Chapter IX: Introduction: Volume Xxv.----July to December, 1853 (8)

"SIR,--The papers inform us that MR. PHILLIMORE, the other night, asked the President of the Board of Control why the returns given in the case of 'RUSTOMJEE VICCAJEE and VICCAJEE PESTONJEE' were incomplete? That a subject, evidently surrounded with ease, should be attended with difficulty is certainly strange. But I want to know, if you can inform me, who or what 'RUSTOMJEE VICCAJEE and VICCAJEE PESTONJEE,' aforesaid are? I thought at first that these words were specimens of the 'foul language' used by cabmen and others as complained of by COLONEL SIBTHORPE. Am I right? By the bye, while on the subject of bad words, may I ask (indignantly, as the father of a family) how it is that PROFESSOR GREGORY and other chemists are not restrained from circulating such words as the following: Methylethylamylophenylium, Ethylopropylamylamine, Methylethylamylophenylammonium; 76 letters in three words--my hand aches with writing them. To be sure, as a set-off, these professors sometimes give us something more euphonious; 'Margarate of Glycerine' sounds like the title of a novel, but then whoever heard of 'Glycerine?' Where is it? What did Margarate there, and is she a descendant of MARGARET OF ANJOU? I trust that you will be able to give me some information, or, at any rate, give your assistance in the cause of monosyllabic simplicity.

"BUZFUZ."

"P.S. 'What's in a name?' is a question that has been often asked. I find that 'MARGARATE OF GLYCERINE' is not so pretty as her name--she's FAT."

* * * * *

MR. PETERLOO BROWN'S EXAMINATION OF THE OXFORD STATUTES.

"DEAR MR. PUNCH,

"I appeal to you in a case of difficulty, and trust that my familiarity will not beget your contempt. My name is BROWN: not an uncommon surname, perhaps, but I am distinguished by my Christian name of PETERLOO. My eldest lad is called after me, and it is in his behalf, _Mr. Punch_, that I crave your advice. He is at present an Eton _boy_, but he will soon be ready to be an Oxford _man_, and I am now looking forward to his matriculation. You are, doubtless, Sir, aware that every one who goes through that form has to subscribe to certain oaths and conditions, before he can be admitted to the privileges of the University. I myself never had the benefit of a University education, but I am well aware how it helps a man to gain a position in society--a position which my rapid rise to fortune has only in part secured to me; for there are, _Mr. Punch_, aristocrats by birth, who turn up their noses at us aristocrats by wealth, and yet will stoop to----however, to return to my son. I am determined that _he_ shall not want for advantages; but, as I have a certain sort of squeamishness about a person taking oaths that he does not know the meaning of, and swearing to observe statutes of whose nature he is unaware, I sent to Oxford for a copy of the University Statutes, that I might run my eye over them, and see what were the laws that governed the noble, the great, the famous, the--in short, the enlightened place, the University of Oxford. The book is now before me:--'_Parecbolae sive Excerpta e corpore Statutorum Universitatis Oxoniensis_:' and a copy is, I believe, presented to every undergraduate at his matriculation, that he may be fully aware of the laws that he has sworn to obey. The Statutes I find to be written in a Latin form--I cannot say, in a _dead_ language, for it is of a kind very much resembling the living, and of that description vulgarly termed 'Dog' Latin; so that I, who never got further than _Eutropius_, and whose acquaintance with the language has become rusty from want of use, can easily make out a translation of the sentences. I find that my son will have to sign the Thirty-nine Articles, which, I dare say, is all very proper; take the Oath of Allegiance, which is quite right; and also, the Oath of Supremacy, in which he will have to say, that he, PETERLOO BROWN, does, 'from his heart, abhor, detest, and abjure, as impious and heretical, that damnable doctrine and position that Princes, excommunicated or deprived by the POPE, or any authority of the See of Rome, may be deposed or murdered by their subjects, or any other whatsoever.' Now, although I may be secretly of opinion that my lad might as well swear to any Bosh, as all this about the excommunicate Princes, yet I pass this over, and proceed to the Statutes themselves.

"I find that a great part of the book is about the keeping of terms; the granting of various kinds of degrees, of congregations, convocations, dispensations, and all that sort of thing; and I then come--under the head '_Tit._ XIV. _De Vestitu et Habitu Scholastico_'--to the Statutes that more immediately concern my son PETERLOO. And this is the result of my search.

"I find that nobody, unless he is a Peer's son--(who may do what he likes, for you will find, _Mr. Punch_, that it is one of the great beauties of our University system, that it allows no distinction of persons, but puts the sons of the ignoble and the noble on equal terms; but I am digressing!)--I find '_Statutum est_,' that 'Nobody shall wear any other clothes than those of a black, or "subfusk" colour' (_coloris nigri aut subfusci_), 'or imitate (in their dress) what is extravagant or fast:' (that seems to be the meaning of the words '_fastum aut luxum_;' but, as I said before, my Latin is rather rusty). Now, since this is the rule, I would ask how it is, _Mr. Punch_, that young BELLINGHAM GREY (my neighbour's son) should, at the end of every term, bring home from Christ Church (where by the way, he is ruining his father, but that is no affair of _mine_!) suits of clothes of every colour _but_ black or 'subfusk' (not that I exactly know what colour that may be), and remarkable solely for their extravagance and 'fast-ness?' I want my lad to dress like a gentleman, but I don't always want to see him putting in an appearance like an undertaker, or counter-skipper, or like the man in the play (is it _Hamlet_? though, probably, _Othello_?) continually clothed in 'an inky suit of black.' And, if he swears to observe such a Statute as the above, why, _of course_, the authorities will see that he obeys it, and dresses accordingly.

"It is next ordered, that 'Nobody shall follow that absurd and proud custom of walking in boots in public.' (_Insuper, ab absurdo illo et fastuoso publice in ocreis ambulandi more, abstinere compellantur._ I give you the very words, _Mr. Punch_, lest you should not believe me.) Now, where on earth is the harm of my lad wearing Wellingtons? But I suppose that every one in Oxford (I do not know the place) wears the 'Oxford Shoes,' and that this Statute has been inserted to keep up what is, doubtless, the staple trade of the city. For, _of course_, the Statute is observed, or they would not make the students swear to obey it.

"'_Statutum est_' also, that 'Nobody shall wear the hair long or in curls (_in capillitio modus est, nec concinnos, aut comam nimis promissam alant_). Now, Sir, my son PETERLOO has been favoured by Nature with a particularly curly head of hair. I wish to ask you, Do you think that this misfortune, which it is evident can be from no fault of his own, will shut him out from all the privileges of the University? It is a momentous question for a father to make, and one which may interest the bosom friend of the present Chancellor--I mean MR.--I beg his pardon, DR. DISRAELI. One thing is plain: that the advertisements of 'Do you want luxurious hair?' can be of no use in Oxford, and that bears'-grease must be at a discount. And if my son PETERLOO should fail to observe any of the above Statutes touching his personal appearance, or the giving himself airs, he will, when he is a graduate, have to pay 6_s._ 8_d._ for each offence (_poena_ 6_s._ _et_ 8_d._ _plectatur, toties quoties_), and while he is an undergraduate he will, for such offences, have to suffer corporal punishment (_poena corporali_). Good gracious, _Mr. Punch_, I have read that the great NEWTON was horsed when he was a Cambridge undergraduate; but I thought that such a degrading custom was either confined to that University, or had passed away with the dark ages, and oil-lamps, and Protection, and all that sort of thing. Does not Oxford--the Mother of Science, and (for what I know) the Aunt of Literature, and the Grandmother of the Arts--does not Oxford, I repeat, keep up with the progressive enlightenment of the age? I almost repent that I have entered PETERLOO there (at St. Vitus' College), and I tremble to think of the effect that corporal punishment, will have on him when he is become a _man_. As an Eton boy it (perhaps) does him good; but as a man! I thought such disgrace only attached to the army. For, _of course_, the corporal punishment cannot be inflicted _only_ in the Statutes.

"I then find that it is '_Statutum est_,' that if any one should happen to introduce a new and unwonted style of dress, that the Vice-Chancellor and the Heads of the Colleges and Halls shall thereupon hold deliberation and give their opinion; and that the Vice-Chancellor shall then forbid the cutters-out and the tailors, making these kind of garments (_Deinde, Vice-Cancellarius scissoribus sive sartoribus vestiariis hujusmodi vestes conficiendi potestate interdicat_); and that the Heads shall prohibit their scholars from wearing them; but that if the young men, with a morbid pertinacity (_morbi pertinacia_), persist in clothing themselves in the aforesaid garments, the Vice-Chancellor shall, after three monitions, expel them.

"The motherly care shown by Alma Mater that her sons should not fall into scrapes by making Guys of themselves, is here very strongly evidenced; and I think it would be a profitable subject for inquiry, if MR. HUME would move for a return of the number of times that the Vice-Chancellor and the Heads of Houses have met, in accordance with the above Statute.

"The remainder of _Tit._ XIV is taken up with the cut of the gowns, &c., but is as unlike a ladylike page of _Le Follet_ (which MRS. BROWN takes in) as anything can be.

"The Statutes demanding attention in _Tit._ XV. are so numerous that I will trouble you with them in another letter; but they are so amusing that they will repay perusal, and your opinion upon them will not only be highly valued by, but of the greatest use, to

"Dear _Mr. Punch_,

"Your constant reader,

"PETERLOO BROWN."

* * * * *

SONG--RIPEFORAJAIL.

RIPEFORAJAIL for an income is burning,
RIPEFORAJAIL has no taste for clod-turning,
RIPEFORAJAIL has no funds for gin-spinning,
Yet RIPEFORAJAIL has "Green" gold for the winning;
Come lend a kind ear to a betting muff's tale,
While he tells you the craft of bold RIPEFORAJAIL.

The EARL OF BAREPURSE, o'er Newmarket doth ride,
And views his colt win in the very last stride,
Long odds for his net, and the Ring for his game,
Short whist for the wild, and the dice for the tame;
But the TATTERSALL gudgeons, and CROCK pigeons pale,
Are less free to EARL BAREPURSE than RIPEFORAJAIL.

RIPEFORAJAIL, when his carcase was light,
Used to sweat and to curry a thoroughbred bright,
And when "grown overweight" the Kents turned him abroad.
To pick winners, in print he each week pledged his word;
Gents who love "the blue ribbon," and sport the blue veil,
Became quite confidential with RIPEFORAJAIL.

RIPEFORAJAIL to distinction is come,
He's no longer a tout, but he owns a flash home;
A fig for THE DAVIS and 'cute HARRY HILL!
They might lay the long odds, he lays longer odds still,
A baize board and counter, and weeds very stale,
Are the sole stock in trade of bold RIPEFORAJAIL.

The COCKBURN was steel, and the BETHEL was stone,
And PALMERSTON warned him he soon must be gone;
Fierce and loud this last week was the curse and the cry
Of his victims when shutters alone met the eye;
With their Goodwood deposits he gave them leg-bail,
And a cove at Boulogne looks like RIPEFORAJAIL.

* * * * *

SPHERES OF REAL USEFULNESS.

The subjoined advertisement relates to an exhibition, which is, perhaps, somewhat interesting, and which might be rendered very much so:--

DIORAMA OF CHRISTIAN MISSIONS, 32, Sloane Street, will continue open
for a short time. Parents will find this a truly Christian
exhibition for their children. Tahiti--New Zealand--The
Maori--Island of Tanna--Death of Captain Cook--First Missionary
House at Tahiti--Cape Coast Castle--Banyan Tree--Ashanti--Missionary
Tombs--The Dungeon, and Rose Madiai.

What this exhibition wants, in order that it may enlist the sympathies of those who are the most earnest promoters of Missionary enterprise, is the addition of a few views of certain savage and heathen regions, the conversion and civilisation of whose inhabitants are more particularly important to the British public. The New Cut, Ratcliff Highway, Houndsditch, Whitechapel, and the slums of Westminster, afford fields for the operation of preachers and philanthropists as extensive, as remarkable, and as unknown as the Polynesian Archipelago or the Cannibal Islands.

* * * * *

DIETETIC RULE OF CONDUCT--Never ask a favour of a man until he has had his dinner.

* * * * *

Old Lady (who is not used to these new-fangled notions). "_Oh, Sir! Please, Sir! don't, Sir! Don't for goodness sake Fire, Sir!_"]

* * * * *

WHAT IS A MILE?

We think that the question of "What is a Mile?"--a question which promises to swallow up in interest the Eastern Question, and all other questions which as yet remain unanswered--should be settled as soon as possible; for, until it is settled, we shall never be able to arrive at a proper settlement of the Cab fares. This settlement is due--not only to the persons who ride in cabs--but to those who drive them, for there are so many varieties of a mile, and so many different ways of measuring it, that it is impossible to say which is the right one. For instance--

If a young lady walks round the corner of the street in which she lives, she comes home quite fatigued, and "is sure she has walked more than a mile."

If a husband is dragged--a little against his will--to a certain street where there happens to be a bonnet shop, though it is not more than twenty yards, he is morally certain "he has been taken a mile out of his way, if he has been taken an inch."

It is curious the number of miles a mother-in-law has walked when she feels desirous, poor creature, of having a cab.

Besides, miles vary so much. A mistress's mile is generally very different to a servant's--a master's to a clerk's. Auctioneers' miles are proverbially very short ones when they are describing a property as being not more than "an omnibus distance from town," or when they are enlarging upon the merits of a Villa that is "only an easy drive from a railway station." Travellers' miles, on the contrary, are generally very long ones. You will hear a delicate young man, who has just returned from a pedestrian tour, boast of having walked his "two thousand miles," just as if he had trailed a pedometer behind him, and had measured every inch of the road. Panoramas also, have a very elastic method of stretching out a mile, which cab-drivers would doubtlessly not object to adopt as their own particular standard of measurement. They talk very glibly of being "three miles long," whereas, if the distance came to be measured, it would probably turn out to be--like cabmen's distances generally--not more than half. There is another deficiency, too, that frequently occurs with the mileage question. We have known a distance, that when a party first went over it, was only four or five miles, become suddenly increased to eight or ten at least, when the same party--especially if a dinner party--had to go over it again on their way back. This difficulty has been felt so strongly at times, that every one of the party has preferred--at that late hour--stopping where he was, instead of walking home all that distance. These unnecessary difficulties imperatively call for a speedy answer to the puzzling question, "What is a Mile?" for hitherto the question has been passed over by our Police magistrates, from one parish to another, like a pauper, for the want of a settlement.

* * * * *

Cabby. "_Not if I knows it, Marm.--The Hact 'bleeges me to take Sixpence a Mile, but it don't 'bleege me to knock at a door._"]

* * * * *

A CABMAN'S PROTEST AGAINST THE HINJUSTICE OF THE HACT.

Vy, here's a pretty time o 'day! a precious hact indeed!
I'm blest if, since I tuk the vip, the like I ever seed.
The ould hacts they vos dreadful bad, and cut us all to bits;
For justice from just-asses a poor Cabman never gits:
Though he may do the thing vot's fair, the fare the thing vot's shabby,
It's all the same; the ugly beak is allus down on Cabby.

But look at this 'ere hact: my eye! there's fine and pris'n, too!
I vonder vot the Parleyment is going next to do.
Just s'pose a fare should leave a purse or pocket-book behind,
And s'pose, ven I gits to my stand, the book or purse I find;
It isn't mine, it's werry true, but I don't know it's his'n;
And there comes claws eleven, and claws a 'onest man to pris'n!

Then see the "rates" in Sheddle A, vy vot a shame it is
To drag two fat uns near a mile, and only git a tiz!
Now s'pose a twelve-stun fare comes up and takes me off the rank,
And makes me drive him, pretty sharp, from Smiffield to the Bank;
I civ'lly axes eighteenpence, and cheap, too, for the job--
He sticks into me claws seventeen, and fines me forty bob!

Ve're chaffed and jeered by every cove, by slaveys on a bus;
Our werry watermen are now our masters top of us.
A po-lice chap may poke his dirty mug into my cab,
And, if he says it isn't clean, my license he may grab;
And arterwards, if I but "use" my own cab, I must pay,
Says claws the third, a penalty of sixty bob a day!!!

Vy, haven't Cabmen feelings? Then vot right 'ave you to gash em?
They aren't 'osses, vich, we know, all likes us for to lash em.
If we are druv about all day from this to t'other station,
Our fares screw'd down to sich a pint as 's werry near starwation,
Our parson'l liberty consarned, and bilked of all our priggings,
I'm blowed if I don't drop the reins and bolt off to the diggings.

* * * * *

EXHIBITION OF POLITICAL INDUSTRY.

The honourable and gallant Member for Lincoln has reason for complaining that there is no prospect of the outlay upon the New Houses of Parliament being finished. The outlay will not be finished before the Houses are--Victoria Tower and all; and when we see what progress is being made with the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, we cannot but think how desirable it is that those edifices, and, indeed, the whole Parliamentary concern should have been got up by a Houses of Parliament Company. If that had been the case, the edifices would not only have been long since lighted, ventilated, and decorated, but the thing would now be a paying property. Such it might easily have been rendered by making the galleries larger, and admitting the public at so much a head--say playhouse prices--which crowded audiences doubtless would be willing to give, in order to hear the spouting. Besides, the Members might have been required to pay for their seats, and the revelations that have taken place this session before the Election Committees afford sufficient assurance that they would have done that handsomely.

* * * * *

WHISKEY ABOVE PROOF.

We suppose that the principal objection of the Irish priesthood to the ARCHBISHOP OF DUBLIN'S _Christian Evidences_ as a national school-book, is, that if the pupils were allowed to have the truth of Christianity proved to them, they would also want proof of everything else that their Reverences tell them to believe.

* * * * *

THE ETIQUETTE OF SMOKING.

Light your cigar _first_, and, after you have taken one or two whiffs, turn round, and inquire, most politely, "If smoking is disagreeable to any one present?"

* * * * *

THE MOST UNPLEASANT MEETING.--Having to meet a Bill.

* * * * *

A CAROL ON CAROLINE CHISOLM.

Come, all you British females of wealth and high degree,
Bestowing all your charity on lands beyond the sea,
I'll point you out a pattern which a better plan will teach
Than that of sending Missioners to Tombuctoo to preach.

Converting of the Heathen's a very proper view,
By preaching true religion to Pagan and to Jew,
And bringing over Cannibals to Christian meat and bread,
Unless they catch your Parson first and eat him up instead.

But what's more edifying to see, a pretty deal,
Is hearty British labourers partaking of a meal,
With wives, and lots of children, about their knees that climb,
And having tucked their platefuls in, get helped another time.

Beyond the roaring ocean; beneath the soil we tread,
You've English men and women, well housed and clothed and fed,
Who but for help and guidance to leave our crowded shores,
Would now be stealing, begging, or lie starving at our doors.

Who taught them self-reliance, and stirred them to combine,
And club their means together to get across the brine,
Instead of strikes, and mischief, and breaking of the law,
And wasting time in hearing incendiaries jaw?

Who led their expeditions? and under whose command
Through dangers and through hardships sought they the promised land?
A second MOSES, surely, it was who did it all,
It was a second MOSES in bonnet and in shawl.

By means of one good lady were all these wonders wrought,
By CAROLINE CHISHOLM'S energy, benevolence, and thought,
Instead of making here and there a convert of a Turk,
She has made idle multitudes turn fruitfully to work.

The ragged pauper crawling towards a parish grave
She roused--directed to a home beyond the western wave;
She smoothed his weary passage across the troubled deep,
With food, and air, and decencies of ship-room and of sleep.

There's many a wife and mother will bless that lady's name,
Embracing a fat infant--who might else have drowned the same,
A mother, yet no wife, compelled by poverty to sin,
And die in gaol or hospital of misery and gin.

The REVEREND EBENEZER, I'd not deny his dues,
For saving Patagonians, and Bosjesmen, and Zooloos;
But MRS. CHISHOLM'S mission is what I far prefer;
For saving British natives I'd give the palm to her.

And now that a subscription is opened and begun,
In order to acknowledge the good that she has done
Among that sort of natives--the most important tribe--
Come down like handsome people, and handsomely subscribe.

* * * * *

OUR HONEYMOON.

TUESDAY--MAY 28, 18--,

Shall I ever forget the day? As it comes round--if I'm spared for fifty years--I'm sure I shall always feel a chill, a pang at the thoughts of it. That dear, foolish creature, FRED! As if being shot could make it any better! And then the thought--the horrid thought would press itself--piercing like a dagger--to be sent into weeds in one's very Honeymoon!

Of course, the whole house was raised. When JOSEPHINE heard me scream, and came to the bedroom door, and found it locked, and couldn't make me sensible to open it--for I'd the key in my hand, and so had dropt it on the floor when I fell myself in a swoon--

Of course, when JOSEPHINE could make nobody hear, she very soon raised the house, and there were chambermaids and waiters at the door, and they were breaking it open, when I came enough to myself to prevent it!

"It's all right, Ma'am," said JOSEPHINE. "Master's safe: not a whit the worse, depend on't."

"Safe! Are you sure?"--

"Certain, Ma'am. 'Cause the landlord has given information to the constables, and no doubt on it, he says, they'll all be in custody afore they can shoot one another."

"Shoot!" Well--for the moment--I did hate the creature as she spoke the word; speaking it with all the coolness in life--death, I _might_ say.

I hastily slipped something on: went into our room. Had up the landlord, the landlady; and it really was wonderful--gave me for the time quite a shock at human nature--to see how little they were moved--in fact not moved at all--by my wretchedness, my downright misery. "Oh," I thought, every other minute, "if I once get him home again!" And then the next moment, some horrid sight would come before me--and no one, no one to help or advise me. Yes. The landlady counselled me to have a cup of tea, and the landlord advised me to make myself comfortable. "Things o' the sort"--he said--"never come to nothing, now-a-days. Besides, he'd given the word to the constables--and I might make myself easy they'd all be locked up in a jiffy."

"Could he tell me"--I asked--"the most likely road to take?"

"Why, no," he said, "some folks took one, some another. Some liked the cliffs, some the Devil's Dyke; but as he'd sent all ways, why, again he assured me, I had nothing to do but to make myself comfortable."

And even as the horrid man said this, his more dreadful wife--not but what the woman meant well; only I couldn't abide her for her composure at such a time--the woman came to me stirring a cup of tea with, as she said, just a spoonful of brandy in it to settle my spirits.

What a thought! I to take tea with brandy in it, and FREDERICK perhaps at that moment--

JOSEPHINE--I'll do the girl so much justice at last--was running to and fro, upstairs and downstairs--and putting the house, from one end to the other, in a ferment. At last the landlady desired her to be quiet, and not go about making noise enough to tear people out of their beds. If all the world was gone out to be shot, that was no reason why their house should be ruined!

Well, I won't attempt to describe the two hours I suffered! How, sometimes, I thought I'd have a horse and go galloping anywhere, everywhere.

"It's all over, Ma'am!"--cried JOSEPHINE, running in.

"Over!" and I saw death in the girl's face.

"Over, Ma'am. They fired two shots, Ma'am--two a-piece--they say, and"--

"Yes--yes"--

"And master"--

"Killed!"--I screamed.

"No, Ma'am! Quite the reverse!"--

(How I thanked the girl for the words, though where _could_ she have picked 'em up?)

"He has not killed his--I mean the--other gentleman?"--

"No, Ma'am, totally the contrary. Nobody's hit--not so much as winged, though what that means I can't say--only I heard one of the men say as much. But all of 'em in custody."

"What now? Why, what for?--"

"Why, Ma'am, as I hear, for every one of the gentlemen to be bound over to keep his peace for the rest of his born days! And la! bless me--how ill you turn, Ma'am, and when it's all over?"

"Not at all, JOSEPHINE. I'm very well, now: very well, indeed," and then rose my determination. Yes, I'd go home that very day. "JOSEPHINE, pack up as much as you can. Your master shall go home, I'll take care of _that_ directly."

"That's right, Ma'am. Now you've got him safe and sound once more, you couldn't do better, Ma'am. And for MR. TRUEPENNY"--

Well, his very name set me in a flame. "MR. TRUEPENNY! He never crosses _my_ threshold! A very pretty friend indeed, to come and lure a man--a newly-married man"--

"Not married a month yet, quite, Ma'am," said JOSEPHINE, "which makes it hard."--

"And take him out, I may say, in cold blood"--

"Which makes it ten times wickeder," said JOSEPHINE.

"And butcher him like a lamb," said I.

"Exactly like a lamb, Ma'am," cried the girl. "Only there is this difference, Ma'am: you know master isn't a bit hurt."

"That has nothing to do with it. He might have been killed, and what would MR. TRUEPENNY have cared? No! I might have been left a wretched widow!"

"And much MR. TRUEPENNY would have helped you then, Ma'am," said the good girl.

"No, he never crosses the _Flitch_--never: and that I shall tell your master. The foolish, dear fellow! How I will scold him."

"Do, Ma'am; he deserves it all. To go fighting and--and after all, do you know for a certainty what he went fighting about?"--

"Folly, madness, of course," said I. "Jealous of"--

"Well, I thought so!" cried JOSEPHINE, with a strange knowing look. "I thought as much. Jealous, and of you, too, above all folks! And in your Honeymoon, too. Well, I'm sure; as if there wasn't time enough for that!"

"I don't mean to say jealous; not of me--of course not. But the fact is, he fired up at a rudeness, a liberty that"--

"You don't say so, Ma'am!" cried the girl. "La, and if you please, how was that?"

"Why, it was all folly--all nonsense--and he ought to have known better; but--there was a little flower-girl on the beach. What's the matter, JOSEPHINE?" for I saw the creature look suddenly confused.

"Nothing, Ma'am--only I--I once saw that girl--a gipsey-girl, Ma'am--with flowers, Ma'am; yes, to be sure."

"Then you know her?" I asked.

"Can't say I know. Because one should hardly lower oneself to know a creature of that sort. Only once, and perhaps twice, I've had a nosegay of her."

"Well, she _would_ give a nosegay to me," said I.

"Just like 'em, Ma'am," replied JOSEPHINE.

"Yes. She ran to me, and put a nosegay in my hand. And in that nosegay, what, JOSEPHINE--(and I watched her narrowly as I further questioned)--what do you think there was?"

"Law! Who can answer for the gipsies," cried JOSEPHINE.

"Well, then, there was a letter--a love-letter; and that letter finding its way to your master's hand"--

"Oh, Ma'am! _Do_ forgive me! Pray forgive me! I couldn't help it; but I see it all now. The gentleman _would_ write--that letter was not for you!"--

"No? For whom then?"--

"If you please, Ma'am, and you'll not be angry, that letter"--said the bold creature--"that letter was for me!"--

"For _you_! And here has nearly been murder done--here has your master"--

But at the moment FRED ran into the room, and I was in his arms.

* * * * *

_N.B._ MR. JONES'S _skin is extremely sensitive; he must not remove his hands from the Table, and for 35 agonising minutes a wretched fly makes a promenade of his face_.]

* * * * *

THE MILESTONE TREADMILL.

How to find fit work for convicts--work that shall at the same time be serviceable to the Public, and shall not take the bread out of the mouths of honest men--is a question that nobody has yet answered. Profound philosophers have sometimes got very near to the discovery of the quadrature of the circle, perpetual motion, the transmutation of metals, the elixir of life, the crystallisation of carbon, the longitude. They have almost succeeded; all but solved the problem; when, just on the verge of the accomplishment of the great work, they find all their profound calculations upset by some petty, superficial obstacle which they had overlooked. Precisely thus had we nearly attained to the invention of a proper employment for convicted thieves: just so were we confounded on the brink of success by a stumbling-block, which has tripped us up and flung us back again heels over head, alighting, however, on the former, as we always do.

A communication in the _Civil Service Gazette_ states the case of a letter-carrier, in the Derby district, who has to walk above 20 miles a day, and deliver letters at eleven villages. This amount of walking exercise, allowing 15 minutes for delivery at each village, and 25 minutes for refreshment, the writer calculates to be 8 miles an hour for 21/2 hours. It reads like an achievement of running a fabulous distance and picking up an incredible number of stones with the mouth. That a man might match himself to attempt such a feat of pedestrianism for a limited period and high stakes is conceivable: but this one does it daily for 11s. Of course he has sent in his resignation; no free agent could continue to do such work on such terms. Only eleven shillings for all this hard labour!

Hard labour. These two words are brilliantly suggestive--seem to flash upon us the settlement of the convict employment question. Hard labour--occupation toilsome and unremunerative; at the same time useful: just the proper occupation for criminals. Rig out all our rogues and thieves in blue and scarlet, turn them into postmen, and give them six months, or upwards, of 8 miles an hour for several hours daily letter-carrying. MERCURY in Windsor uniform; messenger and thief in one: on the turnpike treadmill--'tis a pretty idea, too, into the bargain.

But here up starts the difficulty. It is peculiarly necessary that a postman should, before all things, be honest. By this trifling obstacle is the magnificently specious scheme of substituting Post Office employment for the treadmill frustrated. The mounted police, and other constabulary, might prevent the fellows from escaping, and keep them in their routes; but could hardly hinder them from secreting money and notes in stumps of trees, old walls, and other nooks and corners, for concealment therein till the expiration of their sentences. Whilst, however, there exists this objection to the employment of rogues as postmen, there is nothing whatever to forbid them from employing themselves in that capacity. Hence the frequent abstraction of half-sovereigns from letters; taxing the detective acumen of MR. SCULTHORPE.

We see that a bumpkin of a Post Office messenger was tried the other day at the assizes for making away with letters. He was an ignorant clown: and he destroyed them simply that he might not have the trouble of delivering them. Alas for our economy! Unfortunately we can't give inadequate wages without being in danger of getting either a knave for our servant or a fool.

So we didn't quite set the Thames on fire; it won't do to make letter-carriers of convicts: and as to the nuisance of having knaves and fools amongst our postmen, there is evidently no help for that but to raise the postmen's salaries.

* * * * *

DEVOTEES IN CELLS.

MR. LUCAS, the other evening, made a reasonable speech in the House. He complained that the principle of religious equality, in English prisons, was not sufficiently observed with regard to Roman Catholic prisoners. A fair ground of complaint! By all means let every Romanist convict enjoy his own conviction.

* * * * *

AN ANSWER TO THE EASTERN QUESTION.

This question is, at last, effectively answered. We are glad to announce that _Constantinople has just been taken by_ MESSERS. GRIEVE and TELBIN, who, dead to the influence of Russian gold, refuse to surrender it, upon any terms, into the hands of the EMPEROR NICHOLAS. They intend to hold out as long as they possibly can; but all English subjects will be admitted to view its numerous beauties by applying at the Gallery of Illustration, in Regent Street.

No Russians need apply.

* * * * *

WALLS HAVE TEARS.

A complaint against damp houses has been recently made by a letter-writer in the _Times_, who says he has suffered severely from wet walls. We are happy in suggesting an efficient remedy by recommending that the walls of new houses should be papered with Parliamentary speeches, the usual dryness of which would, we are convinced, render any little dampness impossible.

* * * * *

PASSPORTS IMPROVED.

There was a talk of passports being issued with photographic portraits. Men may not object to this plan, as they do not care so much for a little disfigurement, but we doubt strongly if ladies will ever give their countenances to it. It is well known that photographic portraits do not improve the beauty of any one. They give the features of the "human face divine," but without the slightest touch of flattery. Worse than this, if there should be any little defect, the cruel metal does not trouble itself in the least to conceal it, but has the vulgarity to render it in all its staring obliquity or deformity. We have our fears, therefore, that this very unfashionable system of portrait painting will never suit the ladies. It goes upon the Antipodean theory of making the pretty faces appear ugly, and the ugly ones still uglier. We are confident that no lady who has any respect for herself, or her husband, will face such an ordeal. Some other plan must be invented by the police, or else there will be an end to all travelling on the part of our ladies.

Where is the woman who would care about going abroad, when she was liable to be stopped at every minute, and forced to produce, for the amusement of some coarse gensd'arme, an ugly photographic portrait of herself? We propose, therefore, that the following system be adopted:--Let M. BAUGNIET, or some other artist as clever in taking portraits, be constantly in attendance at the passport office. He would strike off a likeness in a very short time--such a likeness as, delicately flattered, the lady herself would take a positive pleasure in producing every time she was asked for it. It would be an elegant work of art; which the lady would like, probably, to preserve by her, and the possession of which would also materially enhance the pleasures of travelling. All the expenses to be paid, of course, by the State--for it would be a most ungracious action to ask a lady to pay for her own portrait--or else to be defrayed by the railways, or steam-packets, of the country which the fair traveller intended to visit. The companies would be amply repaid by the influx of passengers, besides having the enviable privilege of claiming copies of all their female visitors. An ample profit, even, might be realized by selling the lithographs, for a lady might be allowed to claim as many copies of her likeness as she pleased, upon the understanding that all copies, beyond the one which was _given_ to her for the necessary police purposes of travelling, were to be paid for. A large revenue might be derived from this branch of the passport system, for what lady would hesitate to take a hundred copies of herself, if she was made extremely handsome?

* * * * *

THE VEGETARIANS IN THE NORTH.

The Vegetarians have been consuming a quantity of green stuff in public at the Town Hall of Salford. We shall expect soon to hear of a variety of Extraordinary Feats performed by geniuses of the Vegetarian class, such as swallowing turnips whole, demolishing spinach by the sieve, onions by the rope, and cabbages by the cartload. We perceive that the Vegetarians have set themselves in opposition to everything like compromise; and a poor unfortunate who endeavoured to meet the Vegetarians half way by living on tapioca, was recently hooted down, and warned of the frightful consequences to be apprehended from the starch in the tapioca, which might lead to stiffness of the joints, and a thousand other maladies.

* * * * *

THE BATTLE OF SPITHEAD.

Of COCHRANE and the Court,
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to Spithead did resort
All that London could send down
Where they lodged the night before, is unknown--
Room to sit, or sleep, or stand,
Fancy prices did command:
With the houseless, street and strand
Thick were strewn.

Many a cockney was afloat,
Unaccustomed to the brine;
But no wind to speak of blew,
And the day was bright and fine;
It was ten of Thursday morn by the chime,
And no ripple curled in wrath,
As they steamed upon their path,
And sniffed old NEPTUNE'S breath.
Oh, 'twas prime!

Old penny boats, new-brushed,
Till they looked quite smart and clean,
Their bows plebeian pushed
More nobby craft between.
"Give 'em coke!" the captains cried; and each one
Charged his furnace to the lips,
Till steamers, yachts, and ships,
The funnel's clouds eclipse--
Dark and dun!

In vain! in vain! in vain!
All attempts to keep 'em back;--
With a turn-a-head, again
They were right across the track--
Underneath some first-rate's bows, or frigate's boom--
Spite of angry captain's hail,
And passengers grown pale,
When did Thames' steamers fail,
To find room?

The well-bred yachting men
Much better did behave,
With six pounders and e'en ten
Their salute they duly gave,
And their burgees to the breeze did smartly fling--
While Solent's shores repeat
The thunders of the fleet,
That HER MAJESTY to greet,
Loudly ring!

Till to the great relief
Of eyes and ears and nose,
At a signal from the chief
The salutes came to a close,
And we thought the firing over for the day;
While COBDEN and friend BRIGHT
Asked themselves "if such a sight
Of powder we'd a right
To fire away?"

When sudden through the haze,
The foemen heave in sight,
And again those broadsides blaze
In the mimicry of fight--
But yet, from out the cannon's harmless roar,
Speaks a warning true and deep,
Of the floating powers that sleep,
The curse of war to keep
From our shore!

The friends of peace may chide,
But not the less 'tis true,
There's a time our strength to hide,
And a time to show it, too;
'Tis not always true economy to save--
Then wherever ocean rolls,
From the equator to the Poles,
May our hearts of oak bear sail,
True and brave!

* * * * *

AN OBTUSE ANGLE?--Attempting to catch a perch with a hook, but no bait.

* * * * *

NEVER GO TO SLEEP WHILE YOU ARE HAVING YOUR HAIR CUT IN PARIS, OR, IT MAY BE CUT IN THE FIRST STYLE OF FASHION.]

* * * * *

SPECIAL REVIEW OF THE FLEET.

(_By a Distinct Observer._)

I had the advantage of inspecting the Review of the Fleet from a peculiar point of view. Before me was an enormous volume of smoke, which completely prevented me from seeing the vessels; it was, however, a volume in which I think I read something to the purpose.

There is, perhaps, hardly any mind wherein the tremendous roar of 1,076 guns, the smallest of which are 32 pounders, and the largest throw 68 lb. shot and 84 lb. shells, would not excite some degree of emotion of some sort.

The boom of each Brobdignagian piece of ordnance inspired me with a sum in mental arithmetic, which the immediate thunder of another explosion prevented me from carrying out with strict accuracy. The problem, however, was simple enough. So much noise, so much gunpowder, so much money. So much money; so much taxation. The scene--of smoke chiefly--was too sublime; the noise was too overwhelming; perhaps I had also drunk too much brandy and water: to admit of my COCKERING myself in exact calculation; but I ciphered roughly in a mental soliloquy, thus:--

Bang! There goes the Income Tax. Bang! That's the Succession Duty. Bang! Bang! That's the Stamp and Paper Duties. Bang! Bang! Bang! There's the Assessed Taxes. Bom! the Malt Tax. Pop! the Wine Duties. Pop-pop-pop! The rest of the Taxes on Consumption.

All this money gone in fire and smoke? Not so--the greater part of it, doubtless in national defence and Peace Assurance; but is it not just possible that a rather enthusiastic nation may get a little too fond--as it has been ere now--of gunpowder and artillery; a little too prone, if it does not take care--no disparagement to Chobham Camps and Spithead Reviews--to amuse itself by playing at soldiers and sailors.

Of course it is necessary, to a certain extent, to discharge small arms and to fire broadsides at nothing. But yet, "amid the joy and the uproar" of these imposing high jinks, it may be a useful exercise for the mind of the spectator, if not too much clouded by powder smoke, or other fumes, to count the cost of the cartridges, and compute the dimensions of the hole which they blow in our pocket.

* * * * *

PARLIAMENTARY BULLETIN.

It is useless to affect any further disguise with respect to the condition of an Illustrious Body; or to the human certainty, almost, of that melancholy event which nothing but some unlooked for occurrence, or inconceivable change in the Constitution, can now protract above a few days. The following Bulletin was issued this morning:--

"_St. Stephen's, August 18, 1853._

"Parliament has passed a very unfavourable night; for the most part
in a state of extreme prostration: dozing heavily at intervals, but
now and then exhibiting symptoms of restlessness. The distinguished
patient is happily free from pain, and so completely in possession
of the mental faculties as to express a wish for Grouse: but the
difficulty of performing the vital functions increases; and the mind
of the nation must be prepared for the inevitable result.

{ ABERDEEN,
"Signed { PALMERSTON,
{ J. RUSSELL,
{ W. E. GLADSTONE."

We cannot be expected to express much sorrow at the approaching departure of the Imperial sufferer from the present Session of existence, already protracted beyond the usual span; and, in fact, will not pretend to say that we shall not consider it a very happy release.

* * * * *

THE REVIEW AT SPITHEAD.--It is wonderful that this affair was not a sad mistake; for there is no doubt that the Reviewers were all at sea.

_Boarder._ "AH! IT'S ALL WERRY WELL; BUT O, JACK--IF YOU HAD BEEN A ROOSHIAN!"]

* * * * *

WHO SENDS ALL THE CONSCIENCE-MONEY?

There is a question we would ask the reader: Did ever he meet with a person who had sent any "conscience-money" to the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER? We have met with many curious people in our lifetime, but we must say we never came in contact with an eccentric individual, who indulged in any peculiarity half so strange as the above. We do not believe such an individual exists. If ever there was a myth, we should say that individual is fairly entitled to call himself one. He must be the myth of all myths; unless perchance it is the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER himself, who sends all these conscience-moneys. We have long had a suspicion of this nature; firstly, because we never see any return of these numerous sums of money entered in the Quarter's Revenue; and, secondly, because we believe he does it to decoy others to do the same. If you notice, these conscientious offerings are generally made in favour of the income-tax. Now, the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER knows very well that this tax is not a popular one. He also knows that, on account of its unpopularity, there is a very large class of HER MAJESTY'S subjects who particularly dislike paying it. Give them but a chance of evading the payment, and they do not in the least scruple availing themselves of it. We do not say whether the practice, so pursued, is honest or not, but such is the fact! The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, therefore, hits every now and then upon the "conscience-money" expedient in order to reproach every man who has been a defaulter with the fact of his non-payment. It is only another way of saying to him, "Why don't you follow his example? Look at A. B.; what a noble-minded fellow he is! By some accident he has neglected to pay L50 for his share of the Income-Tax, and here, by Jove, he has sent it! Now, if _you_ have any conscience, you will immediately do the same."

We cannot say whether any one does send anything. A few pounds may drop in occasionally, but we suspect that the majority of the sums, sent in the name of A. B., or X. Y. Z., and the other popular initials of the alphabet, are forwarded by the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER himself. It is a financial dodge for inducing reluctant tax-payers to do that as a matter of "conscience," which they will not do as a pleasure.

* * * * *

THE END OF QUACKERY.

Among the many novel systems of medicine for which the present day is remarkable, there is one distinguished by a name that, at least, seems very appropriate. It is called Coffinism. This is candid. The term, however, is so comprehensive, that it might, with great correctness, be applied to all manner of therapeutical schemes which deviate from true medical science. There is one right method of treating diseases, and there are many wrong ones; to all whereof the denomination of Coffinism is justly applicable; since it indicates, with exactness, the tendency of each of them; every improper way of attempting to cure people being a path which leads to the "bourne from which no traveller returns:" in short, which terminates in the elm box.

* * * * *

A WHISPER IN THE EAR OF NICHOLAS.

We hope we have heard the last of the EMPEROR OF RUSSIA'S Ultimatums, or Ultimata, just as you like to call it. We trust the EMPEROR will bear in mind the old Latin injunction of "_Ne sutor ultra crepidam_", which, for his own particular Imperial use, we beg to alter into "_Ne sutor ultra Ultimatum_."

* * * * *

CURE FOR A CUT.--Buy a new suit of clothes.

* * * * *

SONGS OF THE MENDICANTS.

No. 2.--THE SONG OF THE DISTRESSED WEAVER.

Wearily spins the web of life;
Dismally London's streets I tread:
I've got at home a consumptive wife,
And two small children lying dead.
(_Aside._) I must indulge a quiet grin--
I shall feel better when I've laughed;
My wife's at home consuming gin,
While the children sleep with an opium draught.

If my wife and children you could see,
I'm sure you'd help me, good Christians all;
Believe my wretched tale, and on me
In halfpence let your compassion fall.
(_Aside._) If my wife and children you wish to meet
As soon as she's sober, you'll mayhap
Find her in the adjoining street,
With the well-drugg'd infants on her lap.

A Weaver I've always been by trade,
From the time when I was eight years old;
But I've been unfit for labour made,
By hunger, over-work, and cold.
(_Aside._) Yes, I am a Weaver, I'll stick to that;
And my skill will often myself surprise,
When I think what precious yarns I spin,
And what wondrous webs I weave--of lies.

To beg I'm forbidden by the Act;
But Providence will your charity bless,
If you'll purchase a small religious tract
From a pious Weaver in distress.
(_Aside._) Hallo! how's this? I'm fairly caught;
A religious tract, I think I said;
I've left them at home, and by Jove, I've brought
My stock of flash song-books out instead.

* * * * *

MR. PETERLOO BROWN'S EXAMINATION OF THE OXFORD STATUTES.