Chapter V: Introduction: Volume Xxv.----July to December, 1853 (4)

20, 21, 22. These three last clawses says nothin, and so there's nothin to say about 'em, unless to notice the stoopidity of sayin' that this Act and two others shall be read as one, as if anybody could read three Acts of Parlyment at a time, and think he is only readin' one--but it's just like 'em.

* * * * *

CHAGRIN FOR OLD COMMODORES.

A recent leading article in the _Times_ quotes a return, which has been obtained by MR. HUME, of certain statistics relative to flogging in the Navy; whence it appears that the amount of human torture inflicted on British sailors, represented in the aggregate by 40,545 lashes during the year 1848, had declined in 1852 to 17,571. In commenting on this decrease in the torment of seamen, the _Times_ remarks, that this "odious species of punishment is falling more and more into disuse;" and, moreover, that

"Anything like a frequent resort to it is taken to reflect
discredit, not only upon the whole ship's company, but upon the
officers in command."

If a return could be procured of the number of imprecations uttered on reading the above passage, by bluff old retired admirals and superannuated sea-captains, in clubs and coffee-rooms at our various sea-ports, where they are accustomed to growl over the degeneracy of the service, we should probably be presented with a startling array of figures. By the stigma which is cast upon the discipline which these veterans, for the most part, boast of having maintained, their feelings must be as cruelly lacerated as they themselves ever caused the backs of their men to be.

* * * * *

POISONOUS PUFFS.

Something has been done, of late, towards the abatement of nuisances. Cinder-heaps have been swept away, sewers trapped, cesspools closed, and laystalls removed from under our noses. There still remains, however, a great deal of noxious and offensive stuff to be got rid of; particularly since, instead of merely contaminating our air and water, it infects the fountains of our current information. It taints the library, it defiles the drawing-room table. This graveolent evil is the pest of soiled newspapers--journals of ill savour--not imparted by any fetid sort of printers' ink, but by vile advertisements, whereat the physical nostrils, indeed, are not offended: but the moral nose is in great indignation.

An obscure and narrow street through which few respectable persons, and no ladies, ever pass, bears a scandalous name, and is considered a disgrace to the metropolis, by reason of the sort of literature displayed in its windows, which is precisely of the same quality as the advertisements alluded to; and these, in the columns of reputable and even "serious" journals, get introduced into families, and lie about the house, to attract the notice, and obtain the perusal, of the younger members of the establishment, male and female.

You may take up--or what is of more consequence--your little boy or girl may take up--a newspaper, and read, on one side of it, a leading article which might be preached out of a pulpit: on the other a series of turpitudes unfit for utterance under any circumstances.

These atrocities are heightened to the point of perfection by the circumstance that they are the puffs of a set of rascally quacks, not the least mischievous of whose suggestions are the recommendations of their own medicines--poison for the body which they vend to simpletons, whilst they disseminate mental poison gratis, both in the advertisements themselves, and in books which form the subject of them, in addition to the other poison.

As the newspaper-proprietors whose journals are sullied by these putrescences may be of opinion that the odour of gain, from whatever source derived, is agreeable, and, therefore, preserve them as rather fragrant than otherwise, the following exhortation has been addressed to their customers:--

"It rests with you--with you alone, newspaper readers, to stop the
torrent. And you can do it, without expense, and with but little
self-denial. Let each individual that receives this appeal write
without delay to the editor of the paper he reads, whenever he sees
it defiled by one of these easily-recognised advertisements, and say
that, unless its insertion is discontinued, he cannot, in
conscience, any longer patronise the publication. Whatever your
station may be, you can do something; and the higher it is, the
greater is your influence and responsibility. On country gentlemen
rests mainly the persistence of the evil in provincial papers; they
can, and we trust they will stop it. Let, too, each one of you that
are advertisers, be you publishers, men of business, authors,
masters seeking servants, or servants seeking masters, refuse to
appear any more in such company, and let it be known at the
newspaper office why you withhold your patronage."

The above paragraph is extracted from the prospectus of a society which has been formed for the special purpose of suppressing this villanous pufferty. The association is entitled "The Union for Discouragement of Vicious Advertisements;" and we hope it will succeed in closing a channel of communication which has all the qualities, except the utility, of a gutter.

* * * * *

THE ECCLESIASTICAL AUCTION MART.

"DEAR PUNCH,

Going the other day into an auction-room in a large commercial town, with the view of purchasing a small fancy business, I found that having already disposed of it, and of a cheesemonger's good-will and stock, the auctioneer was endeavouring to sell a _church_, on whose merits he was expatiating much in the following terms:--

"Come, Gentlemen, pray give attention
To the Lot I'm now going to sell;
For it don't want a poet's invention
Its manifold merits to tell.
If a gift, or of praying or preaching,
In any one present has shone,
He may further exemplify each in
The church, _now put up_, of St. John.

It is not some old weather-worn building,
Clad with ivy, and mouldering and grey,
But as fresh as paint, varnish, and gilding
Could make it, 'twas made 't other day;
And if any, who hear me, are pinning
Their faith some one order upon,
I can tell them they'll find a beginning
Of all orders and styles, at St. John.

"It is held of the Town Corporation
For a term, at a peppercorn rent,
And will surely reward speculation
To the tune of some fifty per cent.
The fixtures are mats, stools, and hassocks,
And (as second-hand garments to don
Is the fashion with curates) the cassocks
Of the late worthy priest of St. John.

"If the sittings (not counting the free seats
Which are placed in the draught near the door),
Be computed, I think there must _be_ seats
For nine hundred pew-renters or more;
Then the district quite swarms with young ladies,
And the tenant who's recently gone,
From the slippers they worked him, quite paid his
Clerk, sexton, and choir of St. John.

By the bishop its licence was granted;
But the owners no bid will reject--
As the cash is immediately wanted--
From any persuasion or sect.
There, the Jumper may practise gymnastics;
There the Ranter's glib tongue may run on;
Turks or Hindoos, or Buddhists, or Aztecs,
May use, if they pay for, St. John.

Ha! a Thousand! a Rapper then offers;
Fifteen hundred! the Mormons exclaim.
Come, Gentlemen, open your coffers,
For your biddings are terribly tame.
Two thousand! Not half enough! Yet it
Must go to the Rappers; Going! Gone!
The key's with the sexton, Sir; get it,
And yours is the church of St. John."

* * * * *

OUR METEOROLOGICAL REPORT.

The public is much indebted to a gentleman named LOWE, who lives at Bermondsey, and writes every day to the _Times_, to inform the world which way the wind blew on the preceding day, how much rain fell late in the evening, what amount of cloud was floating about at a particular hour of the day, and other equally interesting particulars. On Tuesday this gentleman reports his detection of some "cirri," and he kindly writes to the _Times_ to give the world the benefit of the discovery.

Anxious to make ourselves generally useful, we have attempted a few meteorological observations on our own account, and the following is the report we have to offer:--

Barometer fell--to the ground and smashed.

Thermometer rose to blood heat--having been turned upside down by an infant.

Direction of wind--right in our own face.

Amount of rain--.001 in. in our umbrella stand.

Amount of cloud--9 from our own tobacco-pipe. Should our scientific observations as recorded above tend to throw any light upon anything, we are more than satisfied.

* * * * *

OH DEAR NO! OLD BR----GGS IS _NOT_ DEAD--HE HAS TAKEN TO YACHTING FOR THE BENEFIT OF HIS HEALTH.]

* * * * *

A BIG BROTHER OF MERCY.

Besides the Plymouth Brethren, there are the Plymouth Sisters, called Sisters of Mercy. These ladies, however, appear to stand in the relationship of Sister to something else than Mercy; to Choler, we may say, and Choler unbridled, so to speak, and rather asinine.

The _Morning Post_ published the other day a correspondence between a MR. J. D. CHAMBERS and MR. PHINN, M.P., which will probably be considered to supply the foregoing remark with some foundation.

There is, it appears, among the Sisters of Mercy, a lady who is also the sister of MR. CHAMBERS. On her behalf MR. CHAMBERS writes a letter to MR. PHINN, to demand whether he, in his place in Parliament, made certain statements respecting the community to which she belongs, imputing to them systematic fraud and hypocrisy, and the endeavour to convert their institution into a Roman Catholic nunnery.

MR. PHINN replies that he might decline to answer MR. CHAMBERS, on the ground of privilege, as well as on that of the intemperance and want of courtesy displayed in MR. CHAMBERS'S letter--which rights, however, he waives; says that he cannot reconcile newspaper reports of his words, nor exactly remember those which he used; but denies that his language, as reported by any of the papers, conveys the imputations alluded to by MR. CHAMBERS, or that he made odious and unsupported accusations of fraud and dishonesty against the ladies in question.

MR. PHINN then proceeds to remind his peppery correspondent that the late QUEEN DOWAGER felt it her duty, after strict investigation, to withdraw her support from the Society, on the ground that its doctrines were at variance with those of the Established Church.

To this reply MR. CHAMBERS rejoins, reiterating his statements as to the imputation of fraud and duplicity, and concluding in the following polite terms:--

"My duty, therefore, as her (his sister's) protector, is simply to
tell you, in plain words, that as such your accusations are false."

Everybody, of course, knows that the Sisters of Mercy form that celebrated community which rejoices under the superintendance of a single lady, writing herself "Y^e Mother Sup^r;" not being a mother, or even a mother-in-law, or a mother in any sense known to the law, or in any sense whatever except a Roman Catholic one.

MR. PHINN merely expresses an opinion about the Sisters of Mercy, which is entertained by most other people, saving Puseyites at a temperature of red heat. The charge against him of making false accusations is itself an accusation that is untrue.

The convent, or whatever it calls itself, of the Sisters of Mercy, is no doubt a highly respectable, though a pseudo-Roman Catholic concern. Before MR. CHAMBERS figures again as the "big brother," he should not only make sure that the honour of his relative has been impugned, but it will be well for him to consider whether he does her quasi-nunnery much good by constituting himself a bully to the establishment.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE EARL-KING;

OR, THE EARL OF SHAFTESBURY AND THE JUVENILE MENDICANT.

Who lurks in the slums? Who goes ragged and wild?
A villanous father and vagabond child;
That urchin roams prowling, of swag in pursuit,
By begging and stealing to keep the old brute.

"Oh father! oh father! that rum cove d'ye twig?
He looks so hard at me--he knows I'm a Prig!
To hook it, and mizzle, my best way would be."
"No, stoopid, that cove ain't no crusher--not he."

"Oh father! oh father! he keeps looking here;
He's coming to nab me--that 'ere blessed Peer;
It is the Earl-King with his Book and his School."
"No, no, 'tis some pantiler only, you fool."

"Hi! wilt thou come with me, neglected young wretch?
I'll shield thee, I'll save thee, from gaol and JACK KETCH,
In work and in study thy time I'll employ,
And feed thee, and clothe thee, and teach thee, my boy."

"Oh father! oh father! you'd best let me go;
There's the Earl-King's new Hact; and they'll take me, I know:
And you'll have to fork out too, yourself, by and by."
"Oh gammon, oh gammon! that 'ere's all my eye."'

"Come, come, and be taught, you young varlet, I say,
Or else, silly child, I shall walk thee away."
"Oh father! oh father! I know'd I was right:
The Earl-King has grabbed me!--got hold of me tight."

The nice father put down his pipe and his pot,
And around him, bewildered, he stared like a sot:
"Hallo! you young beggar, vere are yer?" he said.
But the poor boy to school with the Earl-King had fled!

* * * * *

OUR HONEYMOON.

SATURDAY, MAY 25, 18--

I cannot but confess it--I felt hurt, twitted by the easiness, the unconcern of FRED. Of course I should have thought it very foolish, nay, worse in him, to be jealous. That would have been ridiculous, unworthy of him. Nevertheless, I could not help endeavouring to place myself in his situation--to enter into the feelings of a husband, and to think myself a man!

That a letter--and such a letter--should have been sent to me, was, of course, a mistake. But, for all that--putting myself in the place of a man and a husband--for that was, of course, the most reasonable and the most natural way for a woman to come to a right conclusion--I could not have been so calm, so tranquil, I may, indeed, say--so stone-cold. Indeed, judging, moreover, from my own feelings as a woman and a wife, it would have been impossible: not that I'm of a jealous habit of mind. No, certainly; I should say, quite the reverse. Still, it is quite plain, that if we really value and love a thing--we must be anxious accordingly. _That_ is but natural. Nevertheless, I cannot disguise it from myself that FRED--even after he had handed me the letter to read, and I--all in a twitter I must say--had read it to him, did nothing but laugh. I've no doubt he was very right; and yet, if I know myself and I'd been in his place--I don't think I should have _laughed._

"Read the letter, LOTTY,"--cried FRED--"by all means read it; it may amuse us."

"To be sure," said I; "not that it can be for _me_." And then, when I opened the stupid bit of paper, it seemed to scorch my face and something came into my throat, as I began to read the ridiculous words--'_My dear and beautiful girl._'

"Must be a mistake," cried FRED: though I thought I saw him just bite his lip, and just a little wrinkle his eye brows. "But go on."

"'_I have beheld you in silent admiration; but now I feel longer silence impossible!_' I shan't read any more," said I, "for how can it concern me--I mean _us_?"

"Go on," cried FRED, hooking his fore-finger round his nose and rubbing it in his manner, when he is thinking.

'_It is plain you were intended for a brighter destiny than what has befallen you._'

"Come," said FRED in his aggravating way, "that's no compliment to me."

"To you! Then, if it comes to that," said I, "and if for a minute you think this stuff was written to me, you may read the rest yourself." And with this--with all the spirit I could--I flung the letter _at him_. Yes; at him; and as he looked up, and a little astonished, but more hurt, as I thought, opened his eyes at me--I felt myself so wrong, so rebuked, that I flung my arms about his neck, and the next snatched up the note to tear it to pieces.

"Stop, LOTTY;" cried FRED; "as it is not our property, we've no right to destroy it." And then he put the letter in his breast pocket; and, as he did so, I had a twinge of the heart, a cold chill, for all the world as though he had put a viper there.

"FRED, dear FRED," said I, and what ailed me I couldn't tell; but all I recollect was that saying or stammering, "let us go home," I fell upon his neck; and after awhile coming to myself, I found JOSEPHINE--now pale and now flustered--at my side. But still the wish was in my thoughts. "_Do_, do let us go home."

"Well, LOTTY, love; we _will_ go home. In a little while; a very little while; a day or two"--

"Now, FRED; to-day."

"Why, to-day, LOTTY, is impossible. The fact is, I expect--but never mind;" and I felt sure there was something FRED was hiding from me, something I ought to know. But before I could reply, he took his hat and left the room. I don't know what could have possessed me; but, for the minute, I felt alone--all alone in the world; and the next, such a newer, deeper love--I had thought it impossible to be so--for FREDERICK; and then--but JOSEPHINE was present, looking so curiously at me, that I was directly called to myself.

"You'd never think of going home, Ma'am, without a peep at France?" said JOSEPHINE.

"What I think can in no way concern you," I replied very freezingly; for, somehow, I could not _quite_ understand JOSEPHINE'S looks.

"Certainly not, Ma'am; only to be so near France, and not to cross, what would people say? And lace I'm told so cheap there! Not that I wish to go myself. Certainly not. Oh dear no. Old England for me. I'm sure I can stay here till you come back with the greatest pleasure in--no, not exactly that: still, Ma'am, I _can_ stay."

And the more she talked, and the more I looked at her, the more she seemed in a sort of pucker and flurry that--I'm not suspicious: still, it did appear mysterious.

"I shall not go to France. We shall return straight home, and you may, or may not--just as you please, JOSEPHINE, so make it entirely agreeable to yourself--go back with us, or stay here alone." And with this, I left the room to join FRED; and he--I discovered to my great annoyance--had gone out. Gone out! It was very odd.

I couldn't rest indoors. So, without a word to JOSEPHINE, I put on my things--snatched them on I should rather say--and followed FRED. Up and down the beach--but no signs of him. Where _could_ he be?

As the time went on, and I continued to look for and expect him, I could scarcely contain myself. I sat down upon the beach; and the sun, setting, looked so magnificent. I tried to calm and comfort myself, making out a home in the clouds. Such a home! With such gardens and golden plains and palaces of ruby pillars--but no; it wouldn't do. And I felt all the angrier that I had so tried to cheat myself.

At the moment, who should glide past me--not seeing me, as I thought--but the very gypsey child who had brought that foolish bouquet, and that stupid note!

I resolved, taking a minute's counsel with myself, to discover the individual who had employed the gypsey; so followed the child, who suddenly seemed to guess my determination. "Want a nosegay, Ma'am?" said the girl. "Buy a nosegay to get me a bit of bread."

"Now, if I buy this nosegay"--and the little creature looked at me with her glittering eyes, as much as to say--in her artful manner--she was quite a match for me--"Will you tell me the truth?"

"Yes, lady; that I will, whether you buy or not, and sixpence will be cheap at the money."

"Well, then, who told you to bring me that nosegay yesterday?"

"Oh," cried the perplexing creature, with a burst of enjoyment, jumping up and down--"such a gen'l'man! Give me a shilling."

"And how did you know me--I mean, did he point me out to you?"--

"Yes;" answered the little elf--for she looked to me like a mischievous sprite, she laughed as I thought so wickedly--"yes: you was with another."

"Another?"--

"Yes: but that was in the fore-part of the day; and you both went away so quick, that you give me no chance; and the gen'l'man called me back. When I seed you in the arternoon, then I give it you."

"And what sort of a--a gentleman?"

"He's now a walking--or was a walking just by the--but would you like to see him?"

"No; certainly not."

"'Cause you can. Give me sixpence, and I'll shew him you, and say nothin'--not a word, my lady. Only round here--'tisn't a minute. I'll walk first."

Without a thought, I was about to follow the child, when FREDERICK coming behind me, laid his hand upon my arm. "LOTTY, my dear," and without looking at him, I thought I should have dropped at his voice.

"FREDERICK!"

"Not going to have your fortune told?" and he glanced at the gypsey.

"My dear FRED, this, you will remember, is the child that"--

"I know," said FRED, as the gypsey with a caper took to her heels. "I know; but LOTTY, my love, you have surely forgotten an old friend? My bridesman, TOM TRUEPENNY."

It was MR. TRUEPENNY. He had come to Brighton upon business; FRED saw him as he alighted from the coach. "He didn't want to break upon us," said FRED: "for you know what a shy, modest fellow TOM is; but I said you'd be delighted to see him."

"Delighted, indeed, FRED," said I.

"Delighted, indeed," stammered MR. TRUEPENNY, colouring like a girl.

"He has a little business to do, but has promised to join us in the evening," said FRED.

"Oh, certainly, with pleasure--in the evening," said TRUEPENNY.

"You'll not fail, TOM?" cried Fred, holding up his finger.

"Depend on my punctuality," replied MR. TRUEPENNY. And then--strangely confused as I thought--he bowed to me, and hurried off.

"He's an excellent fellow," said FRED.

"It was very lucky that you met him, FRED," said I.

"_Very_," answered FRED.

* * * * *

THE IRRESISTIBLES; OR, HORSE GUARDS (BLACK).

It is to be hoped that all those cab-drivers who are dissatisfied with the Hackney Carriage Act will enlist in the British army. A regiment of these fellows would carry everything before them; no troops whatever could stand their charge.

* * * * *

NEWSPAPER PROMOTION.--The "ENORMOUS STRAWBERRY" to the columns of the provincial newspapers, _vice_ the "ENORMOUS GOOSEBERRY", broken for incapacity.

* * * * *

WHAT I SAW, HEARD, AND THOUGHT AT CHOBHAM.

(_By one who has mentally been there_).

I saw the Light Cavalry so heavily accoutred that it seemed a perfect farce ever to have ordered them on "active" service.

I saw the Infantry dressed in such torturingly tight coats, that it appeared a bitter mockery to bid them "stand at ease:" and I thought that what made them smart on parade must make them anything but smart in actual service.

I saw the troops generally learning to stand water as well as to stand fire: and I thought a drenching shower rather seemed to damp their military ardour.

I thought that most of the regiments, in attacking a sham enemy, would be attacked by a real one in the shape of rheumatism: while many a brave fellow who never owned to a defeat would return to his quarters completely weather-beaten.

I heard young ENSIGN DRAWLINGTON complain that it was a "horwid baw fa fla who's--aw--fond of Opwa and Clabs--and--aw--that sorthing, to be fawced to leave town for this fernal camp affaiaw:" and I thought the gallant officer would feel considerably more at home in the Theatre of St. James's than in the Theatre of War.

I saw a force of nearly two dozen policemen sent to keep in order nearly ten thousand men: and I thought that the "force" should be rather called a "weakness" on the part of the Government.

In short, I saw on all sides sufficient ground for thinking that there are few finer fields for observation just at present than the field at Chobham; although, as an area for military manoeuvering, it is not to be compared with many an area in Knightsbridge.

* * * * *

WHAT IS A CABMAN'S MILE?

The question of "What is a Mile?" is likely to take its place by the side of the important question "What is a Pound?" in the annals of political--or some other kind of--economy. Since the new Act has come into force--or rather into operation, for its potency is not yet much felt--there has been a fearful conflict of opinion between the cab-drivers and the public as to what is a mile. It is evident that there must be an appendix added to all the books on arithmetic, for the purpose of including Cab Measure, which is quite distinct from any other measure we have yet met with, and is about as diametrically opposed to Long Measure, as chalk is to any caseal or curdy compound. In the eyes of a cabman, "a miss is as good as a mile;" in fact, anything is as good as a mile for his--that is to say for his passenger's--money.

Any one who takes a cab from the West End to go over the water, whether by Westminster or Waterloo, may think himself fortunate if he is not involved in a sort of "Six-Mile-Bridge affair," by the demand of the cabman for three shillings, as the fare for passing one of the bridges. We can scarcely wonder at the easy familiarity of a cab-driver; for there is no one who seems so utterly incapable of keeping his distance. We trust, however, that the new Act will enable us to have justice brought to our own door, by handing a cabman at once over to the police, when a driver gives us a good setting down in a double sense, by insulting us after taking us to our destination. We may, in fact, now hope that a cabman's abuse--as well as his distance--will have to be measured.

* * * * *

A DETERMINED DUELLIST.

It is said that a celebrated, otherwise a notorious peer, disappointed of satisfaction at the hands of a certain illustrious Earl, has, in his despair, resolved to call out the Man in the Moon. He will quite as soon take the shine out of him as out of the distinguished Earl in question. But then it must not be forgotten that the challenger is a "LONG" shot.

* * * * *

AN UNDERTAKER'S LIVE JOB.

A Cabman, who does not approve of sixpenny fares, wishes to know if the Law will bury him now that it has screwed him down?

* * * * *

QUERY.--Whether Mr. GEORGE BUTT, M.P., who opposed MR. PHILLIMORE'S motion for amending the laws against simony, may be looked upon as one of the buttresses of the Established Church?

* * * * *

THE OLDEST CHANCERY SUIT IN THE WORLD.

On many occasions we have heard of the father of the bar, the father of the City, and of the father of lies; but a discovery has just been made of something which may be perhaps likened to the last, in other matters besides antiquity. We allude to the father of equity, or what we believe to be the oldest suit in Chancery. This precious relic was dug up a few days ago, and its tattered remains were exposed for a few minutes to the air in the Court of VICE-CHANCELLOR KINDERSLEY. It arose out of a bill filed nearly a hundred years ago; and we need not say that it must be by this time a precious old file that keeps the tattered old thing together. It was a bill to distribute all the property of an old Scotchman among all his poor relations, and as the Scotch can always scrape or scratch a relationship with each other, and as the relations of a Scotchman are certain to be poor enough to want something, the whole of Scotland may be said to have been more or less interested in the suit in question. Four hundred and sixty-three persons had already made out a claim, and the descendants of all these are now contending with the descendants of another batch of poor Scotchmen with "itching palms," who have filed bills of reviver for the purpose of galvanising this spectral old suit, which still haunts, like a ghost, the Courts of Chancery.

The Vice-Chancellor made an order for a reviver, "no one appearing to oppose;" and, indeed, who could have appeared but a few ghosts of dead legatees to demur to the galvanising of this sepulchral business? We are satisfied that his Honour, when making the inquiry if "any one appeared to oppose," must have felt, with a shudder, that he was performing a species of incantation, and that to call upon any one to "appear" under such circumstances was almost equivalent to an invocation of _Zamiel_. The "suit," however, is to be permitted again to walk the earth for a time by the agency of a bill of "reviver," and we suppose it will disappear at the cock crow of the long vacation, to come forth again in the dark days of term-time during the ensuing November.

* * * * *

WILD FLOWERS FROM CANADA.

MR. PUNCH has had much pleasure in receiving a newspaper from some of his friends in West Canada. It is called the _Hamilton Spectator_, and _Mr. Punch_ cannot give a higher idea of the excellence of the journal than by mentioning that the first article in the number sent him is from his own pen. So long as the colonists keep such models before them they may safely be trusted with any amount of "self-government."

He must, however, confess himself rather less pleased with a report contained in the next page of the _Hamilton Spectator_. It is an account of the latest proceedings in the House of Assembly. The House was in "Committee of Supply," and salaries, printing expenses, and such matters were in discussion. The report shall speak for itself.

"The next item was L15,094 for expenses at Spencer Wood. MR.
MACKENZIE objected to it; saying, that he supposed COLONEL PRINCE
would like to treat him as he had once treated the poor prisoners at
Sandwich, who were shot accordingly. But if the Honourable Member
could do so, it would not prevent him from doing his duty to his
country.

"COLONEL PRINCE looked on MR. MACKENZIE as a reptile, and trod on
him as such. For the Member for Haldimand to talk of these times,
when he practised rebellion, murder, and mail robbery! It was lucky
for him he (COLONEL PRINCE) did not catch him, for by the Holy
Moses, if he had, the Honourable Member would never have been seen
again on the floor of that House. He wished the Honourable Member
had come over then, and by the Holy Moses he would have speedily
sent him to Heaven. He would have given him a soldier's death, and
have thus saved the country many thousand pounds. The Member for
Haldimand was an itinerant mendicant, who earned a fortune by
sitting in that House and getting a pound a day, because he could
not get a fortune anywhere else. He concluded by assuring the
Honourable Member that, friendly as he was to independence, if he
ever caught him again in the position which he had once been in, he
would hang him.

"The resolution was then carried."

Now, this is really rather strong for a Committee of Supply. The Irish Members at home are somewhat turgid and blatant; but, except that MR. GRATTAN (the present one, not the clever one, of course) once intimated that he should like to have the head of one of the Ministers--and really no one wanted a head more than MR. GRATTAN--we do not think that this very emphatic style has been introduced into the English legislature. Imagine MR. GLADSTONE, on the estimates, intimating that he should like to hang SIR JOHN PAKINGTON, for objecting to one of the items, and enforcing his intimation by an appeal to the "Holy Moses."

On the whole, _Mr. Punch_ is disposed to suggest to his colonial friends (over whose fortunes he watches with the utmost interest) that there is one species of "self government" to which they seem hardly to have given sufficient attention. It is personal. Therefore, _Mr. Punch_, who is never personal, will say no more about it.

* * * * *

GOLD FOUND IN ENGLAND.

There seems to be at last a prospect of a check being put to the rush to the Diggings by the discovery of gold in England, and, indeed, it stands to reason that if there is gold at the Antipodes, we have only to dig deep enough down in order to get to it from this side of the world, instead of from the other. Supposing that there is abundance of gold in "the bed of the Turon," we have nothing to do but to get under the bed here instead of going all the way to Sydney for the purpose of getting into the bed in question.

A paragraph in the _Kent Mail_ announces the discovery of gold at Canterbury in such a decided form, that we hope it may check the insane emigration of those who are rushing off to Australia to live under canvas, without any of the comforts or decencies of civilisation, with the idea that gold, and nothing but gold, constitutes "prosperity." The following is the paragraph to which we have alluded:--

"CANTERBURY GOLDFISHINGS.--During Friday and Saturday last a barber
in the Friar saw something looking much like sovereigns at the
bottom of the river Stow, but thought they were only buttons, and
not worth his trouble to get. He repeatedly counted them, to the
number of 17. Having, however, communicated to others what he had
seen, two young fellows got a boat, and forthwith picked up a
number, which proved to be true and veritable sovereigns. The report
getting afloat, other persons inspected different parts of the
river, and in various places found many more. Altogether above
50_l._ has been recovered in this way; and at the bottom of
Fortune's Passage, St. Mildred's, a hair watchguard, with two gold
keys and a seal attached, was taken from the river; and at another
spot a portion of a mourning ring was picked up."

We may expect, after the publicity we are now giving to this affair, that the outskirts of Canterbury will soon be turned into a "Canvas Town," and that there will be an unprecedented demand for fishing-tackle to supply those who will make a rush to the goldfishings. It will be observed that the Canterbury gold discoveries are superior in many respects to the Australian, for while in the latter the precious metal is in its rough state, the gold found at Canterbury is met with in the very convenient form of gold keys, seals, and sovereigns.

Some people have been puzzling themselves rather seriously with the inquiry, how it is that gold has been found in the river Stow?--but we have no hesitation in accounting for the fact by stating, that this wealth must be the result of the washings of the adjacent see, which is well known to be one of the richest, if not the very richest, in the whole world. We mean, of course, the See of Canterbury.

* * * * *

A LIKELY JOKE.

According to the _Liverpool Standard_, the Irish have been quarrelling amongst themselves at Liverpool; but from our contemporary's version of the affair, we are inclined to doubt this intrinsically very improbable circumstance. That narrative states that the row apparently originated as follows:--

"An Orangeman complained that a Papist boy had thrown some dirt at
him."

Orangemen never complain groundlessly of Papist boys, and Papist boys never throw dirt--either literally or figuratively. Dirt!--how are they to come by it? Who ever saw or smelt any such thing as dirt in any the most remote connexion with a "Papist boy?"

* * * * *

CHANGES IN THE CAMP.

It is found that the late wet weather at Chobham has had a most singularly contrasting effect upon the potatory propensities of the officers who have been stationed there. For while the bibulous have been reduced to most unpalatable tent-and-water, the temperate have been rarely known to get to bed without a thorough "soaking."

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE HAT-MOVING TRICK.

For some time past we have seen in the country papers that a great many parties have been given for the purpose of trying the hat-moving experiment. We are not at all disposed to quarrel with the fact, for we are decidedly of a social turn ourselves, and we rejoice to find that party-spirit is so favourably progressing. But the experiment is so certain to be introduced at parties, that we cannot say we see the use of giving them expressly for the purpose of its trial. The motion may in fact be legally regarded as a "motion of course:" as inseparable from a party as white kid gloves and flirting. We would simply put it to the reader, whether, in the whole course of his social experience, he ever recollects being present at a party where, by the time he went away, his hat was not "moved" from the peg on which he hung it. For ourselves, indeed, we may confidently assert that at 99 at least out of a 100 "squeezes" we have attended this season, our hat has been so severely "operated upon" in our absence from the cloak-room, that we have scarcely had an inch of brim left us to walk home in. In fact, on more than one occasion, the operators have so far succeeded in their "moving" as to have moved it altogether off the premises by the time we wanted it: but this has only happened, we believe, when by some unlucky accident we have so far forgot ourselves as to have brought a new one.

* * * * *

ADVICE TO GABBLING M.P.'S.--When you resolve upon making a speech, copy the cook who, preparing a sheep's head, never dishes up the tongue without the brains.

* * * * *

WHAT IS THE HOUSE OF KEYS?

The _Court Circular_ tells us that a deputation from "the House of Keys" had an interview with one of the official somebodies or nobodies at Downing Street the other day, and MR. WILSON, M.P., told the House of Commons the other evening that he had a series of resolutions by "the House of Keys" in his possession. After some research we find that "the House of Keys" is something or other in the Isle of Man, answering probably to the vestry of a parish, the beadledom of an arcade, or some other small local authority.

We should like to be present at a debate among "the Keys," for we are curious to know whether they allude to each other as the "Honourable Member for Street Door," "the Honourable and Learned Member for Padlock," or "the Gallant and Distinguished representative of Tea-caddy." We do not quite understand the principle of election that can prevail in the Isle of Man, if its council consists of nothing but a bunch of keys; and we are rather puzzled to guess whether the franchise attaches to persons or things, and whether it would be the door or the owner of the door, the watch or the owner of the watch, that would send "a Key" to Parliament. There is one peculiarity of result in having a House of Keys instead of a House of Commons; for, of course, in an assembly where the members are all keys they would be unable to deal with any open question. Perhaps, however, we may have mistaken the sort of "Keys" of which the "House" in the Isle of Man is composed, and the members may be mere musical "keys"--a set of sharps and flats, playing any tune, just like any other house of representatives. We cannot conclude without remarking that a very long debate in "the House of Keys" would remind one of "a lock jaw," though the association is not agreeable.

* * * * *

CONJURING AT CHOBHAM.

Alarmists needlessly we are not, and would never prematurely frighten any nervous reader. But we really think it is our duty to apprise the nation, that on paying a visit to the Camp the other evening, we discovered that the men were all turned in-to straw!

_Russian._ "OH, IT'S MY FUN! I ONLY WANT TO FRIGHTEN THE LITTLE FELLOW."]

* * * * *

THE POTMAN AND THE PRAETOR.--(A LAY OF THE MIDDLESEX SESSIONS).

_See Times, July 14._

FLATULEIUS, the advocate,
His client's cause hath sped,
And ADAMUS, the stern Praetor,
Hath reared his learned head;
He hath summed up to the jury
With digressions, by the way,
On juvenile offenders
And the topics of the day.

Till BIBULUS, the foreman,
That was beer-bemused before,
By the Praetor's various learning
Is mystified still more;
And with the eleven, his comrades,
More obfuscate e'en than he,
Hath been led forth by the lictor,
On their verdict to agree.

They have sworn another jury,
They have called another case,
An hour hath passed, but BIBULUS
Hath not yet shown his face,
And the learned Praetor wonders
What the fools can be about,
For he told them what their verdict
Ought to be when they went out.

When, sudden, a plebeian
Excited, rushes in,
And, in a voice that drowneth
E'en FLATULEIUS' din,
Exclaimeth to the Praetor,
"My Lord, a party here
Says, as how them blessed jury
Is a drinkin' pots o' beer."

"Ho! call the recreant lictor!"
The angry Praetor cried.
"'Twas his to guard the doorway
That nought might be supplied--
Nor meat, nor drink, nor firing,
Excepting candle-light;
For so the Law enacteth,
And the Law is always right!"

The lictor comes--"Thou traitor!
The law dost thou deride?
How came liquor to the jury?
How was the beer supplied?"
"My lord, I heard 'em drinking,
And found out that their lay
Was to summon forth the potman
Of the public o'er the way,
Who through the open window
The pewter did convey."

One moment paused the Praetor,
And with an angry blush,
For the Common Law thus outraged,
His awful face did flush.
One moment you had fancied
He was about to swear;
But he checked the rising impulse,
And spoke with awful air:

"Bring forth to me the landlord
Of the public o'er the way;
Say 'tis the Law that calls him,
And the Law brooks no delay.
And summon, too, the potman--
Him who supplied the beer--
And now bring foreman BIBULUS
And his bold comrades here!"

With stealthy hand, still wiping
The froth from off his chin,
They have brought forth beery BIBULUS,
And his fellows in the sin.
You had not guessed the burden
Upon their thirsty souls,
Though the Praetor's eye clean through them
Its gathered lightning rolls!

Then, in Olympic thunders,
The hoarded tempest broke:
"Ye seem to take it easy;
I'll show ye 'tis no joke!
Think ye, in this its temple
The Law to flout and jeer,
Getting in through the window
Pots of illegal beer?

"The Common Law of England
Blushes for you, through me;
Little thought I that these Sessions
Would e'er such scandal see!
Go, shameless men! I'll teach ye
Your appetites to balk,
In a room whereto no pewter
Can through the windows walk;
And when you bring your verdict,
About the fine we'll talk."

BIBULUS knows the Praetor,
Nor idly pardon begs;
But goeth forth crest-fallen--
His tail between his legs--
When sudden in the lobby
Is heard a mighty din,
And before the awful Praetor
That potman is dragged in!

A loud irreverent laughter
Through all the Court-house ran,
As pot in hand he stood there,
A blank bewildered man!
And so sternly looks the Praetor,
That the potman knoweth not
If he be not going straightway
Himself, at last, to pot.

"Thou caitiff!" roared the Praetor,
(And mirth was changed for awe)
"How answerest thou this outrage
On the majesty of Law?"
Right humbly spoke the potman--
"Your worship--that's my Lord--
The beer some gem'men ordered,
And in course the beer was drored.

"But as for 'Law,' and 'majesty,'
That's neither here nor there:
The beer was served as called for,
And paid for straight and fair.
And what I say, your Lordship--
And I means to put it strong--
Is what was I brought 'ere for,
When I ha'n't done nuffin wrong?"

"No wrong!" quick spoke the Praetor.
"Ho! gaoler--let him see,
That in justice's high precinct,
Right and wrong depend on me!
Go, bear him to the dungeon--
Be the lowest cell his lot!
Meanwhile to thee, chief lictor
We give in charge the pot."

They have haled him from the Court-house,
And have locked him up below;
And the lictor guards the pewter,
With its head of froth like snow.
And never while our Praetor
Dealeth stern justice here,
Will the most thirsty jury
Venture to call for beer,
Or the most reckless potman
Bring it from public near!

* * * * *

A HINT.

The _Times_ newspaper (a publication of merit, and which may possibly be known to some of our readers) has just put forth an excellent article deprecating the terribly long sittings of the House of Commons, and the love of chattering, on the part of the Members--especially the new ones--which chiefly conduces to those protracted and unwholesome _seances_. But the _Times_ ought to be perfectly well aware that the remedy is in its own hands. These objectionable spouters spout, not to one another (for they ridicule one another's oratory), but to the readers out of doors. If they could not reach these readers they would cease to spout. _Ergo_, if the _Times_ would instruct its reporters to report only what is worth reporting, and, in fact, to deal with all debates as they now deal with those in Committee, when only the pith of the speeches is given, and moreover the pith of the pithy men only, the sittings of Parliament would speedily evince a marvellous change for the better. There! _Mr. Punch_, in his keen, practical way, has solved the difficulty at once.

* * * * *

A JOKE AT THE PUBLIC EXPENSE.

According to a correspondent of the _Daily News_, MR. SERJEANT ADAMS, Assistant Judge of the Middlesex Sessions, is applying to Parliament for an increase of salary from L1,200 to L1,500. The learned Serjeant is often facetious; but certainly this is his richest joke.

* * * * *

ANOTHER INSULT TO IRELAND.

It is quite proper, but very distressing, that Ireland should know all the outrages perpetrated and planned upon her dearest interests. Not a day can elapse that is not notched, like ROBINSON CRUSOE'S, with a new insult from the Saxon. It ought to have been sufficient that the Camp at Chobham was commanded in order to destroy the Dublin Exhibition; the tents being pitched as strongly as possible in outrageous contrast with DARGAN'S Crystal Palace. But no: a certain illustrious personage--with whom it is notorious the sea does not agree--in order to frustrate an intended visit to Dublin, went and caught the measles! Fortunately, however, he is now convalescent; left without a spot, and consequently without an excuse.

* * * * *

AN IMPOSSIBLE COMMISSARIAT.

The EMPEROR OF RUSSIA pretends to say that he will provide his troops, now occupying the Danubian principalities, with rations. How is it possible that any such promise can be kept by an old despot, who is so very irration-al?

* * * * *

ANOTHER POTATO BLIGHT FOR "THE KILKENNY CAT."

The Saxon has again cast his pestiferous blight upon one of Ireland's chosen potatoes; having withered the patriot MURPHY into an Insolvent Commissioner!

* * * * *

NUTS FOR NOTES AND QUERIES.

There is a fine field opened to the editor and contributors of _Notes and Queries_ by the prominence just now being given to the names of Wallachia and Moldavia. We shall leave Wallachia to our contemporary--merely observing by the way that it may have been founded by the WALLACK family--but we have taken a fancy to Moldavia, and shall speculate a little on its origin. We are inclined to regard the first syllable, MOL, as a clear corruption of MARY; and there can be no doubt, in the world that davia is no other than DAVIS, who was probably some relation to the identical DAVIS, whose most unpleasant Straits have conferred upon him such extensive notoriety. Moldavia may, therefore, be regarded as the discovery of one MARY DAVIS; but which one is a little bit of mystery--a sort of bone that we generously throw to our old friend _Notes and Queries_ to "lazily mumble" over during the hot season.

* * * * *

OUR ANCIENT NICHOLAS.

Russia, having crossed the Pruth,
Teaches us a bit of truth;
Here we have our precious CZAR
Lighting up the flames of war.

He that kept all Europe quiet
Is involving her in riot,
On hostilities we border
With this vaunted man of order.

Who were right and who were wrong,
We, who hissed him all along,
Or the folks that cheered and shouted
After him who women knouted?

Now, perhaps, you are disgusted
With the tyrant whom you trusted,
Oh, unworthy sons of Britain!
--Don't you feel a little bitten?

* * * * *

A KEY TO A DIFFICULTY.

When the appointment of City Chamberlain was conferred on SIR JOHN KEY, the worthy Ex-Alderman naturally asked for the keys of office. A brother alderman, who happened to be a wag, remarked that "to bestow a key upon KEY would be to carry coals to Newcastle, and that, therefore, SIR JOHN must be satisfied with his habitual self-possession."

* * * * *

EXTREMELY PARTICULAR.--We know a stupid old teetotaller who is so true to his principles he won't even mix in society!

* * * * *

THOUGHTS ON THE SAVAGE LIONS OF LONDON.

BY A FRIEND AND A BROTHER.

You may talk as you please of magnetic attraction,
Electro-biology, media, and stuff:
Rapping for Spirits don't give satisfaction,
The relatives never relate half enough.
Tables on castors, and castors on tables,
All I have turn'd to alike in their turn;
Mesmeric stories are nothing but fables,
_Stories_ indeed, which intelligence spurns.

In all these sensations I own I'm a scorner,
Never in them have my feelings a part;
But, where GORDON CUMMING was, near Hyde Park Corner,
Oh! there, there _is_ something that touches the heart!
His exhibition of skins show'd the ravages
Hunters can make with the savage wild beast;
But now they have got there a troupe of wild Savages,
Who have not (as yet!) of their guests made a feast.

Kafirs from Borioboola, or somewhere--
There are delighting the civilised world:
Belles from Belgravia in afternoons come there;
Thither the fairest of May-fair are whirl'd.
Dowagers craving for something exciting,
Gentlemen blase with Fashion's dull round,
Those who find novelty always delighting,
With those dear Kafirs may daily be found.

And delightful it is there, to see them transacting
Their business of marriage, and murder, and war;
Delightful to sit there, and know that 'tis acting,
And not the real thing--which, _of course_, we abhor.
We see in each movement such truth of expression,
Their stampings and kickings are done with such grace,
That ladies of title e'en make the confession
That they in the Savage--nobility trace!

But chief the delight, when the acting is ended,
To go to the room from which CUMMING is gone,
And there inspect closely their figures so splendid,
And, timidly, even shake hands with each one,
And their dear little baby we smother with kisses,
And stroke and admire its darling bronze skin,
And think that there ne'er was a baby like this is,
As a lion of London its life to begin.

It is all very proper to say that a baby
Might be found nearer home, if we sought for a pet,
And that in the back courts of St. Giles's, it may be,
Hordes of young savages there we could get:
But, they've no fancy dresses to set off their figures,
And nothing is thought of an every-day sight;
And "UNCLE TOM"'s roused such a _penchant_ for niggers,
That dark skins must now take precedence of white.

That little dark baby could never have vices
Like those which degrade us in civilised life;
And though he may p'raps chop his father in slices,
His country has customs that legalise strife.
But, really--what humbugs call--Civilisation,
Seems spreading everywhere under the skies,
That soon, I suppose, we shall not have a nation
To furnish a savage to gladden our eyes.

* * * * *