trespassers must all beware,
For He the guilty will not spare.

No one from his place must alight,
Until he hears the words, all right;
And when this glorious signal’s given,
You’ll hear a whisper, ‘This is Heaven;’

The stations are the means of grace,
The house of God, the holy place;
No matter where that place may be,
A field, a barn, or hollow tree.

You say you will not ride with me,
Well, be it so, we still agree;
The church of England is before
The Quakers, yea, and several more.

Baptists, and Independents too,
The Methodists, both old and new;
I can, I will, I do rejoice,
That you have such a happy choice.

CHORUS.

“My son,” says God, “give me thy heart,
Make haste, or else the train will start.”

LONDON:- H. Such, Printer and Publisher, 177, Union Street, Boro’.--S.E.

RAILROAD TO HELL, _FROM DISSIPATION TO POVERTY_, AND FROM POVERTY TO DESPERATION.

This Line begins in the Brewery, and runs through all Public-houses, Dram-shops, and Jerry-shops, in a zigzag direction, until it lands in the Kingdom of Hell.

If you are determined and wishful to go,
With blind debauchees to the regions of woe,
Then go to the Tap without any delay,
And drink both your reason and money away,
But never mind care, for if you despair,
It is the first train that will carry you there.

You’ve nothing to do but to guzzle and swill,
As long as the Landlord is willing to fill,
For this is the Line and the Railroad to Hell,
Where Drunkards and Devils for ever must dwell;
So drink all you can, it is the chief plan,
That e’er was invented by Devil for man.

This Railroad it runs thro’ Parlours and Snugs,
And here you can sit round glasses and jugs,
And have what you please, such as Ale, Gin, or Rum,
To please an old friend, or an old drunken chum;
And this is the way to drink all the day,
And then stagger home when you’ve swallowed your pay.

Such Taverns as these are Railroads to Hell,
Their barrels are engines which make men rebel;
Their jugs and their glasses which furnish their Trains,
Will empty their pockets and muddle their brains.
And thus drunkards ride to Hell in their pride,
With nothing but steam from the barrels inside.

We’ve Railroads to Heaven, and Railroads to Hell,
Where good men can ride, and where Devils can dwell;
We’ve Taverns for drunkards and Churches for Saints,
And quacks of all sorts to heal our complaints;
So now we can ride to Hell in our pride,
On Railroads of sin with blue Devils inside.

Old Swilltub the doctor and guard of the Trains,
He filches your pockets and fuddles your brains;
But when he’s got all from the poor silly man,
He then sends him home to do as he can,
With all his old chums, his badgers and bums,
Who sue him for money he owes in great sums.

But let us not ride on these Railroads of sin,
Nor drink either Brandy, Ale, Porter, or Gin;
And then we shall ride into Heaven with joy,
Where no drunken quacks can our vitals destroy
With poisonous drugs, sold to us in jugs,
In either their Bars, their Parlours, or Snugs.

The number of vaults which we have in Town,
Have robbed the poor lass of her bonnet and gown,
Her topknots and feathers have gone to the Pop,
And many have lost both credit and shop;
Both young men and maids of very good trades,
Have drunk all they earned, and gone down to the shades.

We’ve plenty of signs, both Horses and Bulls,
Of Lions and Dragons, to serve drunken Trulls;
We’ve signs too of Angels, of Warriors and Kings--
Yes, plenty of signs of good and bad things.
But what’s their design? Why Gin, Rum, and Wine,
Sold here to intoxicate puppies and swine.

We’ve White and Black Bulls and two Suns in one street,
One Swan and two Lions which never taste meat,
And here you see women with bottles and jugs,
Roll into these taverns and dram-drinking snugs,
As brazen as brass to get an odd glass.
In some of these shops where a fool cannot pass.

No wonder that Pop-ticket, women and wags,
Are dressed up in nothing but patches and rags.
Their dresses and shawls for strong liquor they’ll swop,
Yes, Tagrag and Bobtail must go to the pop;
And when this is done, away they will run,
To either a Lion, a Bull, or a Sun.

Such poor sorry women who pledge their old rags,
Are known by their petticoats hanging in jags;
You’ll see them at night with their heads wrapt in shawls
Not far from the Dram-shop, or sign of Three Balls,
With bonnets and hats, old dresses and brats,
Made up into bundles as you have seen Pat’s.

LONDON:- T. Such, Printer, Union street, Boro.’

PRETTY MAIDENS BEWARE! A LOVE LETTER from SARAH to CHARLES.

The following epistle was written by a girl at Deal to her sweetheart, a sailor on board a man of war in the Downs. The lieutenant of the ship found it on board, twisted up with tobacco in it, by which it seems our seafaring spark had as little regard for his mistress, after enjoyment, as if he had been of a more illustrious rank.

Lovin Der Charls,

This mi kind love to yow is to tell yow, after all owr sport
and fon, I am lik to pay fort, for I am with child; and wors
of al, my sister _Nan_ knos it, and cals me hore and bech, and
is redy to ter my sol owt, and curs _Jack Peny_ lies with her
evry tim he cums ashor; and the saci dog wold have lade with me
to, but I wold not let him, for I wil be always honest to yow;
therfor der Charls com ashor, and let us be mared to safe my
vartu: and if yow have no munni, I will paun my new stais and
sel mi to new smoks yow gave me, and that will pay the parsen
and find us a diner; and pray der lovin _Charls_ cum ashor, and
der _Charls_ dont be frad for wont of a ring, for I have stole
mi sister _Nans_, and the nasty tod shall never have it no mor;
for she tels abot that I am goin to have a bastard, and God
bles yowr lovin sol cum sune, for I longs to be mared accordin
to yowr promis, and I will be yowr der vartus wife til deth,

SARAH JOHNSON.

Feb 19th.

P.S.--Pray dont let yowr mesmat Jack se this, if yow do hel tel
owr _Nan_, and shel ter mi hart owt then, for shes a devil at
me now.

_A Poetical Version of the foregoing._

Dear object of my love, whose manly charms
With bliss extatic fill’d my circling arms;
That bliss is past, and nought for me remains
But dire reproach, and sharp unpitied pains:
For (Death to me, and food to others pride)
My sister has my growing shame descry’d,
Ev’n she assails me with opprobious name,
When the prude’s conscious she deserves the same
Her loose associates, sated, from her flies,
And vainly to seduce my virtue tries:
True, as a wife, I only want the name;
O! haste and wed me, and preserve my fame.
Unlike most modern matches ours shall be,
From settlement, the lawyers fetters free;
I’ll quit my All, and be content with thee.
Then haste away, and strike detraction dead;
The nuptial feast awaits you, and the bed;
Nor fear the hand that will endure for life,
With me, your loving and your faithful wife.

POSTSCRIPT.

These earnest dictates of my anxious heart
I beg you will not to your friend impart;
For oft beneath fair friendship’s specious show,
The traitor lurks, the undermining foe.

R.A.

Printed by John Andrews, Portsmouth.

THE VERY PRETTY MAID OF THIS TOWN, AND THE AMOROUS ’SQUIRE, NOT ONE HUNDRED MILES FROM THE PLACE.

“I do not seek to quench your love’s hot fire, but qualify the fire’s extreme rage, lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.”--_Shakespeare._

A pretty maid both kind and fair,
Dwells in this very town,
Her pleasant smiles and easy air,
Engages fop and clown.

Being accosted t’other day,
By a clumsy ’squire,
Who ask’d her if she knew the way
To quench a raging fire.

Water, Sir, reply’d the maid,
Will quench it in a trice,
O no, said he, you little jade,
I’ve try’d that once or twice.

Then Sir, said she, ’tis past my skill,
To tell you what will do;
I’m sure, said he, you know what will;
There’s nothing can but you.

Alas-a-day, what do you mean,
Reply’d the pretty fair;
I’d have you try it once again,
You never should despair.

Despair I cannot, cry’d the ’squire,
While you are in my sight,
’Tis you must quench the burning fire,
You set it first alight.

Then strait he clas’p her round the waist,
And forc’d from her a kiss;
Ho! ho! said she, is that your tale,
Then pray you, Sir, take this.

And with a pail, placed at the door,
She sluic’d the amorous ’squire;
You’re welcome, Sir, to this and more,
To quench your raging fire.

Printed by W. H. TICKLE, at his General Printing Office, Croydon, Surrey.--An extensive assortment of Songs, Recitations, Shop Window Bills, &c.--Printing of every description readily performed cheap as in London.

THE FULL PARTICULARS OF “TAKING OFF” PRINCE ALBERT’S INEXPESSIBLES.

IN THE BOROUGH COURT OF REQUESTS.--THIS DAY.

Had that love-sick young lady, Miss Juliet, lived in these unromantic, matter o’ fact times, when puffery and humbug lead men on to fame and fortune, instead of integrity, honesty and fair dealing,--when ignorant and worthless foreign quacks are fostered and encouraged, and native merit and native talent left to starve,--she would certainly have become duly impressed with the importance of a “name.” “The Queen’s name is a tower of strength,” and so think the enterprising commercial geniuses of the present day, inasmuch as the patronymic of our gracious Sovereign is applied to all imaginable purposes. We have _Victoria_ washing tubs, mouse-traps, and mustard-pots, and _Albert_ toasting-forks, shaving-brushes, and dung-barges, and last, though by no means least, “Albert inexpressibles.” However, as the young lady alluded to above says, “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Timothy Shaw, a bandy-legged “ninth part,” with a mouth sufficiently capacious to admit the largest cabbage that ever flourished in field or garden, summoned a knowing-looking specimen of the _genus homo_, named Gilpin, before the commissioners, for the sum of 7s, for work and labour performed in the manufacture of a certain pair of “_kicksies_,” for the wear of a certain Mr Gilpin.

The defendant, an “artful card,” was described by the plaintiff as a “’buss cove out of luck,” that is, he had been in the habit of doing the amiable at the door of a Walworth omnibus, but had lost his place. The tailor, having blown his nose in that peculiar and primitive manner which gave rise to a certain riddle tending to show that the poor man often throws away what the rich man puts in his pocket, proceeded to “open his case” as follows:--“Please yer vorship, I’m a tailor by trade.” And here we must slightly digress to remark that a disciple of the bodkin and shears, upon being asked to describe himself, invariably says, “I’m a tailor by _trade_.” A celebrated author is of opinion, that this is to prevent his being considered a _tailor by nature_. “I’m a tailor by trade,” said the plaintiff, “and von’t turn my back on the best vorkman in the wicinity of Tooley street for a slap up fit in the first stile of fashion, ’cause I regularly takes a trip to the vest-end to pick ’em up. Twigged the ‘Prince’ t’other day with a new pair of trousers on,--had the cut on ’em all right in the turn of a bodkin.”

Commissioner: Really you must be a very clever person to “take off” the Prince’s inexpressibles so very expeditiously.--Plaintiff: Beg pardon, yer vorship, but I vouldn’t be guilty of any sich indelicate hact, as to “take off” anybody’s breeches.

The Commissioner finding that “snip” had the laugh on his own side, adjustedhis wig, and requested him to keep to the question.--Tailor: So I do, yer vorship; I’ll swear I never tuck not nobody’s breeches off but me own.

Commissioner: Well, what have you to say about Prince Albert? I suppose he wears his clothes like other people?--Tailor: Ah! that’s all a mistake, ’cause I’ve heerd that some knowing Jarman has hinwented new fashioned unmentionables, wot all--

Commissioner: There, there, we don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense. What have you got to say against the defendant?--Plaintiff: Vy, my lord, it’s “a plain unwarnished tale.” Master Gilpin steers himself into my shop, and ses to me, “Tim, old feller, I vant you to make me a hout-and-hout pair of _kicksies_, ’cause I vonts to show off a bit at _Court_ in ’em.” In course, me lord, I vos regularly flabbergasted to hear a kiddy as vos only a “buss cove” talk in sich a way, but it soon comed out as he vos a going to lodge in Pennyvinkle-court, vich is close in our neighbourwood, me lord; and then he said he vos a goin to be married. “Poor devil,” ses I, “you’re a goin to tie a knot as I should be werry glad to untie.” As bad luck ’ud have it, my old woman heard me, and didn’t I cotch it nicely.

Commissioner: Well, did you make him any trousers after all?--Plaintiff: Oh! yes; and arter altering ’em three times the warmint would’nt pay a farden.

Commissioner: What did he complain of?--Plaintiff: ’Cause they didn’t fit tight to his legs, though I told him it warn’t the fashion.

The Commissioner told the defendant that he was ready to hear anything that he might have to say about the matter.--Defendant: I was fool enough to let this old spooney have some cloth to make a pair of trousers, and when I came to try them on, I found them so tight at the top that I couldn’t button them, and the legs were large enough to have admitted my whole body. He pretended to alter them--they were worse than before.--Plaintiff: I made them in the “Albert style,” yer vorship, so that shows the wagabone’s bad taste.--Defendant: If Prince Albert ever wore sich a pair of _kicksies_ as them I’ll eat my hat.

Commissioner: How much are you willing to allow him for his trouble?--Defendant: Not the ghost of a mag; why should I?--ar’n’ he spoiled my breeches?--Plaintiff: Some people as is werry ugly, thinks the tailor ought to make ’em look handsome. Now, my lord, ’cause this pig-headed hobgoblin didn’t look a regular _cock wenus_ in the breeches, he lays it all to me.

Commissioner: Now if you had contented yourself with making him look like a “buss cove,” as you describe him, instead of trying to _Albertise_ him, you would, in all probability, have given satisfaction. You should never try to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.--Plaintiff: That’s very true. It is labour in wain to try to make a gemman out of sich a wulgar blackguard.--Defendant: Keep a civil tongue in your head, old bandy legs.--Plaintiff: Take a fit, young gallus. You arn’t no sich a _cock wenus_, pug-nose, arter all.

Commissioner: We cannot allow this. The defendant will pay 5s and the costs.

PRINTED BY THE ROYAL AUTHORITY of Messrs March Winds and April Showers.

BATTLE OF PEA SOUP, FOUGHT ON THE FIFTY-TWELFTH DAY OF ROTTENSTICKS

This memorable battle took place on the Ocean of Sprats, situated on the Continent of Green Peas, within half a mile of a Donkey; where Bobby the Ratcatcher swallowed the Monument, and the poor old soldier was killed by being drowned in a bog of buttermilk: such an unseasonable battle was never known before.

It took place on the Fifty-twelfth day, on London Bridge, between 15 and 160 o’clock in the night.

Arthur Mc Kelly’s nose was knocked into eighteen thousand pieces and converted into a cheese knife, and sold in Plum pudding court, going up to Christmas on the top side of little Bobby the Ratcatcher; the regiment was commanded by General Pigsfry, and Colonel Beefsteak, the bone polisher, who lived one thousand and ninety-nine miles beyond mutton chops, in the parish of Blackberry pudding, a robust strong man, well fed upon marrow bones, and Darby O’Daud, Judy Saggin’s son, was mortally wounded, his second hand coat that was made and mended by Patrick Mc Patch, three calendar months beyond the city of Cork. The back buttons were turned before, and a mail coach could have gone through the button holes, the sleeves were massacred and murdered, his waistcoat suddenly took fright, jumped aside off his back, and tumbled into the trap of great Calamity, which was fixed within a quarter of an inch of bad luck. This made him roar out “potatoes” loud enough to be heard sixteen hundred miles beyond Buttermilk, and Selim O’Blunder, the second son of Teddy Humbug, a son to Mr. Nonsense, was terribly wounded in the understanding by the frightful appearance of the blade of a slug, his remembrance was knocked against the corner of his consideration, which capsized his wisdom out of his Knowledge. His ability was rocking in the cradle of Lamentation, which was fixed between joy and sorrow, where Lamentation fell asleep, and Billy Riley received three dreadful wounds--both his elbows were put out of joint, the shin bones of his knee breeches were transmogrified into a woolpack, and his stockings were made to rue the day his legs were born. Billy Gobbles, the dish licker’s son, was accidentally wounded in different parts, first in his constitution, and then in his feelings. After which a piece of plum pudding stuck in the stomach and knocked his appetite asunder, and the sons of buttermilk were all put to the rout, and never stopped till they went and rode the bull, and started off to the land of potatoes, where buttermilk is sold by the yard--to plaster their wounds with potatoes, and the humbugging hospitals of both nations in Dublin is filled with all the buttermilk sons that were killed and wounded in this terrible battle of Pea Soup.

There is one hundred and forty-ten thousand nine hundred and sixty-twelve pounds reward for whoever will give the least information of the author of this battle. The money to be paid down to the informant by Mr Jack Neverfind, who lives at the top of Toleration street, three doors below the bottom, near the corner of Humbug lane, in the days of Tantonybobus, when Adam will be a young man, three hundred and sixty-five miles beyond the remembrance of the Antediluvians, in the reign of our Lord and Sovereign, Queen Richard, by the grace of Candlesticks, Queen of Potwollopers, such as velveteen plum puddings, calico dumplings, and leather apple pies.

The Full & True Particulars OF THE GREATEST OLD

IN THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD.

FANNY.

The fields were gay,
And sweet the hay,
Our gang of gypsies seated
Upon the grass,
Both lad and lass,
By you we all were treated.

Young chicken, geese,
With ducks and pease,
And beans and bacon dainty;
With punch and beer,
The best of cheer,
You gave us them in plenty.

’Twas all to cheat poor silly Fan,
And pilfer that same jewel;
You’re sworn to be my perjur’d man,
Tho’ now so false and cruel.

You stole some cloaths,
And caps and hose,
From sister Pat last Easter,
To make me fine,
You gave me nine-
Pence and a silver teaster.

An apron too,
Tho’ not quite new,
And good as from the needle;
And once, I own,
You gave a crown,
To save me from the beadle.

’Twas all to cheat poor silly Fan,
And rifle that same jewel;
You’re sworn to me, you perjur’d man,
Tho’ now so false and cruel.

Whene’er we’d meet,
With kisses sweet,
And speeches soft you won me;
The hawthorn bush
Shou’d make you blush,
’Twas there you first undone me.

What signifies
Your shams and lies,
Your jokes no more shall jeer me;
A licence bring
With golden ring,
Or never more come near me.

For you have cheated silly Fan,
And pilfer’d that same jewel;
You’re sworn to me, you perjur’d man,
Tho’ now so false and cruel.

It is pretty well known among the circle of his acquaintances, and the townspeople generally, that Mr ----, the old established and highly _respectable_ tradesman of THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD is much addicted to wenching, and that he is known to nearly every boy and girl in the town, big or little, as the “OLD RAM,” or “BILLY GOAT.” And it is also well-known that his wife, who is as nice and amiable a little body as ever laid on a husband’s shirt-tail--can never keep a maid-servant with a tolerable agreeable face, but he is sure to be in pursuit of her; and only this year they have had in their service Mary Carter, Jane Baker, Martha Price, Jemima Smith, Harrietta Johnson, Sarah Tompkins, and Betsy Rogers, all of whom have left at a short notice in consequence of the _rumbustiousness_ of Mr ----. A few weeks ago Mrs ---- engaged with a very pretty girl named Fanny H----, but no sooner did “The Old Ram” behold her than he was smitten with her charms, considering her as a domestic treasure, of which, he flattered himself, he should soon be possessed. Accordingly, Mr ---- took every opportunity in the absence of her mistress to say civil things, which so tormented the girl, that she soon gave her mistress warning. Mrs ----, the tradesman’s wife, having taken a great liking to this servant, was very sorry to part with her, offered to increase her wages, and diminish her labour; but these kind overtures had no effect, the young woman saying it was impossible for her to stay. This peremptory declaration excited Mrs ----’s curiosity to know what could give the girl so great a disgust of the place, when, upon being interrogated closely upon the subject, she replied, “Why then, Madam, to tell the truth, my master teazes me so much in your absence that I have no comfort of my life. I would not mind, continued the girl, if he was a handsome and a young man, but to be tormented by such _an ugly fellow_ is insupportable.” “An ugly fellow! resumed Mrs ----, with great warmth,--what, call my husband _an ugly fellow_? Get out of the house this instant, you jade,”--then stamping her foot in great rage, she immediately discharged the girl.

Printed by J. Pitts, Wholesale Toy Warehouse, Great St Andrew Street, Seven Dials.

THE WONDERFUL Adventures of Mr. O’Flynn in Search OF OLD MOTHER CLIFTON.

Understanding that old Mother Clifton’s house was blown away 366 miles above the moon, I went in search of her. I was searching nine days, running hard as I could with my two shin bones in my pocket, and my head under my arm, by order of Old Joe Buck, the Pensioner, who lost his middle eye at the Battle of Waterloo, chewing half-boiled stirabout. I then got upon a buck-flea’s back, which carried me over large hills of skilligalee and bog holes of buttermilk, till I met Jarvis the coachmaker driving two dead horses under an empty post-chaise loaded with 18 milliners, 2 tambour workers, 5 loads of apples, a roasted milestone, and half-a-dozen grenadier cock magpies, belonging to the French flying artillery, drinking tea till they were black in the face. I asked Mr Jarvis did he get any account of the Old Woman of Ratcliffe Highway, who was drowned in a shower of feathers last night about three weeks ago, and he told me he had got no account of her whatever, but if I went to John Ironsides I’d get some intelligence, and where John Ironsides lived he told me was two miles beyond all parts of the parish, up and down a street where a mad dog bit a hatchet next week, and pigs wrestle for stirabout: I thanked him for his information and bid him good night. I than began to run as fast as I could sit down by the side of a ditch with my two shin bones and my head in my pocket, till I met a gentleman with the custom-house of Dublin on his back, the Manchester exchange in his pocket, and Lord Nelson’s pillar in London stuck in his eye for a walking-stick. The Lord help you, poor man, said I, I am sorry for you, and the devil skewer you, why had you no better luck? I asked him what was the matter, and he told me he was bad with the gravel in his eye, the daddy grumble in his guts, and the worm cholic in his toe. I then put him into a coach and drove him into a druggist’s shop and ordered him two pennyworth of pigeon’s milk, three ounces of the blood of a grasshopper, a pint of self basting, the head and pluck of a buck flea, the ribs of a roasted chew of tobacco, and the lights and liver of a cobbler’s lapstone, boiled separately altogether in a leather iron pot.

Immediately after taking the mixture he was delivered of a pair of blacksmith’s bellows, and a small tomb-stone only a ton weight. Then proceeding on to Johnny Gooal’s house, said I to him, John, did you get any account of Mother Clifton’s house, that was blown 366 miles above the moon by a gale of wind from a sow gelder’s horn. I got no account, says Johnny, only I wrote a letter to her to-morrow night, when I was snoring fast asleep with my eyes open, knowing her father to be a smith and farrier to a pack of wild geese, and her mother nurse to a nest of young monkies that was held in the said parish of Up-and-down, where pigs wrestle for stirabout; but John told me I should not go till I had dined with them; we then sat down, and what should be brought up but a dish of stewed paving stones,, well mixed with tho oil and ribs of a chew of tobacco, and two quarts of the blood of a lamplighter’s snuff-box. The next great wonder she showed me, she brought me into a fine garden and placed me by a cabbage-stalk, which only covered 52 acres of ground, and where I saw ten regiments of artillery firing a royal salute of 21 guns.

The next wonder she showed me was a big man standing upon a small table made of heath, dressed in a scarlet black cloak, who made a very great sermon, but a north country buck flea bit him in the pole of the neck, and made him roar murder. The next great wonder I saw was a small boy only a thousand years old, thrashing tobacco into peas, and one of the peas started through a wall eighteen feet thick, and killed a dead boy on the other side. Then there was the London privateer and the Channel royal mail coach in a desperate engagement; firing boiled oyster shells, stewed lapstones, and roasted wigs one at the other, one of the lapstones struck Mother Clifton over the right eye and delivered her of the old woman of Ratcliffe Highway, who was sister to Mother Clifton, who had nine rows of bees-wax teeth and a three cocked hat made of the right side of a crab’s nostril. I then took the Old Hag and made a short leap from Liverpool to Naas in the North of Ireland, where I saw a French frigate coming with Nelson’s monument on the top of her mainmast. So now to bring my story to an end this Old Woman and me stepped out of the vessel into the port-hole; I made my escape, but the Old Woman was always tipsy with drinking Chandler’s tobacco, so she sunk to the bottom, and if you go there you will find her making straw hats of deal boards.

London:--H. Such, Printer & Publisher, 177, Union-street, Borough, S.E., and sold at 83, White-cross-street, St. Luke’s.

SALE OF A WIFE IN THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD--MRS. YOU-KNOW-WHO.

Come all you lads and lasses gay, and banish care and strife,--In the market-place, a mason did by auction sell his wife;--Thirteen shillings and a penny for the lady was the sum,--And to see the curious spree, some thousands soon did run;--In the market-place, I do declare, it’s true upon my life,--A mason did the other day, by auction sell his wife. This man and wife, good lack-a-day, did often disagree;--For she often pawned her husband’s clothes to go upon the spree. So he led her to the market, with a halter, I am told,--And there she was, so help my Bob, by public auction sold. When the auctioneer began the sale, a jolly farmer cried,--Here’s five and fourpence half-penny for the mason’s lushy bride; a tanner cried out seven and six, and then a butcher said,--I’ll give you ten and sevenpence, besides a bullock’s head. She’s going, cried the auctioneer, she’s going, upon my life;--Tinkers, coblers, sailors, will you buy a charming wife? Such fighting, scratching, tearing too, before no one did see;--Such roaring, bawling, swearing, O! blow me, it was a spree. At length a rum old cobler did give a dreadful bawl,--Here’s thirteen and a penny, with my lapstone and my awl. Thirteen and a penny, when down the hammer dropt,--With whiskers, apron, bustle, shawl, stays, petticoat, and----A lushy mason’s lady was this blooming damsel gay,--She did unto the hammer come upon a market day;--Bakers, butchers, masons, did bid for her, we hear,--While a lot of rum old women pitched into the auctioneer. Young men and maids did halloa, while married folks did sneer, They frightened the old cobler and knocked down the auctioneer. The cobler took the lady up just like a Scotchman’s pack, and the funny mason’s lady rode upon the cobler’s back. Some laughed till they bursted, while others were perplexed, But the cobler bristled up his wife with two big balls of wax; The cobler sat her on his knee, and joyfully did bawl,--While the lady knocked about the seat the lapstone and the awl. Then the mason he did sell his wife, as you shall understand, And thirteen and a penny was popt into his hand; he whistled and capered, for to banish care and strife,--He went into a gin-shop, singing, I have sold my wife; So the divorced mason he may go, to banish care and strife,--Unto the market place again and buy another wife. Now the cobler and the lady are both in a stall, While the cobler works the bristle, and the lady works the awl. And they upon the lapstone do so merry play together,--Singing, heel and toe, gee up, gee woe, big balls of wax and leather. And day and night in sweet delight, they banish care and strife,--the merry little cobler and his thirteen-shilling wife.

THE PERPETUAL ALMANACK, OR GENTLEMAN’S PRAYER BOOK.

Showing how one Richard Middleton was taken before the Mayor of the City he was in, for using cards in church during divine service; being a droll, merry, and humourous account of an odd affair that happened to a private soldier in the 6th Regiment of Foot.