Chapter II: A pontificating man with his arms outstretched in the shape (9)

FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE. Our foreign expresses have reached us via Billingsgate, and are full of interesting matter. Captain Fitz-Flammer is in prison at Boulogne, for some trifling misunderstanding with a native butcher, about the settlement of an account; but we trust no time will be lost by our government in demanding his release at the hands of the authorities. The attempt to make it a private question is absurd; and every Englishmans blood will simmer, if it does not actually boil, at the intelligence. Fitz-Flammer was only engaged in doing that which many of our countrymen visit Boulogne expressly to do, and it is hard that he should have been intercepted in his retreat, after accomplishing his object. To live at the expense of a natural enemy is certainly a bold and patriotic act, which ought to excite sympathy at home, and protection abroad. The English packet, the City of Boulogne, has turned one of its imitation guns directly towards the town, which, we trust, will have the effect of bringing the French authorities to reason.

It is expected that the treaty will shortly be signed, by which Belgium cedes to France a milestone on the north frontier; while the latter country returns to the former the whole of the territory lying behind a pig-stye, taken possession of in the celebrated 6th vendemiaire, by the allied armies. This will put an end to the heart-burnings that have long existed on either side of the Rhine, and will serve to apply the sponge at once to a long score of national animosities.

Our letters from the East are far from encouraging. The Pasha has had a severe sore-throat, and the disaffected have taken advantage of the circumstance. Ibrahim had spent the two last nights in the mountains, and was unfurling his standard, when our express left, in the very bosom of the desert. Mehemet Ali was still obstinate, and had dismissed his visier for impertinence. The whole of Servia is in a state of revolt, and the authorities have planted troops along the entire line, the whole of whom have gone over to the enemy. It is said there must be further concessions, and a new constitution is being drawn up; but it is not expected that any one will abide by it. Mehemet attempted to throw himself upon the rock of Nungab, with a tremendous force, but those about him wisely prevented him from doing so.

We have received China (tea) papers to the 16th. There is nothing in them.

FANCIED FAIR. The Duke of Wellington, says a correspondent of the Times, left his umbrella behind him at a fancy fair, held for charitable purposes, between Twickenham and Teddington. On discovering it, Lady P. immediately said, Who will give twenty guineas for the Dukes umbrella? A purchaser was soon found; and when the fact was communicated to his Grace, he good-naturedly remarked, Ill soon supply you with umbrellas, if you can sell them with so much advantage to the charity. We trust his Graces benevolent disposition will not induce him to carry this offer into execution. We should extremely regret to see the Hero of Waterloo in Leicester-square, of a rainy night, vending second-hand parapluies. The same charitable impulse will doubtlessly induce other fashionable hawkers at fancy fairs to pick his Graces pockets. We are somewhat curious to know what a Wellington bandana would realise, especially were it the produce of some pretty lady P.s petty larceny. Charity, it is said, covereth a multitude of sins. What must it do with an umbrella? We fear that Lady P. will some day figure in the fashionable departures.

A man picks another's pocket FOR SYDNEY DIRECT.

PUNCHS THEATRE. MARTINUZZI AS THE ACT DIRECTS. The production upon the stage of a tragedy not intended for an acting play, as a broad travestie, is a novel and dangerous experimentone, however, which the combined genius of the Dramatic Authors Council has made, with the utmost success. The Hungarian Daughter was, under the title of Martinuzzi, received, on its first appearance, with bursts of applause and convulsions of laughter!

The plot of this piece our literary reviewer has expressed himself unable to unravel. We are in the same condition; all we can promise is some account of the scenes as they followed each other; of the characters, the sentiments, the poetry, and the rest of the fun.

The play opens with an elderly gentleman, in a spangled dressing-gown, who commences business by telling us the time of day, poetically clapping a wig upon the sun, by saying, he

Shakes day about, like perfume from his hair,

which statement bears out the after sentence, that the wisdom he endures is terrible! An Austrian gentlemanwhose dress made us at first mistake him for Richard III. on his travelsarrives to inform the gentleman en déshabilleno other than Cardinal Martinuzzi himselfthat he has come from King Ferdinand, to ask if he will be so good as to give up some regency; which the Cardinal, however, respectfully declines doing. A gentleman from Warsaw is next announced, and Castaldo retires, having incidentally declared a passion for the reigning queen of Hungary.

Mr. Selby, as Rupert from Warsaw, then appears, in a dress most correctly copied from the costume of the knave of clubs. Being a Pole, he stirs up the Cardinal vigorously enough to provoke some exceedingly intemperate language, chiefly by bringing to his memory a case of child- stealing, to which Martinuzzi was, before he had quite sown his wild oats, particeps criminis. This case having got into the papers (which Rupert had preserved), the Cardinal wants to obtain them, but offers a price not long enough for the Pole, who, declaring that Martinuzzi carries it too high to be trusted with them, vanishes. Mr. Morley afterwards comes forward to sing a song according to Act of Parliament, and the scene changes for Miss Collect to comply, a second time, with the 25th of George II.

In the following scene, the Queen Dowager of Hungary, Isabella, introduces herself to the audience, to inform them that the Austrian gentleman, Castaldo, is

the mild,

Pity-fraught object of her fondness.

He appears. She makes several inflammatory speeches, which he seems determined not to understand, for he is in love with the virgin queen; and maidens before dowagers is evidently his sensible motto.

The second act opens with the queen junior stating her assurance, that if she lives much longer she will die, and that when she is quite dead, she will hate Martinuzzi33. Czerina. When I am deadwhich will be soonI feel, If I much longer on my throne remain, I shall abhor the name of Martinuzzi.. As, however, she means to hate when she is deceased, she will make the most of her time while alive, by devoting herself to courtship and Castaldo: for a very tender love-scene ensues, at the end of which the lady elopes, to leave the lover a clear stage for some half-dozen minutes ecstatics, appropriately ended by his arrest, ordered by Martinuzzi. Why, it is not stated, the officer not even producing the copy of a writ.

In the next scene, Isabella is visited by Rupert, who disinterestedly presents the dowager with the papers for nothing, which he was before offered an odd castle and snug estate for, by Martinuzzi. This is accounted for on no other supposition, than the proverbial gallantry of gentlemen from Warsaw.

Martinuzzi, possessing a ward whom he is anxious should wed the queen, opens the third act by declaring he will precipitate the match, and so the author considerately sends Czerina to him, to talk the matter over. But the young lady gets into a passion, and the Cardinal declares he can make nothing of her, in the following passage:

Fool! I can make thee nothing but a laugh.

A sentiment to which the audience gave a most vociferous echo. The damsel is angry that she may not have the man she has chosen, and threatens to faint, but defers that operation till her lovers arms are near enough to receive her; which they happen to be just in time, for Martinuzzi retires and Castaldo comes on. Czerina, to be quite sure, exclaims, Are these thy arms? (sic) and finally faints in the lovers embrace, so as to exhibit a picturesque cuddle.

Queen Isabella is discovered, in the second scene of this act, perusing the much vaunted papers with intense interest. Unluckily Castaldo chooses that moment to complain, that Martinuzzi will not let him marry her rival. The queen, being by no means a temperate person, and wondering at his impudence in telling her such a tale, raves thus:

My souls on fire Im choked, and seem to perish;

But will suppress my scream

Probably for fear of compromising Castaldo, who is alone with her; and she ends the act by requesting the Austrian to murder Martinuzzi; to which he is so obliging as to consent, the more so, as an order comes from the Secretary of State for foreign affairs, of his own government, to cut off (sic) the Regent.

The fourth act is enlivened by a masquerade and a murder. The gentleman from Warsaw having abused the hospitality of his host by getting drunk, is punished by one of Martinuzzis attendants with a mortal stab; and having, in the agonies of death, made a careful survey of all the sofas in the apartment, suits himself with the softest, and dies in great comfort.

[pg 96] After this, the masquerade proceeds with spirit. Isabella mixes in the festive scene, disguised in a domino, made of black sticking- plaster. Czerina overhears that she is a usurper and a changeling, and expresses her surprise in a line most unblushingly stolen from Fitz-Ball and the other poetico-melo-dramatists:

Merciful Heavens! do my ears deceive me?

The festivities conclude with an altercation between Martinuzzi and Isabella, carried on with much vigour on both sides. The lady accuses the gentleman of inebriation, and he owns the soft impeachment, fully bearing it out by several incoherent speeches.

This was one of the most successful scenes in the comedy. The death of Rupert, Mr. Morleys song about The sea, the quarrel (which was about the great pivot of the plot, the papers, inscribed, says Martinuzzi,

With ink thats brewd in the infernal Styx,)

were all received with uproarious bursts of laughter.

In the fifth act, we behold Martinuzzi and the usurping young Queen making matters up at a railway pace. She has it all her own way. If she choose, she may marry Castaldo, retire into private life, be a farm- house thrall, and keep a dairy; for which estate she has previously expressed a decided predilection44. Acting play, published in the theatre, p. 32..

But it is the next scene that the author seems to have reserved for putting forth his strongest powers of burlesque and broad humour. Isabella and Castaldo are together; the latter feels a little afraid to murder Martinuzzi, but is impelled to the deed by a thousand imaginary torches, which he fears will hurry his moth-like soul into their blinding sun-beams, till it (the soul) is scorched into cinders.

Castaldo appears, in truth, a very bad barber of murders; for, as he is rushing out to

Strike the tyrant downin crimson streams

Rend every nerve,

Isabella has the shrewdness to discover that he is without a weapon. Important omission! The incipient assassin exclaims

Oh! that I had my sword!

but at that moment (clever, dramatic contrivance!)

[Enter CZERINA, with a drawn sword.]

CZERINA. Theres one! Thine own!

Far from being grateful for this opportune supply of ways and means for murder. Castaldo calls the bilbo a fated aspic, upon the edge of which his eye-balls crack to look, and makes a raving exit from the stage, to a roaring laugh from the audience.

It is quite clear to Isabella, from his extreme carelessness about his tools, that Castaldo is not safely to be trusted with a job which requires so much tact and business-like exactitude as the capital offence. She therefore shows a phial, which she intends, occasion suiting, for Martinuzzis bane; thereby hinting that, if Castaldo fail with his steel medicine, she is ready with a surer potion.

The next scene, being the last, was ushered in with acclamations. The stage, as is always in that case made and provided, was full. There is a young gentleman on a throne, and Czerina beside it, having been somehow ungallantly deposed. Martinuzzi expresses a wish to drink somebodys health, and this being the fitting opportunity mentioned by the author in the scene preceeding, Isabella empties the phial of her wrath into the beverage, and the Cardinal quenches his thirst with a most intemperate draught. It is now duly announced, that Castaldo is, with naked sword, approaching. That gentleman appears, and makes a speech long enough for any man who has had such plain warning of what is to happeneven a cardinal encumbered with a spangled dressing-gownto get a mile out of his way. The speech quite ended, he goes to work, and with this from King Ferdinand, thrusts at Martinuzzi. Czerina, however, throws herself, with great skill, on the point of the sword, and dies. Another long harangue from Castaldowhich, as he is evidently broken- winded from exertion, is pronounced in tiny snatchesand he dies with a ha! for wantlike many greater menof breath.

Meanwhile, the poison makes Martinuzzi exceedingly uncomfortable in the stomachic regions. He is quite sure

That hath been done to me which sends me star-ward!

but in his progress thither he evidently loses his way; for he ends the play by inquiring

WHERE IS THE WORLD?

The sublimity of which query is manifestly insisted on by the author, by his having it printed in capitals.

When the curtain fell, there arose an uproarious shout for the author; but instead of the mantle of the Elizabethan poets, which, it has been said, he commonly wears, the most attractive garment that met the view was an expansive white waistcoat. This latter exhibition concluded the entertainments, strictly so called; for though a farce followed, it turned out a terrible bore.

CONCERTS DETE. If the advance of musical science is to be effected by indecent tableaux vivansby rattling peas against sieves, and putting out the lights (appropriately enough) when Beethoven is being murderedby the most contemptible class of compositions that ever was put upon score-paper, and noised forth from an ill-disciplined bandif these be the means towards improving musical taste, Monsieur Jullien is undoubtedly the harmonic regenerator of this country. He is a great mangreat in his own estimationgreat to the ends of his moustachios and the tips of his glovesa great composer, and a great charlatanex. gr.:

The overture to the promenade concerts usually consists of a pantomime entirely new to an English audience. Monsieur Jullien having made his appearance in the orchestra, seats himself in a conspicuous situation, to indulge the ladies with the most favourable view of his elegant person, and the splendid gold-chainery which is spread all over his magnificent waistcoat. A servant in livery then appears, and presents him with a pair of white kid gloves. The illustrious conductor, having taken some time to thrust them upon a very large and red hand, leisurely takes up his baton, rises, grins upon the expectant musicians, lifts his arm, andthe first chord is struck!

Quadrilles are the staple of the eveningthose composed by Monsieur Jullien always, of course, claiming precedence and preference. These are usually interspersed with solos on the flageolet, to contrast with obligati for the ophecleido; the drummersside, long, and doubleare seldom inactive; the trombones and trumpets have no sinecure, and there is always a great mortality amongst the fiddle-strings. Eight bars of impossible variation is sure to be succeeded by sixteen of the deafening fanfare of trumpets, combined with smashing cymbalism, and dreadful drumming.

The public have a taste for headaches, and Jullien has imported a capital recipe for creating them; they applaudhe bows; and musical taste goesin compliment to the ex-waiters genuine profession of man- cookto pot.

But the ci-devant cuisinier is not content with comparatively harmless, plain-sailing humbug; he must add some sauce piquante to his musical hashes. He cannot rest with merely stunning English ears, but must shock our morals, At the bals masqués, the French dancers, and the hardly mentionable cancan, were hooted back to their native stews under the Palais Royal; but he provides substitutes for them in the tableaux vivans now exhibiting. This, because a more insidious, is a safer introduction. The living figures are dressed to imitate plaster-of- Paris, and are so arranged as to form groups, called in the bills classical; but for which it would be difficult to find originals. In short, the whole thing is a feeler thrown out to see how far French impudence and French epicureanism in vice may carry themselves. It shall not be our fault if they do not experience an ignominious downfall, and beat a speedy retreat, to the tune of the Rogues March, arranged as a quadrille!

MADAME TUSSAUDS, THE REAL TEMPLE OF FAME. Some men are born to greatness, some men achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.SHAKSPEARE.

Reader, should you doubt the above assertion, in the true showman phraseology, just Walk up! walk up! to Madame Tussauds, the real Temple of Fame, and let such doubts vanish for ever; convince yourselves that the mighty attribute not more survives from good than evil deeds, though, like poverty, it makes its votaries acquainted with the strangest of strange bedfellows! The regal ermine and the murderers fustian alike obtain their enviable niche.

The likeness of departed majesty, robed in the matchless splendour of a rulers state, redolent with all the mimic glories of a kings insignia, the modelled puppet from the senseless clay, that wore in life the imperial purple, and moved a breathing thing, chief actor in its childish mummeries, may here be seen shining in tinselled pomp, in glittering contrast to the blood-stained shirt through which the dagger of Ravaillac reached the bosom of the murdered Henry.

The Real Robes of the dead George give value to his waxen image! The hearts-blood of the slaughtered Henry immortalises the linen bearing its hideous stain. The daring leader of Frances countless hoststhe wholesale slaughterer of unnumbered thousandsambitions mightiest sonnow ruling kingdoms and now ruled by oneonce more than kingin death the captive of his hated foesthe great Napoleon! shares the small space with the enshrined Fieschi!

The glorious triumphs of the mighty Wellington are here no better passports than the foul murders of the atrocious Burke; the subtle Talleyrand, the deep deviser of political schemes, ruler of rulers, and master mover of the earths great puppets, is not one jot superior to the Italian mountebank, whose well-skilled hand drew tones from catgut rivalling even the ideal trumpet of great Fame herself!

By some strange anomaly, success and failure alike render the candidates admissibleno matter the littleness of the source from whence they sprung. Lord Melbournes premiership gave shape to the all but Promethean wax. The failure of John Frost, his humble follower, secured his right to Fames posthumous honours. All partiality is here forgotten. The titled premier, in the haunts of men, may boast his monarchs palace as his home. The suffering felon, though iron binds his limbs, and eats into his heartthough slow approaching, but sure-coming death, makes the broad world for him a living grave, here he stands, as one among the great ones of the show! The amiability of Albert, that excellent Prince, and therefore most excellent young man, is ingeniously contrasted with the vices of a Greenacre, and the villany of a Hare. The stern endurance and unflinching perseverance of the zealous and single-hearted Calvin is deprived of its exclusiveness by the more exciting and equally famous Sir William Courtenay (alias Thom).

The thrilling recollection of the poet peer, and peerless poet, the highly-imaginative and unrivalled Byron, whose flood of song, poured out in one continuous stream of varied passion-breathing fancy, is calmed by gazing on dull lifes antipodes, the bandaged remnant of a dried-up mummy!

Poor Mary Stuart! the beautiful, the murdered Queen of Scots, is only parted from the Maiden Queen, who sealed her doom, by the interposition of the blood-stained ruthless wretch (Englands Eighth Harry), to whom Bess owed her birth!

Pitt, Fox, and Canning are matched with Courvoisier, Gould, and Collins.

Liston is vis à vis to Joe Hume, while Louis Philippe but shares attention with the rivalling models of the Bastille and Guillotine!

Verily, there is a moral in all this, an we could but find it out.

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 1. SEPTEMBER 12, 1841. [pg 97] THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE. CHAPTER III. Two wrestling men form the letter A. fter the ceremony, the happy pair set off for Brighton.

There is something peculiarly pleasing in the above paragraph. The imagination instantly conjures up an elegant yellow-bodied chariot, lined with pearl drab, and a sandwich basket. In one corner sits a fair and blushing creature partially arrayed in the garments of a bride, their spotless character diversified with some few articles of a darker hue, resembling, in fact, the liquid matrimony of port and sherry; her delicate hands have been denuded of their gloves, exhibiting to the world the glittering emblem of her endless hopes. In the other, a smiling piece of four-and-twenty humanity is reclining, gazing upon the beautiful treasure, which has that morning cost him about six pounds five shillings, in the shape of licence and fees. He too has deprived himself of the sunniest portions of his wardrobe, and has softened the glare of his white ducks, and the gloss of his blue coat, by the application of a drab waistcoat. But why indulge in speculative dreams when we have realities to detail!

Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite and his beauteous Juliana Theresa (late Waddledot), for three days, experienced that

Love is heaven, and heaven is love.

His imaginary dinner-party became a reality, and the delicate attentions which he paid to his invisible guest rendered his Juliana Theresas lifeas she exquisitely expressed it

A something without a name, but to which nothing was wanting.

But even honey will cloy; and that sweetest of all moons, the Apian one, would sometimes be better for a change. Juliana passed the greater portion of the day on the sofa, in the companionship of that aromatic author, Sir Edward; or sauntered (listlessly hanging on Collumpsions arm) up and down the Steine, or the no less diversified Chain-pier. Agamemnon felt that at home at least he ought to be happy, and, therefore, he hung his legs over the balcony and whistled or warbled (he had a remarkably fine D) Moores ballad of

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms;

or took the silver out of the left-hand pocket of his trousers, and placed it in the right-hand receptacle of the same garment. Nevertheless, he was continually detecting himself yawning or dozing, as though the idol of his existence was a chimera, and not Mrs. Applebite.

The time at length arrived for their return to town, and, to judge from the pleasure depicted in the countenances of the happy pair, the contemplated intrusion of the world on their family circle was anything but disagreeable. Old John, under the able generalship of Mrs. Waddledot, had made every requisite preparation for their reception. Enamelled cards, superscribed with the names of Mr. and Mrs. Applebite, and united together with a silver cord tied in a true lovers knot, had been duly enclosed in an envelope of lace-work, secured with a silver dove, flying away with a square piece of silver toast. In company with a very unsatisfactory bit of exceedingly rich cake, this glossy missive was despatched to the whole of the Applebite and Waddledot connexion, only excepting the eighteen daughters who Mrs. Waddledot had reason to believe would not return her visit.

The meeting of the young wife and the wifes mother was touching in the extreme. They rushed into each others arms, and indulged in plentiful showers of natures dew.

Welcome! welcome home, my dear Juliana! exclaimed the doting mother. Its the first time, Mr. A., that she ever left me since she was 16, for so long a period. I have had all the beds aired, and all the chairs uncovered. Shell be a treasure to you, Mr. A., for a more tractable creature was never vaccinated; and here the mother overcame the orator, and she wept again.

My dear mother, said Agamemnon, I have already had many reasons to be grateful for my happy fortune. Dont you think she is browner than when we left town?

Much, much! sobbed the mother; but the change is for the better.

Im glad you think so, for Aggy is of the same opinion, lisped the beautiful ex-Waddledot. Tell ma the pretty metaphor you indulged in yesterday, Aggy.

Why, I merely remarked, replied Collumpsion, blushing, that I was pleased to see the horticultural beauties of her cheek superseded by such an exquisite marine painting. Its nothing of itself, but Juleys foolish fondness called it witty.

The arrival of the single sister of Mrs. Applebite, occasioned another rush of bodies and several gushes of tears; then titterings succeeded, and then a simultaneous burst of laughter, and a rapid exit. Agamemnon looked round that room which he had furnished in his bachelorhood. A thousand old associations sprung up in his mind, and a vague feeling of anticipated evil for a moment oppressed him. The bijouterie seemed to reproach him with unkindness for having placed a mistress over them, and the easy chair heaved as though with suppressed emotion, at the thought that its luxurious proportions had lost their charms. Collumpsion held a mental toss-up whether he repented of the change in his condition; and, as faithful historians, we are compelled to state that it was only the entrance, at that particular moment, of Juliana, that induced him to crywoman.

On the following day the knocker of No. 24 disturbed all the other numerals in Pleasant-terrace; and Mr. and Mrs. A. bowed and curtsied until they were tired, in acknowledgment of their friends wishes of joy, and, as one unlucky old gentleman expressed himself, many happy returns of the day.

It was a matter of surprise to many of the said friends, that so great an alteration as was perceptible in the happy pair, should have occurred in such a very short space of time.

I used to think Mr. Applebite a very nice young man, said Missmind, Miss Scragburybut, dear me, how hes altered.

And Mrs. Applebite used to be a pretty girl, rejoined her brother Julius; but now (Juliana had refused him three times)but now shes as ill-looking as her mother.

Id no idea this house was so small, said Mrs. Scragmore. Im afraid the Waddledots havent made so great a catch, after all. I hope poor Juley will be happy, for I nursed her when a baby, but I never saw such an ugly pattern for a stair-carpet in my born days; and with these favourable impressions of their dear friends the Applebites, the Scragmores descended the steps of No. 24, Pleasant-terrace, and then ascended those of No. 5436 hackney-coach.

About ten months after their union, Collumpsion was observed to have a more jaunty step and smiling countenance, whichas his matrimonial felicity had been so frequently pronounced perfectpuzzled his friends amazingly. Indeed, some were led to conjecture, that his love for Juliana Theresa was not of the positive character that he asserted it to be; for when any inquiries were made after her health, his answer had invariably been, of late, Why, Mrs. A.isnot very well; and a smile would play about his mouth, as though he had a delightful vision of a widower-hood. The mystery was at length solved, by the exhibition of sundry articles of a Lilliputian wardrobe, followed by an announcement in the Morning Post, under the head of

BIRTHS.Yesterday morning, the lady of Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite, Esq., of a son and heir.

Pleasant-terrace was strawed from one end to the other; the knocker of 24 was encased in white kid, a doctors boy was observed to call three times a-day, and a pot-boy twice as often.

Collumpsion was in a seventh heaven of wedded bliss. He shook hands with everybodythanked everybodyinvited everybody when Mrs. A. should be better, and noted down in his pocket-book what everybody prescribed as infallible remedies for the measles, hooping-cough, small-pox, and rashes (both nettle and tooth)listened for hours to the praises of vaccination and Indian-rubber ringspronounced Godings porter a real blessing to mothers, and inquired the price of boys suits and rocking- horses!

In this state of paternal felicity we must leave him till our next.

TO CAPITALISTS. It is rumoured that Macready is desirous of disposing of his manners previous to becoming manager, when he will have no further occasion for them. They are in excellent condition, having been very little used, and would be a desirable purchase for any one expecting to move within the sphere of his management.

REASONS NE PLUS ULTRA. A point impossible for mind to reach

To find the meaning of a royal speech.

AN APPROPRIATE NAME. The late Queen of the Sandwich Islands, and the first convert to Christianity in that country, was called Keopalani, which meansthe dropping of the clouds from Heaven.

EPIGRAM ON THE ABOVE. This names the best that could be given,

As will by proof be quickly seen;

For, dropping from the clouds of Heaven,

She was, of course, the raining Queen.

CAUTION TO SPORTSMEN. Our gallant friend Sibthorp backed himself on the 1st of September to bag a hundred leverets in the course of the day. He lost, of course; and upon being questioned as to his reason for making so preposterous a bet, he confessed that he had been induced to do so by the specious promise of an advertisement, in which somebody professed to have discovered a powder for the removal of superfluous hairs.

[pg 98] OUT OF SEASON. A LYRIC, BY THE LAST MANIN TOWN. Chaos returns! no souls in town!

And darkness reigns where lamps once brightened;

Shutters are closed, and blinds drawn down

Untrodden door-steps go unwhitened!

The echoes of some stragglers boots

Alone are on the pavement ringing

While prentice boys, who smoke cheroots,

Stand critics to some broom-girls singing.

I went to call on Madame Sims,

In a dark street, not far from Drury;

An Irish crone half-oped the door.

Whose head might represent a fury.

At home, sir? No! (whisper)but Ill presume

To tell the truth, or know the raison.

She dinestayslivesin the back room,

Bekase tis not the London saison.

From thence I went to Lady Blooms,

Where, after sundry rings and knocking,

A yawning, liveried lad appeard,

His squalid face his gay clothes mocking

I asked him, in a faltering tone

The house was closedI guessd the reason

Is Lady B.s grand-aunt, then, gone?

To Ramsgate, sir!until next season!

I sauntered on to Harry Grays,

The ennui of my heart to lighten;

His landlady, with, smirk and smile,

Said, he had just run down to Brighton.

When home I turned my steps, at last,

A tailorwhom to kick were treason

Pressed for his bill;I hurried past,

Politely sayingCALL NEXT SEASON!

THE GENTLEMANS OWN BOOK. We concluded our last article with a brief dissertation on the cut of the trousers; we will now proceed to the consideration of coats.

The hour must come when such things must be made.

For this quotation we are indebted to

A man carries a book titled 'Poems' THE POETS PAGE.

There are three kinds of coatsthe body, the surtout, and the great.

The body-coat is again divided into classes, according to their application, viz.the drawing-room, the ride, and the field.

The cut of the dress-coat is of paramount importance, that being the garment which decorates the gentleman at a time when he is naturally ambitious of going the entire DOrsay. There is great nicety required in cutting this article of dress, so that it may at one and the same moment display the figure and waistcoat of the wearer to the utmost advantage. None but a John oGroats goth would allow it to be imagined that the buttons and button-holes of this robe were ever intended to be anything but opposite neighbours, for a contrary conviction would imply the absence of a cloak in the hall or a cab at the door. We do not intend to give a Schneiderian dissertation upon garments; we merely wish to trace outlines; but to those who are anxious for a more intimate acquaintance with the intricacies and mysteries of the delightful and civilising art of cutting, we can only say, Vide Stultz.11. Should any gentleman avail himself of this hint, we should feel obliged if he would mention the source from whence it was derived, having a small account standing in that quarter, for tailors have gratitude.

The riding-coat is the connecting link between the DRESS and the rest of the great family of coats, as one button, and one only of this garment, may be allowed to be applied to his apparent use.

It is so cut, that the waistcoat pockets may be easy of access. Any gentleman who has attended races or other sporting meetings must have found the convenience of this arrangement; for where the course is well managed, as at Epsom, Ascot, Hampton, &c., by the judicious regulations of the stewards, the fingers are generally employed in the distribution of those miniature argentine medallions of her Majesty so particularly admired by ostlers, correct card-vendors, E.O. table-keepers, Mr. Jerry, and the toll-takers on the road and the course. The original idea of these coats was accidentally given by John Day, who was describing, on Nugees cutting-board, the exact curvature of Tattenham Corner.

The shooting-jacket should be designed after a dovecot or a chest of drawers; and the great art in rendering this garment perfect, is to make the coat entirely of pockets, that part which covers the shoulders being only excepted, from the difficulty of carrying even a cigar-case in that peculiar situation.

The surtout (not regulation) admits of very little design. It can only be varied by the length of the skirts, which may be either as long as a firemans, or as short as Duvernays petticoats. This coat is, in fact, a cross between the dress and the driving, and may, perhaps, be described as a Benjamin junior.

Of the Benjamin senior, there are several kindsthe Taglioni, the Pea, the Monkey, the Box, et sui generis.

The three first are all of the coal-sackian cut, being, in fact, elegant elongated pillow-cases, with two diminutive bolsters, which are to be filled with arms instead of feathers. They are singularly adapted for concealing the fall in the back, and displaying to the greatest advantage those unassuming castors designated Jerrys, which have so successfully rivalled those silky impostors known to the world as

Side view of a man with a broad-brimmed hat. THIS (S)TILEFOUR-AND-NINE.

The box-coat has, of late years, been denuded of its layers of capes, and is now cut for the sole purpose, apparently, of supporting perpendicular rows of wooden platters or mother-of-pearl counters, each of which would be nearly large enough for the top of a ladys work- table. Mackintosh-coats have, in some measure, superseded the box-coat; but, like carters smock-frocks, they are all the creations of speculative minds, having the great advantage of keeping out the water, whilst they assist you in becoming saturated with perspiration. We strongly suspect their acquaintance with India-rubber; they seem to us to be a preparation of English rheumatism, having rather more of the catarrh than caoutchouc in their composition. Everybody knows the affinity of India-rubber to black-lead; but when made into a Mackintosh, you may substitute the lum for the plumbago.

We never see a fellow in a seal-skin cap, and one of these waterproof pudding-bags, but we fancy he would make an excellent model for

A bearded man. THE FIGURE-HEAD OF A CONVICT SHIP.

The ornaments and pathology will next command our attention.

A friend insulted us the other day with the following:Billy Black supposes Sam Rogers wears a tightly-laced boddice. Why is it like one of Miltons heroes? Seeing we gave it up, he repliedBecause Sams-on- agony-stays.(Samson Agonistes.)

[pg 99] THE GOLDEN-SQUARE REVOLUTION. [BY EXPRESS.] This morning, at an early hour, we were thrown into the greatest consternation by a column of boys, who poured in upon us from the northern entrance, and, taking up their-station near the pump, we expected the worst.

8 oclock.The worst has not yet happened. An inhabitant has entered the square-garden, and planted himself at the back of the statue; but everything is in STATUE QUO.

5 minutes past 8.The boys are still there. The square-keeper is nowhere to be found.

10 minutes past 8.The insurgents have, some of them, mounted on the fire-escape. The square-keeper has been seen. He is sneaking round the corner, and resolutely refuses to come nearer.

¼ past 8.A deputation has waited on the square-keeper. It is expected that he will resign.

20 minutes past 8.The square-keeper refuses to resign.

22 minutes past 8.The square-keeper has resigned.

25 minutes past 8.The boys have gone home.

½ past 8.The square-keeper has been restored, and is showing great courage and activity. It is not thought necessary to place him under arms; but he is under the engine, which can he brought into play at a moments notice. His activity is surprising, and his resolution quite undaunted.

9 oclock.All is perfectly quiet, and the letters are being delivered by the general post-man as usual. The inhabitants appear to be going to their business, as if nothing had happened. The square-keeper, with the whole of his staff (a constables staff), may be seen walking quietly up and down. The revolution is at an end; and, thanks to the fire-engine, our old constitution is still preserved to us.

RECOLLECTIONS OF A TRIP IN MR HAMPTONS BALLOON. IN A LETTER FROM A WOULD-BE PASSENGER. My dear Friend.You are aware how long I have been longing to go up in a balloon, and that I should certainly have some time ago ascended with Mr. Green, had not his terms been not simply a cut above me, but several gashes beyond my power to comply with them. In a word, I did not go up with the Nassau, because I could not come down with the dust, and though I always had Green in my eye, I was not quite so soft as to pay twenty pounds in hard cash for the fun of going, on

A black man in armor. A DARK (K)NIGHT,

nobody knows where, and coming down Heaven knows how, in a field belonging to the Lord knows who, and being detained for goodness knows what, for damage.

Not being inclined, therefore, for a nice and expensive voyage with Mr. Green, I made a cheap and nasty arrangement with Mr. Hampton, the gentleman who courageously offers to descend in a parachutea thing very like a parasoland who, as he never mounts much above the height of ordinary palings, might keep his word without the smallest risk of any personal inconvenience.

It was arranged and publicly announced that the balloon, carrying its owner and myself, should start from the Tea-gardens of the Mitre and Mustard Pot, at six oclock in the evening; and the public were to be admitted at one, to see the process of inflation, it being shrewdly calculated by the proprietor, that, as the balloon got full, the stomachs of the lookers on would be getting empty, and that the refreshments would go off while the tedious work of filling a silken bag with gas was going on, so that the appetites and the curiosity of the public would be at the same time satisfied.

The process of inflation seemed to have but little effect on the balloon, and it was not until about five oclock that the important discovery was made, that the gas introduced at the bottom had been escaping through a hole in the top, and that the Equitable Company was laying it on excessively thick through the windpipes of the assembled company.

Six oclock arrived, and, according to contract, the supply of gas was cut off, when the balloon, that had hitherto worn such an appearance as just to give a hope that it might in time be full, began to present an aspect which induced a general fear that it must very shortly be empty. The audience began to be impatient for the promised ascent, and while the aeronaut was running about in all directions looking for the hole, and wondering how he should stop it up, I was requested by the proprietor of the gardens to step into the car, just to check the growing impatience of the audience. I was received with that unanimous shout of cheering and laughter with which a British audience always welcomes any one who appears to have got into an awkward predicament, and I sat for a few minutes, quietly expecting to be buried in the silk of the balloon, which was beginning to collapse with the greatest rapidity. The spectators becoming impatient for the promised ascent, and seeing that it could not be achieved, determined, as enlightened British audiences invariably do, that if it was not to be done, it should at all events be attempted. In vain did Mr. Hampton come forward to apologise for the trifling accident; he was met by yells, hoots, hisses, and orange-peel, and the benches were just about to be torn up, when he declared, that under any circumstances, he was determined to go upan arrangement in which I was refusing to coincidewhen, just as he had got into the car, all means of getting out were withdrawn from under usthe ropes were cut, and the ascent commenced in earnest.

The majestic machine rose slowly to the height of about eight feet, amid the most enthusiastic cheers, when it rolled over among some trees, amid the most frantic laughter. Mr. Hampton, with singular presence of mind, threw out every ounce of ballast, which caused the balloon to ascend a few feet higher, when a tremendous gust of easterly wind took us triumphantly out of the gardens, the palings of which we cleared with considerable nicety. The scene at this moment was magnificent; the silken monster, in a state of flabbiness, rolling and fluttering above, while below us were thousands of spectators, absolutely shrieking with merriment. Another gust of wind carried us rapidly forward, and, bringing us exactly in a level with a coach-stand, we literally swept, with the bottom of our car, every driver from off his box, and, of course, the enthusiasm of a British audience almost reached its climax. We now encountered the gable-end of a station-house, and the balloon being by this time thoroughly collapsed, our aerial trip was brought to an abrupt conclusion. I know nothing more of what occurred, having been carried on a shutter, in a state of

A man hangs from a fence by his trousers. SUSPENDED ANIMATION,

to my own lodging, while my companion was left to fight it out with the mob, who were so anxious to possess themselves of some memento of the occasion, that the balloon was torn to ribbons, and a fragment of it carried away by almost every one of the vast multitude which had assembled to honour him with their patronage.

I have the honour to be, yours, &c. A. SPOONEY.

FEARFUL STATE OF LONDON! A country gentleman informs us that he was horror-stricken at the sight of an apparently organised band, wearing fustian coats, decorated with curious brass badges, bearing exceedingly high numbers, who perched themselves behind the Paddington omnibuses, and, in the most barefaced and treasonable manner, urged the surrounding populace to open acts of daring violence, and wholesale arson, by shouting out, at the top of their voices, O burn, the City, and the Bank.

WHO ARE TO BE THE LORDS IN WAITING. We have lordlings in dozens, the Tories exclaim,

To fill every place from the throng;

Although the cursed Whigs, be it told to our shame,

Kept us poor lords in waiting too long.

LOOKING ON THE BLACK SIDE OF THINGS. The Honourable Sambo Sutton begs us to state, that he is not the Honourable Sutton who is announced as the Secretary for the Home Department. He might have been induced to have stepped into Lord Cottenhams shoes, on his

An Eskimo runs from a polar bear. There are seals lying on the ground. RESIGNING THE SEALS.

AWFUL CASE OF SMASHING!FRIGHTFUL NEGLIGENCE OF THE POLICE Feargus OConnor passed his word last week at the London Tavern.

NEW SWIMMING APPARATUS. At the late collision between the Beacon brig and the Topaz steamer, one of the passengers, anticipating the sinking of both vessels, and being strongly embued with the great principle of self-preservation, immediately secured himself the assistance of the anchor! Did he conceive Hope to have been unsexed, or that that attribute originally existed as a floating boy?

[pg 100] SYNCRETIC LITERATURE. The Loves of Giles Scroggins and Molly Brown: an Epic Poem. London: CATNACH.

The great essentials necessary for the true conformation of the sublimest effort of poetic genius, the construction of an Epic Poem, are numerically three; viz., a beginning, a middle, and an end. The incipient characters necessary to the beginning, ripening in the middle, and, like the drinkers of small beer and October leaves, falling in the end.

The poem being thus divided into its several stages, the judgment of the writer should emulate that of the experienced Jehu, who so proportions his work, that all and several of his required teams do their own share and no morefifteen miles (or lengths) to a first canto, and five to a second, is as far from right as such a distribution of mile-stones would be to the overworked prads. The great fault of modern poetasters arises from their extreme love of spinning out an infinite deal of nothing. Now, as brevity is the soul of wit, their productions can be looked upon as little else than phantasmagorial skeletons, ridiculous from their extreme extenuation, and in appearance more peculiarly empty, from the circumstance of their owing their existence to false lights. This fault does not exist with all the master spirits, and, though many a flower is born to blush unseen, we now proceed to rescue from obscurity the brightest gem of unfamed literature.

Wisdom is said to be found in the mouths of babes and sucklings. So is the epic poem of Giles Scroggins. Is wisdom Scroggins, or is Scroggins wisdom? We can prove either position, but we are cramped for space, and therefore leave the question open. Now for our author and his first line

Giles Scroggins courted Molly Brown.

Beautiful condensation! Is or is not this rushing at once in medias res? It is; theres no paltry subterfuge about itno unnecessary wearing out of the waning moon they met bythe stars that gazed upon their joythe whispering gales that breathed in zephyrs softest sighstheir lovers perjuries to the distracted trees they wouldnt allow to go to sleep. In short, theres no nonsensetheres a broad assertion of a thrilling fact

Giles Scroggins courted Molly Brown.

So might a thousand folks; therefore (the reader may say) how does this establish the individuality of Giles Scroggins, or give an insight to the character of the chosen hero of the poem? Mark the next line, and your doubts must vanish. He courted her; but why? Ay, why? for the best of all possible reasonscondensed in the smallest of all possible space, and yet establishing his perfect taste, unequalled judgment, and peculiarly-heroic self-esteemhe courted her because she was

The fairest maid in all the town.

Magnificent climax! overwhelming reason! Could volumes written, printed, or stereotyped, say more? Certainly not; the condensation of Auroras blushes, the Graces attributes, Venuss perfections, and Loves sweet votaries, all, all is more than spoken in the emphatic words

The fairest maid in all the town.

Nothing can go beyond this; it proves her beauty and her disinterestedness. The fairest maid might have chosen, nay, commanded, even a city dignitary. Does the so? No; Giles Scroggins, famous only in name, loves her, andbeautiful poetic contrivance!we are left to imagine he does not love unloved. Why should she reciprocate? inquires the reader. Are not truth and generosity the princely paragons of manly virtue, greater, because unostentatious? and these perfect attributes are part and parcel of great Giles. He makes no speechessoils no satin papervows no vowsno, he is above such humbug. His motto is evidently deeds, not words. And what does he do? Send a flimsy epistle, which his fair reader pays the vile postage for? Not he; he

Gave a ring with posy true!

Think of this. Not only does he give a ring, but he annihilates the suppositionary fiction in which poets are supposed to revel, and the rings accompaniment, though the child of a creative brainthe burning emanation from some Apollo-stricken votary of the lying nine, imbued with all his stern morality, is strictly true. This startling fact is not left wrapped in mystery. The veriest sceptic cannot, in imagination, grave a fancied double meaning on that richest gift. Nothe motto follows, and seems to sayNow, as the champion of Giles Scroggins, hurl I this gauntlet down; let him that dare, uplift it! Here I am

If you loves I, as I loves you!

Pray mark the syncretic force of the above line. Giles, in expressing his affection, felt the singular too small, and the vast plural quick supplied the voidLoves must be more than love.

If you loves I, as I loves you,

No knife shall cut our loves in two!

This is really sublime! No knife! Can anything exceed the assertion? Nothing but the rejoindera rejoinder in which the talented author not only stands proudly forward as a poet, but patriotically proves the amor propriæ, which has induced him to study the staple manufactures of his beloved country! What but a diligent investigation of the cutlerian process could have prompted the illustration of practical knowledge of the Birmingham and Sheffield artificers contained in the following exquisitely explanatory line. Butpray mark the but

But scissors cut as well as knives!

Sublime announcement! startling information! leading us, by degrees, to the highest of all earthly contemplations, exalting us to fate and her peculiar shears, and preparing us for the exquisitely poetical sequel contained in the following line:

And so unsartains all our lives.

Can anything exceed this? The uncertainty of life evidently superinduced the conviction of all other uncertainties, and the sublime poet bears out the intenseness of his impressions by the uncertainty of his spelling! Now, reader, mark the next line, and its context:

The very night they were to wed!

Fancy this: the full blossoming of all their budding joys, anticipations, death, and hopes accomplishment, the crowning hour of their youths great bliss, the very night they were to wed, is, with extra syncretic skill, chosen as the awful one in which

Fates scissors cut Giles Scroggins thread!

Now, reader, do you see the subtle use of practical knowledge? Are you convinced of the impotent prescription from knives only? Can you not perceive in Fates scissors a parallel for the unthought-of host that bore the mighty wood of Dunsinane against the blood-stained murderer of the pious Duncan? Does not the fatal truth rush, like an unseen draught into rheumatic crannies, slick through your souls perception? Are you not prepared for thisto be resumed in our next?

THE NEW ADMINISTRATION. FROM OUR OWN COURT CIRCULAR. Lord Lyndhurst is to have the seals; but it is not yet decided who is to be entrusted with the wafer-stamps. Gold-stick has not been appointed, and there are so many of the Conservatives whose qualities peculiarly fit them for the office of stick, that the choice will be exceedingly embarrassing.

Though the Duke of Wellington does not take office, an extra chair has been ordered, to allow of his having a seat in the Cabinet. And though Lord Melbourne is no longer minister, he is still to be indulged with a lounge on the sofa.

If the Duke of Beaufort is to be Master of the Horse, it is probable that a new office will be made, to allow Colonel Sibthorp to take office as Comptroller of the Donkeys: and it is said that Horace Twiss is to join the administration as Clerk of the Kitchen.

It was remarked, that after Sir Robert Peel had kissed hands, the Queen called for soap and water, for the purpose of washing them.

The Duchess of Buccleugh having refused the office of Mistress of the Robes, it will not be necessary to make the contemplated new appointment of Keeper of the Flannel Petticoats.

The Grooms of the Bedchamber are, for the future, to be styled Postilions of the Dressing-room; because, as the Sovereign is a lady, instead of a gentleman, it is thought that the latter title, for the officers alluded to, will be more in accordance with propriety. For the same excellent reason, it is expected that the Knights of the Bath will henceforth be designated the Chevaliers of the Foot-pan.