Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

"Concerning the superstitious use of what is called the Glorious
Hand, or Hand of Glory, by housebreakers in their robberies, we have
the following account:—The pretended use of this glorious hand is to
stupify or stun all those who are present, and render them perfectly
insensible. This glorious hand is the hand of a hanged criminal,
prepared in the following manner:—It is wrapped up in a bit of
winding-sheet, very tight, to force out the small remainder of
blood, then put into an earthen vessel with zimat, saltpetre, salt,
and long pepper, all well pulverised, after which, 'tis left fifteen
days in that pot, then taken out and exposed to the hottest sun of
dog days, till it becomes very dry; and if the sun be not hot
enough, they dry it in an oven heated with fern and vervain; then
they make a sort of candle of the grease of the hanged man, virgin
wax, and Lapland sefanum, and they make use of this glorious hand as
a candlestick, to hold this candle when lighted; and in all places
wherever they come with this fatal instrument, everybody they find
there becomes immoveable. We are also told, that it is to no purpose
for thieves to make use of this glorious hand, if the threshold of
the door, or other places by which they may enter, be rubbed over
with an unguent, composed of the gall of a black cat, the fat of a
white hen, and the blood of an owl, and that this composition be
made in the dog days."—_Tr. of Little Albert_, p. 34.

"John Weer, in his Book de Prestigus, has drawn up an inventory of
the diabolical monarchy, with the names and surnames of seventy-two
princes, and the seven million four hundred and five thousand nine
hundred and twenty-six devils, errors of computation only excepted,
adding what qualities and properties, and to what purposes they may
serve when invoked."—_Bodin_, p. 404.

"Thrasillus, a Heathen author, cited by Stobœus, says, that at the
Nile was a stone like a bear, which cured those who were afflicted
with dæmons for as soon as ever it was applied to the noses of
dæmoniacks, the devil immediately left them."—_Bodin_, p. 301.

"The way to be certainly loved, is, to take the marrow of a wolf's
left foot, and make of it a sort of pomatum, with ambergris and
cyprus powder, carry it about one, and cause the person to smell of
it from time to time."—_Albertus_, p. 12.

"To prevent differences and a divorce betwixt a man and his wife,
take two quails' hearts, the one of a male, the other of a female,
and cause the man to carry about him the male, and the woman the
female."—_Thiers_, tome 1, p. 389.

"Place a Toad's heart on a woman's left breast when she sleeps, to
make her tell her secrets."—_Thiers_, tome 1, p. 389.

_From_ "MARKHAM'S HORSEMANSHIP."

_How to doe with a Jaded Horse._—When that your horse is thoroughly
tired, and hath yet much of his journey to do, alight from him, and
cut, from the nighest hedge, a short wande, which you shall jag in
notches with your knife, and, making a hole in the thinnest of his
ear, when he dothe flag in his pace, then saw the stick to and froe
in the hole, which will revive him soe that, until he be entirely
spent, he will not faile to goe.

_Another way, with the horse of_ a friend, _or that is hired, and
soe that the proper owner shall not know thereof_.—When that your
beast is muche wearied, and hath yet far to travel, get down from
his back, and choose from the road side six smooth round pebbles, of
which you shall put three in his right ear, and tye up the ear with
binde-weed, or long grass, purse-wise; then mount him again and put
him on his mettle, and with the motion of his head the stones in his
ear will rattle seemingly to him like thunder, which will soe
inspirit him that while he hath life in him he will not fail to goe;
and when he doth, after that, slacken of his pace, then tye up three
in his left ear also.

_From_ "ONE THOUSAND NOTABLE THINGS."

_To Staunch the Bleeding of a Wound._—Write these four letters, A O
G L, with the blood of the wound, about the wound.

_A Medicine for the Toothache._—Take a live Mowle, and put him in a
brass pot, and there let him die, then cut him asunder and take out
the guts, and dry the blood with a cloth, then cut him in quarters,
and hang him on a thred drying by the fire's side; when ye would use
it, lay the fleshy side of it, with bladders of saffron, with a
cloth to your sore.

Pare the nails of one that hath the Quartan Ague, which, being put
into a linen cloth, and so tied about the neck of a quick eel, and
the same eel put into the water, thereby the ague will be driven
away.

It is certainly and constantly affirmed, that on Midsummer eve there
is found under the root of mugwort a coal which preserves and keeps
safe from the plague, carbuncle, lightning, the quartan ague, and
from burning, them that bear the same about them: and Mizaldus, the
writer hereof, saith that he doth hear that it is to be found the
same day under the root of plantane; which I know to be of truth,
for I have found them the same day under the root of plantane. It is
to be found at noon.

You shall stay the bleeding of the nose, if you write with the same
blood, in the forehead of the party that bleeds, these words
following, _Consummatum est_.

If one do buy Warts of them that have them, and give them a pin
therefor, if the party that hath the warts prick the same pin in
some garment that he wears daily and commonly, the wart or warts,
without doubt, will diminish and wear away privily, and be clear
gone in a short time.

If you take an oak apple from an oak tree, and in the same you shall
find a little worm, which if it doth fly away, it signifies wars; if
it creeps, it betokens scarcity of corn; if it run about, then it
foreshews the plague.

Whosoever eateth two walnuts, two figs, twenty leaves of rue, and
one grain of salt, all stamped and mixed together, fasting, shall be
safe from poison or plague that day; which antidote King Mithridates
had used so much, that when he drank poison purposely to kill
himself, it could not hurt him.

_From_ "THE ACCOMPLISHED GENTLEWOMAN'S COMPANION."

_To Cure the Toothache._—If a needle is run through a wood-louse,
and immediately touch the aching tooth with that needle, it will
cease to ache.

_To Cure the Jaundice._—Take a live Tench, slit it down the belly;
take out the guts, and clap the Tench to the stomach as fast as
possible, and it will cure immediately.

_From_ "NATURA EXENTERATA, OR NATURE UNBOWELLED."

_For the Falling Sicknesse._—Take the jaw bone of a man or a woman,
and beat it into fine powder, and if a woman have the falling
sicknesse, then use the jaw bone of the man; and if it be a man,
then use the jaw bone of the woman; so much of the powder as will
cover a sixpence, put it into wine or any other liquid thing which
you shall like of, and drink it; you may use it as often as you
will, but especially at spring and fall.

_For the Stone._—Take the blood of a Fox, and make it into powder,
and drink it in wine, and without doubt it shall destroy the stone;
and if you will not believe, take a stone and put it into the blood
of a fox, and it will break.

_For the Falling Evil._—Take the skull of a dead man, whereon moss
groweth, being taken and washed very clean, and dryed in an oven,
and then beaten to powder; the skull must be of one that hath been
slaine, or died suddenly, or of one that was hanged.

_To take a Corn out of the Toe._—Take a _black_ snail, roast it in a
_white_ cloth, and when it is roasted, lay it hot to the corn, and
it will take it away.

Before death this is a sign, if the tears run down of a man's right
eye, and a woman's left eye.

ADVERTISEMENT EXTRAORDINARY.

THE WORSHIPFUL COMPANY OF WISEACRES, having for nearly two centuries, by the aid of _Francis Moore_, _Richard Partridge_, _Poor Robin, and Co._, done great service to the community, particularly to the agricultural portion thereof (by their _seasonable_ directions for getting in the harvest, &c.), and occasioned great delight and satisfaction to all the old women of the empire; and having, moreover, employed the most diligent endeavours to cause good sense and universal intelligence to remain, as the said Company's craft and mystery do clearly indicate they should remain—_Stationary_:—for all these reasons, the said Worshipful Company do take great credit to themselves for the improvements in their business and calling, which other folks have originated; and confidently expect the public will, as in times past, always deal at their shop, and give them full credit for all the wonderful wonders which they promise henceforth to perform.

(By order of the Court)
GEORGE GREENHORN, Secretary.

┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┬────────────┐ │ JULY. │ [1835.│ ├─────────────┬──────────────────────────────────────────┴────────────┤ │ │In this month, follow my advice, │ │ │Never to slide upon the ice; │ │ │But if you should be tired of waiting, │ │ │Why, next month, you may go a-skating. │ ├──┬──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┬────────────┤ │ M│ Season's │ =Odd Matters.= │ WEATHER. │ │ D│ Signs. │ │ │ ├──┼──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┼────────────┤ │ 1│What │ │ │ │ │ │ │ Take note │ │ 2│shall │ VAUXHALL. │ │ │ │ │ │ ☽ △ ♓ │ │ 3│I do │"Dear Jane, will you go to VAUXHALL │ │ │ │ │ We want just to make up a dozen; │ that, I do │ │ 4│to get │Papa will stand treat for us all, │ │ │ │ │ And, be sure, give a hint to your │ │ │ │ │ cousin. │ │ │ 5│through │ │ ♊ ☉ ♄ ♂ △ │ │ │ │There's something so charming about him, │ │ │ 6│my task │ (I've got a new bonnet and shawl)— │ predict │ │ │ │I should be quite unhappy without him, │ │ │ 7│let me │ And careless of even VAUXHALL. │that you may│ │ │ │ │ │ │ 8│ask │My confession you'll never betray, │ │ │ │ │ For I'm sure you can manage it all; │ ☽ ♓ ♑ │ │ 9│I try │When you ask him, don't tell what I say, │ │ │ │ │ But speak of the charms of VAUXHALL. │ reasonably │ │10│again │ │ │ │ │ │You can talk of the songs and the singers,│look for the│ │11│but │ The orchestra, ballet, and ball; │ │ │ │ │I shall think that time spitefully lingers│ │ │12│in vain │ Till when we all meet at VAUXHALL. │ ♍ ☉ ⚹ ♍ │ │ │ │ │ │ │13│ah! │Say, there's Simpson the brave, who │ weather │ │ │ │ commanded │ │ │ │ │ Our troops in the year forty-five; │ │ │14│you │Who killed Count de Grasse single-handed, │ │ │ │ │ And took the French army alive. │ ♄ ♃ ♂ ☉ ⚹ │ │15│say │ │ │ │ │ │And remember the lamps,—how they're │ being much │ │ │ │ clustered, │ │ │16│try │ By thousands and thousands of dozens; │ │ │ │ │And then the dark walks—how I'm fluster'd │ warmer │ │17│away │ To think of your dearest of cousins! │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │18│it's all │You can talk of the fireworks so gay, │ ☉ ☽ ⚹ │ │ │ │ And just mention the ham and the │ │ │ │ │ chicken— │ │ │19│my │We'll contrive to get out of the way, │ than │ │ │ │ While papa makes an end of his picking. │ │ │20│eye │ │in January; │ │ │ │I should grieve to think drinking could │ │ │ │ │ charm him— │ │ │21│and │ But ere all my project should fall, │ │ │ │ │If nothing in nature can warm him, │ ♀♄☉ │ │22│Betty │ Then speak of the punch at VAUXHALL. │ │ │ │ │ │ nor do I │ │23│Martin │If all that you say don't avail, │ │ │ │ │ I must die with vexation and anguish; │ think │ │24│that's │But I'm sure that your friendship wont │ │ │ │ │ fail │ │ │ │ │ Your affectionate │ there is │ │ │ │ │ great │ │25│for │ │ │ │ │ │ LYDIA LANGUISH."│ │ │26│sartin │ │ │ │ │ │ │ △ ♓ │ │27│why │ │ │ │ │ │ │ likelihood │ │28│it's │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │29│done! │ │ ♄ △ ♃ ♂ ☉ │ │ │ │ │ │ │30│what │ │of frost or │ │ │ │ │ │ │31│fun! │ │ snow. │ └──┴──────────┴──────────────────────────────────────────┴────────────┘

JULY.
]

AUGUST
]

┌─────────────┬───────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │1835.] │ AUGUST. │ ├─────────────┼───────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │ │ In AUGUST,—so the Planets say,— │ │ │ Every _Dog_ shall have his _Day_; │ │ │So at _Hounds_ditch they meet, with much frisking and │ │ │ larking; │ │ │And proceed to the choice of a Member for _Barking_. │ ├──┬──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┬────────────┤ │ M│ Season's │ =Odd Matters.= │ WEATHER. │ │ D│ Signs. │ │ │ ├──┼──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┼────────────┤ │ 1│scamper │RIGDUM FUNNIDOS confesseth to having │ │ │ │ │purloined the following veritable │ │ │ 2│away │story; but when or where, his memory │ If the │ │ │ │deposeth not:— │ │ │ 3│the │ │ weather │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 4│deuce │ OYSTER DAY. │ ♎ ♅ ☉ ♂ ♍ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 5│to pay │Paddy was sent to Billingsgate, on │ │ │ │ │the FIRST of AUGUST, to buy a bushel │ hath been │ │ 6│a mad │of Oysters. When he returned, "What │ │ │ │ │made you so long, Pat?" said his │ lasting, │ │ 7│dog is │master. "Long, is it? By my sowl, I │ │ │ │ │think I've been pretty quick, │ ☽ ♓ ☌ ☍ │ │ 8│over │considering all things." "Considering │ │ │ │ │what things?" "Why, considering the │ look for a │ │ 9│the │gutting of the fish."—"Gutting what │ │ │ │ │fish?"—"What fish! why the oysthers, │ change; │ │10│way │to be sure."—"What is it that you │ │ │ │ │mean?"—"What do I mane! why I mane, │ │ │11│he's │as I was resting meeself a bit, and │ │ │ │ │taking a drop to comfort me, a │ ☽ ☿ ♍ │ │12│bit │jontleman axed me what I had got in │ │ │ │ │the sack. 'Oysthers, sir,' says I. │ ♄ ☌ ♂ ♊ ♉ │ │13│a cow │'Let's look at them,' says he, and he │ │ │ │ │opened the bag. 'Och! thunder and │ I say │ │14│he's │praties!' said he, 'who sould them to │ │ │ │ │ye?' 'It was Mick Carney,' said I. │look for it,│ │15│bit │'Mick Carney!' said he; 'the thief o' │ │ │ │ │the world! what a big blackguard must │ │ │16│a sow │he have been to give them to ye │ ♐ ♂ ☍ ☉ ♃ │ │ │ │without gutting.' 'And aren't they │ │ │17│he's │gutted?' said I. 'Divil a one o' │ though │ │ │ │them,' said he. 'Musha, then,' said I, │ │ │18│bit │'what will I do?' 'Do!' said he, 'I'd │ perhaps a │ │ │ │sooner do them for you myself than │ │ │19│my │have you abused!' and so he takes 'em │change will │ │ │ │in doors, and guts 'em all nate and │ │ │20│poor │clane, as you'll see." And out Paddy │ come not; │ │ │ │turned the empty shells on the floor. │ │ │21│old │ │ │ │ │ │ │ ♒ ☽ ♉ │ │22│mongrel │ │ │ │ │ │ │ in which │ │23│Toby │ │ │ │ │ │ │ case, │ │24│and │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │25│they're │ │ │ │ │ │ │ ♈ ♃ ♐ ♊ ⚹ │ │26│raving │ │ │ │ │ │ │ you will │ │27│mad │ │ │ │ │ │ │ do well │ │28│with │ │ │ │ │ │ │ to wait │ │29│the │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │30│hydro- │ │ ☉ ♐ ♃ │ │ │ │ │ │ │31│phoby │ │ till it │ │ │ │ │ doth. │ └──┴──────────┴──────────────────────────────────────────┴────────────┘

THE GARDENER'S CALENDAR.

As I sat at my window a few evenings ago, a loud rattling in the street drew my attention, and at the same instant an omnibus stopped at my nextdoor neighbour's, the poulterer. First alighted a servant-maid and lad—then two or three half-grown boys and girls, intermingled with a torrent of chattels, consisting of shrubs, flowers, enough live animals to stock a menagerie, packages past counting, and lastly, Mrs. Giblet in full feather, arrayed in lily-white, and bearing in each hand a full-blown balsam. All was safely landed, when a hackney coach drove up at a quiet pace, and from it descended, with the help of his shopmen and a pair of crutches, my neighbour, Simon Giblet himself. His legs were swathed up, his back, for which broadcloth was formerly too narrow, seemed considerably shrunk, and he looked care-worn and in pain. After him was borne his second son Dick, apparently disabled too. I had scarcely seen my neighbour or any of his family for some months past, but as I had often gossipped in his shop, I determined to go down and inquire what had befallen him. He had just arrived at his great wooden chair. His eyes were gleaming with complacency on a goodly row of fatted fowls, all placed with their delicate, dainty, floury broad behinds before, and as he plumped into the seat he ejaculated, with a grunt, "Thank heaven!" A shopman sat in a corner plucking a snow-white pullet. Giblet looked at him wistfully, and then, "Bring it here, Sam," he cried. He took it, plucked a few handfuls of feathers, and as he returned it to Sam, "Thank heaven!" he grunted again. My foot kicked against something at the threshold. I stooped and picked up a clasped book, which I presented to him, as I tendered my sympathy. "Oh!" said he, "nothing but disasters. I've made ducks and drakes of my money, and a _goose_ of myself; upon my _sole_, it's a blessing that I got away before Michaelmas. I'm in too much pain to tell you now. Ah! I see you've picked up my journal. Work or pleasure, I've always made up a day-book every night. I'll lend it you if you wish to see how I've been pigeoned. While I stuck to the fowls all went fair with me, but when I took to that river-bank I was like a duck out of water." I saw my neighbour was excited, so, after a few consoling words, I retreated, carrying off his calendar; and here are some extracts, by permission, for the benefit of all amateur ruralists.

DIARY.

_March 21, 1834._—Mrs. G. bent on a rural retirement, and declaring this a dog-cheap bargain,—meet Mr. Grabbit to-morrow, pay premium, and take lease of his snug place at Strand-on-the-Green.—Wife insists on calling it Cherub Lodge, Paradise Bank.—N.B. Original sum, £600; Grabbit seeming to like us, abates a hundred entirely as a favour.

27th.—All safe arrived: only one pier-glass split into four, and best tea-set, bought as 32 pieces, converted into 32 dozen. However, Mrs. G. observes, that being by the river side, we must have a marine grotto, and the pieces of looking-glass, mixed with the bits of blue and gold china, will make a fine glitter among the moss and shells.

28th.—Grabbit recommends Isaac Snail as head gardener, and his son Isaac to help him—says old Isaac was his right hand, and begged to be left in the house, he was so attached to the garden.

31st.—Two days' rain, without ceasing; planning with Isaac on the large kitchen table covered an inch thick with mould—laid down gravel walks of red garter, and stuck up skewers for fruit trees.

_April 1._—Rain falling, river rising, cellars filling.

2nd.—Ducks swimming into the parlour—moved to the first floor for safety—Musical Tom (my youngest) splashing about bare-legged in the kitchen, and shouting "four feet water in the hold." A leak sprung in the next onion field—all my land under water. Dick, perched on window-sill, angling for roach in the garden. Isaac says we shall get used to it, and the waters always go off again. Daughter Julia tells me the people of Egypt would think it quite a blessing—beg to differ.

7th.—Can just see land.—House left rather slimy.—Isaac and I commence gardening in earnest.—Distrained on for forty odd pounds, taxes left unpaid by Mr. Grabbit.—To keep my goods, parted with the money, and started to town for an explanation—found Grabbit sailed last week for Swan River. Isaac says he was a worthy gentleman, but had a bad memory— begin to be of the same opinion.

9th.—Buried an old hen at the foot of a plum-tree by the light of the full moon—am told it will then bear egg-plums.

19th.—Potato eyes always an eye-sore, so have planted a bed with every eye nicely cut away, by which I hope to grow a crop as smooth as my hand and as blind as moles.—Look for the Horticultural Society's gold medal for this bright idea.

27th.—Wondered my ranunculuses did not come up; just tried one, found I had planted them all bottom topmost, and they were shooting away down to what Dick says is the centre of gravity.

_May_ 3.—Grubbing for grubs among the rose-trees—cucumbers in full flower—Mrs. Giblet and Julia come to help me—all busy setting the blossoms—puzzled to tell the male flowers, till Mrs. G. discovered it all by the book.

12th.—Tulips splendid yesterday, but flagged this morning; and after dinner all napping with their heads on the bed—Isaac said it was the east wind. Thought there might be a grub at the roots, so drew one up— found no bulb—all the rest the same—somebody had taken away the roots and stuck the flowers into the ground again.

13th.—Finished my new hot-water pipes for the conservatory, all heated by the kitchen fire—a scheme of my own—Cook had a regular flare-up with so much company yesterday, so the water was boiling hot all day—by night the plants looked like scalded goose-berries. This morning, all my pipes united in a _joint-run_ on the cistern, which answered their draughts to the last, and the spare water from the green-house floor was soaking into the breakfast parlour. The inventor just arrived—says it's all quite regular—the cracked joints will close of themselves in time—I wonder when.

23rd.—Wrote to the editor of The Gardener's Journal an account of my plan for growing potatoes without eyes, and the experiments for making an egg-plum tree.

_June_ 2.—Vines cut last month, all bled to death.—Surprised that my new potatoes without eyes have not seen daylight yet.—My letter to the magazine in print.—Encouraging notice by editor, "Thanks S. G. for communicating his ingenious discoveries; hopes to hear from him again, with samples of the new potato and egg-plum." Think I shall disclose myself, and name the new sort, the Cherub Giblet potato. Most of the neighbours spoke to me coming out of church yesterday, but little thought who S. G. was.

12th.—Suppose I want exercise.—Wife blows me up, and says I get puffy; so, to keep all smooth with her and the garden walks, drag the great roller about for two hours, morning and night.

19th.—Insects in green-house devouring all my new plants; searched book for a remedy, and last night popped in a pan of burning brimstone. This morning all the grubs shrivelled to shreds, and every plant dead and stripped as naked as a plucked chicken. Tom begs to have the green-house to keep his pigeons in.

23rd.—Fill up odd time in watching fruit trees with a rattle, for the birds perch on the sham cats and build nests in the mawkins. What with opening and shutting the cucumber-frames, according to the sun, wind, and clouds, plenty to do.—Charged the garden-engine with lime water—set Dick and Tom to play upon the caterpillars. They have so whitewashed the three Miss Blackets, that I have two velvet bonnets, a silk pelisse, and a cashmere shawl to pay for.

_July_ 3.—Tool-house robbed last night; all cleared out but the garden roller. Isaac's list for a new outfit—spades, forks, dibbers, trowels, traces, hoes, rakes, weeders, scrapers, knives, pruners, axes, saws, shears, scythes, hammers, pincers, lines, levels, sieves, watering-pots, syringes,—he would have gone on, but I stopped him.

9th.—Set nooses for wild rabbits, which are devouring everything green, even the bays. This morning found we had strangled Dick's lop-eared doe. Tom, who is learning to joke, observed that she had wandered for a change of food, and had found a _halter_-ation.

18th.—The Cherub Giblet potatoes not coming up to time, tried the ground and found them rotting—all gone off without a single shoot.—Mem. To forget them in my next to The Gardener's Journal.

24th.—Half my time taken up in driving the butterflies off the gooseberry trees. Left my weeding-gloves stuck on a stick last night—put them on this morning, and smashed five slugs in one, and seven earwigs in the other.—Mem. Old gloves the best slug-trap.

_August_ 5.—My cucumber frames yield plenty of fruit—have gathered not less than twenty, worth twopence each—cost me only five pounds six shillings and sevenpence.

9th.—Strolled into shrubbery this evening with a lanthorn, for the pleasure of viewing things in a new light—up started two figures from among the bushes, tumbled me, lanthorn, and all, into a bed of roses, and escaped. Mem. 'Stablish a spring gun to-morrow.

15th.—Wall-fruit ripening—must have a few friends while there is something for them—fresh-gathered peaches always a treat.

19th.—Up at six to look after the fruit—all hope of a dessert had deserted my walls—every ripe plum, peach and nectarine, clean gone, as though the rogues knew that I had asked ten to dinner. Said nothing, but sent off Isaac to Covent Garden. Obliged to do it liberally, having unfortunately been boasting. Looked in book for best man-trap—found it called the humane, because it only breaks the leg. Mem. Set up a man-trap to-morrow.

25th.—My egg-plums ripe at last—sent off a loaded branch to my correspondent the editor—Letter of thanks in return, saying that my tree would have produced egg-plums whether I had buried the old hen or not.— Envious, no doubt.

_September_ 2.—Terrible outcry in the garden, this morning, before I was up—ran down in my shirt—unlucky Dick had stolen a march on the egg-plum tree for a private regale. Branch broke—there he was on his back, kicking—hives upset—could not see Dick for bees—got help and rescued him at last—all stung a little—Dick poulticed from head to foot, and laid up for a month at least. Isaac says it is a thousand pities, as the honey was almost ready for taking.

18th.—Went to the Bank to-day—lot of garden tools at old iron-shop in the City Road—very cheap and ready marked S. G., so bought and despatched them home—looked up, and saw "Jacob Snail" over door—thought it rather suspicious.

19th.—Could not sleep for thinking of Isaac and the tools—bright moonlight at two—looked through the window—something moving on the garden wall—saw two men among the bees—seized my musket—called Harry to follow me—crept down through the shrubs, and there was old Isaac, plain enough, tying the hives in sacks and handing them to young Isaac on the wall—made sure of the old fox, so fired at the young one; down he fell into the ditch outside. Sprung forward, forgetting the spring gun, caught the wire and all the shot in my legs—never made such a jump in my life—took me plump, head and shoulders, into the man-trap. There I was locked fast across the chest. How I blessed myself that it was a humane man-trap!—Old Isaac escaped.—Here I am in bed and likely to be lame for life—plenty of time for reflection—begin to think myself an ass.

23rd.—Old Isaac not to be found—tracked the young fox—brought him to confession—both been plundering me every night from the beginning. Old Isaac stole my tools, and his brother sold them to me again. Young Isaac stole my tulips—together they stole my peaches and nectarines the night before my party, and the old knave, when I sent him to town for more, fetched my own from his cottage, and charged me with them.

25th.—A notice to-day, by which I learn that I have been imposed on by a swindling knave who had no right to sell me the place or take a premium— that the owner is coming from the continent and wants instant possession—never so thankful in my life—better already—pack up—send for van—hire omnibus for wife, children, and light luggage—go gently myself with poor Dick in a coach.

26th.—Here comes the omnibus. Huzza!

SEPTEMBER.
]

┌─────────────┬───────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │1835.] │ SEPTEMBER. │ ├─────────────┼───────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │ │Boiling, boiling, stewed in steamers, │ │ │ Aldgate flares in Margate manners; │ │ │Fleet Ditch—Shoreditch—both are streamers; │ │ │ London flags, deserted banners. │ ├──┬──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┬────────────┤ │ M│ Season's │ =Odd Matters.= │ WEATHER. │ │ D│ Signs. │ │ │ ├──┼──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┼────────────┤ │ 1│Ods! │ │ If it be │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 2│flints │ THE COCKNEY'S ANNUAL. │ not │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 3│and │There's one thing very wonderful,—indeed, │ ♄ ♂ ☊ ☉ ⚹ │ │ │ │ it quite astonishes, │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 4│triggers │And of the March of Intellect it forcibly │ ☉ ♀ │ │ │ │ admonishes, │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 5│double │It shows how wise the people are in every │ seasonable │ │ │ │ situation │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 6│barrel- │And tho' they love reform, how much they │ weather │ │ │ │ hate all innovation, │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 7│led │It proves, that tho' unsparingly they root│ │ │ │ │ out old abuses, │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 8│guns │They have a pious care for things of │ ⚹ ♊ ♈ ☌ │ │ │ │ venerable uses; │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 9│and │And tho' some folks don't scruple much to │ at │ │ │ │ talk of revolution; │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │10│per- │And many would not hesitate to change the │ this time, │ │ │ │ constitution; │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │11│cussion │Yet this one thing's so cherish'd with a │ ♉ ♄ ☉ ♊ ☌ │ │ │ │ laudable affection,— │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │12│locks │This idol of our ancestors, this mirror │ then │ │ │ │ for reflection,— │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │13│powder │That in the very centre of fair London's │ will it be │ │ │ │ gorgeous city, │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │14│horns │It reigns, as in the days of old, to glad │ otherwise; │ │ │ │ the wise and witty; │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │15│and │Exhibiting the anxious care the Civical │ │ │ │ │ Nobility │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │16│shot │Feel for the moral purity of London's │ ♀ ☍ ♑ ♌ ☋ │ │ │ │ chaste mobility: │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │17│pocket │A long harangue I'd make of it, but flinch│ which will │ │ │ │ from your ferocity, │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │18│pistols │Already rous'd up to the highest pitch of │ be worthy │ │ │ │ curiosity, │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │19│charged │I'll tell you then what 'tis at once, and │ │ │ │ │ nothing more shall follow new,— │ │ │ │ │ │ ☍ ☌ ♄ ☉ │ │20│with │It is that rural festival—the FAIR OF ST. │ │ │ │ │ BARTHOLOMEW │ │ │ │ │ │ of a │ │21│brandy │ │ │ │ │ │ │ diligent │ │22│thick │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │23│soled │ │ ⊕ ♉ ♂ ☿ ♑ │ │ │ │ │ │ │24│shoes │ │ searching │ │ │ │ │ │ │25│and │ │ into │ │ │ │ │ │ │26│flab- │ │ │ │ │ │ │ ♂ ♄ ☉ ♈ │ │27│ber- │ │ │ │ │ │ │ the causes │ │28│de- │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │29│gas │ │ ☌ ⚹ ♀ ⊕ ♄ │ │ │ │. │ │ │30│kins │ │ thereof. │ └──┴──────────┴──────────────────────────────────────────┴────────────┘

┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┬────────────┐ │ OCTOBER. │ [1835.│ ├─────────────┬──────────────────────────────────────────┴────────────┤ │ │Old Gripes, the brewer, reads with iron phiz │ │ │The _Times_, nor cares if hops be "fell" or "riz;" │ │ │Nor does the malt-tax cause him hope or fear, │ │ │For malt has no connexion with _his_ beer. │ ├──┬──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┬────────────┤ │ M│ Season's │ =Odd Matters.= │ WEATHER. │ │ D│ Signs. │ │ │ ├──┼──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┼────────────┤ │ 1│Now's │ │ │ │ │ │ │ We look │ │ 2│the │ THE RETURN TO TOWN. │ │ │ │ │ │ now for │ │ 3│time │At length, compell'd by emptying purse │ │ │ │ │To fly from fleas, and something worse— │ ♉ ☍ ♈ ♀ │ │ 4│by │The oft-sung strain, "Do let us stay │ │ │ │ │Another week," is thrown away: │cool weather│ │ 5│jingo │You talk of rain, and chilly weather, │ │ │ │ │That cash and days grow short together, │ ⚹ ♏ ♀ │ │ 6│for │That winds, and clouds, and fogs are come,│ │ │ │ │All hints to haste from Hastings home; │ ♀ ♃ ⊕ ♎ ♐ │ │ 7│brewing │So nought remains but just to get, │ │ │ │ │Before you travel, out of debt; │ which is a │ │ 8│rare │Glut all the household birds of prey, │ │ │ │ │Pack your remains, and run away. │ reasonable │ │ 9│good │At raffles oft you've tried your fate, │ │ │ │ │And let your gains accumulate, │expectation │ │10│stingo │And now you wind up all the fun │ │ │ │ │With ten pounds staked, a sovereign won, │ │ │11│and │For which you bear away to town │ ☊ ♓ ♑ ♌ │ │ │ │Gilt paper treasures worth a crown. │ │ │12│where │No doubt you've tried, like all the rest, │yet hath it │ │ │ │A little smuggling for a zest; │ │ │13│is he │Sufficient proof, you've fill'd your jars │ sometimes │ │ │ │With Cognac made at Smithfield Bars; │ │ │14│who'd │Your wife has bargain'd for French │ chanced │ │ │ │ flowers, │ │ │ │ │All grown in Hatton Garden's bowers; │ │ │15│dare to │On foreign silks display'd her skill, │ otherwise, │ │ │ │While Spitalfields supplied her still. │ │ │16│scorn │And last comes on the dismal day │ │ │ │ │When daughters slowly slink away, │ ♒ ☿ ♊ ♍ ☽ │ │17│the │And leave you, warned by gloomy brows, │ │ │ │ │With money bills, brought up by spouse, │and so I do │ │18│famous │Debating clauses, which, alas! │ │ │ │ │You neither can throw out nor pass. │ leave you │ │19│Sir John │And when you've managed all to pay, │ │ │ │ │You skulk to town the cheapest way; │ to decide │ │20│Barley- │Put sixpence in the coachman's hand, │ │ │ │ │Haggle with Jarvey on the stand, │ upon the │ │21│corn │And curs'd and bullied, off you sneak, │ │ │ │ │To pinch at home for many a week. │probability │ │22│let │ │ │ │ │ │ │ either way │ │23│others │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │24│boast of │ │ ♀ ♏ ⚹ │ │ │ │ │ │ │25│foreign │ │ being not │ │ │ │ │ │ │26│wine │ │ unmindful │ │ │ │ │ │ │27│a cup │ │ as to what │ │ │ │ │ │ │28│of home │ │ the Great │ │ │ │ │ │ │29│brew'd │ │ Comet hath │ │ │ │ │ │ │30│beer │ │to do in the│ │ │ │ │ │ │31│be mine. │ │ matter. │ └──┴──────────┴──────────────────────────────────────────┴────────────┘

OCTOBER.
]

ADVERTISEMENT EXTRAORDINARY.

BRUTISH HUMBUG COLLEGE OF HEALTH.—The wonderful efficacy of the MORISING PILLS becomes every day more perspicuous. The discerning Public swallows 'em 'like winking;' and we defies all opposition, and the _Weakly_ attempts of our enemies to _Dispatch_ us. We tells those as calls us quacks, that, under the blessing of Divine Providence, we glories in our ignorance; and takes every opportunity of exposing it, for the benefit of our suffering fellow-creatures. And we have found them a _sovereign_ remedy for ourselves; having, for a long while, been afflicted with an emptiness of the chest, and a great deficiency of the _yellow-stuff_, all which terrible symptoms have speedily disappeared; so we feels in duty bound to propagate our pills to the remotest prosperity.

The following are selected out of several millions of cases, furnished by a single agent, in a most sensible letter, to prove the never-to-be-enough-wondered-at wonderful efficacy of the Hy-gee-wo-ian Medicines.

* * * * *

MOST RESPECTED SIR,

Being clearly convinced, from a proper use of my reasoning
faculties, that it is perfectly consistent with probability and good
sense to believe that one medicine, made of I don't know what, by I
don't know who, is certain to cure every disorder, and is equally
efficacious in all ages and constitutions, from the infant of a week
old, to the old man of eighty; and being, moreover, equally well
convinced that it is quite unreasonable to place any sort of trust
or dependence on the prescriptions of men of scientific education,
who have merely devoted their whole lives to the medical
profession;—and, further, being struck with the astounding fact, and
exceeding likelihood, that an universal panacea could only be
reserved for those who are quite innocent of all medical knowledge,
and whose perfect disinterestedness is manifested by their being
contented with the trifling remuneration derived from the credulity
of the British public;—I say, Sir, for all these reasons I have
become a zealous advocate of the Hy-gee-wo-ian medicines.

Having been appointed your agent, and, therefore, influenced, like
yourself, by the most disinterested motives, I make it a point to
recommend them on all occasions, and always in sufficiently large
doses, on which I observe you lay peculiar stress; and very justly:
for does it not follow, as a matter of course, that if six pills do
a certain quantity of good, six thousand must, as a natural
consequence, do six thousand times as much more good, and the
patient must be six thousand times the better for them? There are
some censorious folks who insinuate that the more pills I sell the
more money I get by them; but I need not assure you that, in this
respect, my motives are quite as disinterested as your own.

Yours ever to command,
FRANCIS FLEECE'EM.

_P.S._—Please to send me a dozen wagon loads of No. 1 Pills, and the
same of No. 2 Pills, as early as possible. I hand you the following
cases, which have come under my own knowledge:—

* * * * *

_To the Haygent for the Morising Pils._

ONERR'D SUR,

This hear kums 2 akwaint you that havein lost my happytight i tuk to
takein your Morising Pils witch i only begun with takein 5 hundred
hat a time witch had the blessed defect of turnin me inside out and
I felt in a wery pekooliar citywation witch discurraged me 2
parsewere and i tuk 1 thousen hat a doze by witch I was turned
outside in by witch my happytight was kwite discuvvered witch was a
grate blessin for my whife who is bigg in the famylyar way with 12
smal childern with grate happytights all threw your pils and I ham
now Abel to wurk and yarn my 12 shillin a weak So no more hat presnt
from your

umbel Serv't to command
GREGORY GUDGEON.

No. 9,
Nobody-knows-where Street,
Jericho,
Feb. the 32nd, 1836.

* * * * *

SIR,

A most respectable friend of mine, at the suggestion of a worthy
magistrate of Surrey, felt himself constrained to take steps for his
improvement at that celebrated place of fashionable resort, Brixton
Tread Mill.

For a considerable period he was greatly delighted with this elegant
mode of recreation; and was much struck with the ingenuity of an
invention by which a person might walk fifty or sixty miles a day,
without the inconvenience of changing the scene. But, somehow or
other, being a man of very ardent temperament, he entered so much
into the spirit of the amusement that—but I scarcely know how to
describe it, lest I should be suspected of exaggeration, a fault I
hold in the greatest abhorrence—in short, we have all of us heard of
pedestrians, after a hard day's travel, complain of having nearly
walked their feet off; but my unfortunate friend literally did so;
and so intent was he on his salubrious pastime that he kept walking
on upon his bare stumps; nor would it have been discovered, had not
his feet, on finding that they had no longer the power of motion,
determined that nothing else should have that power; and spitefully
stopped the mill, by getting entangled in the machinery.

The kind-hearted governor, who witnessed the occurrence, told my
friend not to mind such a trifle, but to _morris on_. This happy
expression brought to his mind your justly famous _Morrissing
Pills_; and being naturally desrious of recovering his footing, a
messenger was _morrissed off_ for a supply. At the first dose, he
only swallowed a dozen boxes, which had no very visible effect; a
thing not to be wondered at; because, as you justly observe in your
advertisements, it is impossible to take too many. The following
night, however, he trebled the quantity; and, next morning, being
awakened by what seemed the shooting of his corns, he put his hand
down, and found a pair of full-grown handsome feet, more than twice
as big as his old ones. I should observe, there was one trifling
deviation,—the heels were foremost; and, on getting out of bed, and
attempting to walk towards the mill, he found an invariable tendency
to proceed in an opposite direction. On the circumstance being
observed by the governor, he very kindly told him not to afflict
himself on that head, as he found all his pupils at first had a
similar propensity; but, by a strict attention to a bread-and-water
regimen, and a small quantity of blood being drawn from the back by
one of his amiable assistants, they soon so far recovered, that the
mere presence of himself, or one of his assistants, was quite
sufficient to prevent a relapse. My friend suggested that a dose, or
even the promise of a dose, of the _Morrissing Pills_ would be much
more certain to prove efficacious; and the governor very politely
promised to give them a trial, as he confessed, he said, that the
operation of bleeding was particularly painful to his tender
feelings.

As to the inconvenience of the matter in the ordinary business of
life, my respected friend seems to think that it can make but little
difference, as he has always gone backward all his life-time;
indeed, it is a question with him whether it is not an advantage;
as, instead of mixing in mobs and frays, as he was very much in the
habit of doing, his feet will now carry him in a clean contrary
direction, quite out of harm's way.

I remain, respected Sir,
Your gullible Servant,
GILES GOSLING.

No. 1,
Find-it-out-if-you-can Lane,
No-where Street.

* * * * *

SIR,

I beg to inform you that a poor man was blown to atoms by the
explosion of the Powder Mills on Hounslow Heath. His affectionate
wife, who happened to be passing at the time, carefully picked up
the fragments, and placed them together; and, by administering a
dose of the Universal Medicine, he was able to walk home, and eat a
hearty dinner of bacon and cabbage.

If any person should doubt the truth of the above statement, I beg
you will refer them to me, when I will fully satisfy all inquiries.
I am easily _found out_,—as _everybody knows me_.

Your obedient Servant,
GILES GAMMON.

No. 1, Blarneygig Place,
Salisbury Plain,
next door to Stonehenge.

_P.S._—I forgot to add, that the poor woman, in the hurry of the
moment, made a small mistake, by placing the head of a donkey, which
had been blown off by the explosion, upon her husband's shoulders,
instead of his own; but she says it is of very little consequence,
as very few of his acquaintance could perceive any difference.

┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┬────────────┐ │ NOVEMBER. │ [1835.│ ├─────────────┬──────────────────────────────────────────┴────────────┤ │ │Now razors and ropes are in great requisition; │ │ │So I humbly propose that 'the House' we petition │ │ │(To prevent this sad use of the halter and knife), │ │ │That each _felo de se_ be transported _for life_. │ ├──┬──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┬────────────┤ │ M│ Season's │ =Odd Matters.= │ WEATHER. │ │ D│ Signs. │ │ │ ├──┼──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┼────────────┤ │ 1│fogs │ │ │ │ │ │ │By the past │ │ 2│bogs │ GUNPOWDER PLOT. │ │ │ │ │ │ ♅ ☋ ♌ ♃ ♓ │ │ 3│and │ 'Tis good to remember │ │ │ │ │The FIFTH of NOVEMBER, │ we do │ │ 4│vapours │Gunpowder, treason, and plot; │ │ │ │ │ There's abundance of reason │ predict of │ │ 5│blue │ To think of the treason, │ │ │ │ │Then why should it e'er be forgot? │the future, │ │ 6│devilry │ │ │ │ │ │ Our sympathies thrive │ by which │ │ 7│capers │ By keeping alive │ │ │ │ │Such sweet little hatreds as these; │ I do │ │ 8│good │ And folks love each other │ │ │ │ │ As dear as a brother, │discern the │ │ 9│bye │Whose throat they are ready to squeeze. │ │ │ │ │ │ likelihood │ │10│hope │ I delight in the joys │ │ │ │ │ Of the vagabond boys, │ │ │11│welcome │When they're burning Guy Vaux and the │ ⚹ ♀ ♈ ☍ │ │ │ │ Pope; │ │ │ │ │ It the flame keeps alive, │ │ │12│rope │ It makes bigotry thrive, │ of the │ │ │ │And gives it abundance of scope. │ │ │13│dangling │ │ weather │ │ │ │ 'Tis a beautiful truth │ │ │14│strangling│ For the minds of our youth, │ being │ │ │ │And will make 'em all Christians indeed; │ │ │15│frowning │ For the Church and the State │ │ │ │ │ Thus to teach 'em to hate │ ♈ ☍ ♉ ♋ ♎ │ │16│drowning │All those of a different creed. │ │ │ │ │ │ in some │ │17│oh! │ It is two hundred years │ │ │ │ │ Since our ancestors' fears │ sort the │ │18│Johnny │Were arous'd by this blood-thirsty fox; │ │ │ │ │ But often, since then, │ │ │19│Bull │ Our parliament men │ ♈ ☊ ♍ │ │ │ │Have been awfully _blown up_ by _Vaux_. │ │ │20│what a │ │ same as │ │ │ │ Now, they cannot deny │ │ │21│silly │ They're afraid of their Guy; │ usual, │ │ │ │And some of them earnestly hope, │ │ │22│old │ He may fancy a swing │ │ │ │ │ At the end of a string; │ ♊ ♒ ☿ ♍ │ │23│fool! │And they promise him plenty of rope. │ │ │ │ │ │ unless the │ │24│wait │ │ │ │ │ │ │ Comet do │ │25│to the │ │ │ │ │ │ │ make an │ │26│end │ │ │ │ │ │ │ alteration │ │27│and │ │ │ │ │ │ │therein as I│ │28│all │ │ │ │ │ │ │ have │ │ │ │ │ heretofore │ │29│will │ │ │ │ │ │ │ noted. │ │30│mend │ │ │ └──┴──────────┴──────────────────────────────────────────┴────────────┘

NOVEMBER.
]

DECEMBER.
]

┌─────────────┬───────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │1835.] │ DECEMBER. │ ├─────────────┼───────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │ │At length, I've come to the end of my tether; │ │ │I've told you all about the weather, │ │ │And a great deal more, take it altogether, │ │ │So now my twelvemonth's work is done, │ │ │I'm your obedient,—RIGDUM FUN. │ ├──┬──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┬────────────┤ │ M│ Season's │ =Odd Matters.= │ WEATHER. │ │ D│ Signs. │ │ │ ├──┼──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┼────────────┤ │ 1│head │ │ │ │ │ │ │ Take note, │ │ 2│back │ BOXING DAY. │ │ │ │ │ │ ☌ ♉ ⚹ ♀ ♊ │ │ 3│belly │Of all the joys the seasons bring, │ │ │ │ │ (And most, alas! have flown away,) │ frost │ │ 4│knees │I dearly do delight to sing │ │ │ │ │ The pleasures of a BOXING DAY. │ and snow │ │ 5│teeth │ │ │ │ │ │For then a host of smiling folks │ ♓ ♐ │ │ 6│toes │ Are anxious their respects to pay, │ │ │ │ │And tell me (would it were a hoax!) │ may be │ │ 7│nose │ That, 'if I please,' it's BOXING DAY. │ │ │ │ │ │ expected │ │ 8│aching │Those doleful Waits, who've lain in wait, │ │ │ │ │ To scare my balmy sleep away, │this month, │ │ 9│quaking │Like bravoes, who've despatch'd their job,│ │ │ │ │ Now claim reward on BOXING DAY. │ │ │10│chattering│ │ ⚹ ♄ ♓ ☉ ♄ │ │ │ │The Milkmaid, who deals out sky-blue, │ │ │11│clattering│ (Her tally's double-scor'd, they say,) │ but │ │ │ │With smiling face, of rosy hue, │ │ │12│freezing │ A curtsey drops on BOXING DAY. │be not sure │ │ │ │ │ │ │13│sneezing │The Baker's man, who brings me bread │ of their │ │ │ │ As heavy as a lump of clay, │ │ │14│O rare │And _bricks_ as hard as any _stone_, │ coming, │ │ │ │ I can't refuse on BOXING DAY. │ │ │15│Christmas │ │ ♀ ♐ ♄ ♑ ♊ │ │ │ │As I was walking in the street, │ │ │16│fare │ I met the Butcher with his tray; │ then shall │ │ │ │He thrust the corner in my eye,— │ │ │17│a fig │ I'll think of him on BOXING DAY. │ you │ │ │ │ │ │ │18│for care │The Scavenger, who plaster'd me, │ not be │ │ │ │ When dress'd in wedding-suit so gay, │ │ │19│kiss │Now hopes I 'von't forget, d'ye see, │disappointed│ │ │ │ As how that this here's BOXING DAY.' │ │ │20│below │ │ │ │ │ │My house on fire—no turncock found; │ ♐ ☽ ♀ ♉ │ │21│the │ My house burnt down—he came to say, │ │ │ │ │He hop'd that I'd reward his zeal, │ and │ │22│misteltoe │ And think of him on BOXING DAY. │ │ │ │ │ │ if it be │ │23│laugh │The Bellman, Dustman, Chimney-sweep, │ │ │ │ │ Bring up the rear in smart array, │ │ │24│quaff │And all get drunk, and strip to fight, │ ♃ ☌ ♈ ⊕ ♐ │ │ │ │ To prove it is a BOXING DAY. │ │ │25│never │ │fine summer │ │ │ │ │ │ │26│fear │ │ weather, │ │ │ │ │ │ │27│with │ │ then │ │ │ │ │ │ │28│merry │ │I say again │ │ │ │ │ │ │29│glee │ │ ♐ ♀ ☉ │ │ │ │ │ │ │30│conclude │ │bethink you │ │ │ │ │ │ │31│the year │ │of the Comet│ └──┴──────────┴──────────────────────────────────────────┴────────────┘

VALEDICTION.

Farewell, my merry gentlemen,—let nothing you dismay; But take good heart, for tho' we part, we'll meet another day; I hope, next year, when, never fear, I'll have enough to say, And bring tidings of comfort and joy.