Chapter II

Tom Gad, a swell, in a town hotel,
Is breakfasting like a king;
Besides his proggery, lots of toggery
Hatters and tailors bring;
While John declares, he's blest if ever he
Look'd so smart as he shall in his livery!

14. Crockford cuts the cards, and throws up the game.

When Crocky, after many rubs,
On gaming turn'd his back,
'Twas just as though the king of _clubs_
Were shuffled from the pack.

"Not guilty, on my honour."
]

16. Lord Cardigan's trial and acquittal.

21. The Pennard Cheese.

A mighty fuss about a mity cheese
From _Zummerset_, Her Majesty to please;
A wrong foundation sure its fame was built on,—
So mighty high—it must have been a _Stilt-on_.

26. Explosion of the great projectile in Essex.—Lots of calves
frightened to death, all for the public _weal_.

28. Conviction at Worship-street, for selling spurious T, which
shows the necessiT of avoiding an uncertainT.

VALOUR AND DISCRETION:
THE ANCIENT AND HONOURABLE LUMBER TROOP.

(_From their Private Despatches._)

It is at all times a pleasing task to chronicle heroic deeds, and we hasten to immortalize the proceedings of this gallant body of veterans during the past year. Amongst their most daring and successful attempts, have been the taking possession of Eel Pie Island; the storming of the baked apple-stand, at Temple Bar; the blockade of Bolt-court, and the celebrated passage of the Paddington Canal, under the direction of General Blackrag, the great city undertaker, to whom the attack was entrusted, from his experience, as he himself stated, in marching at the head of the _corps_. He was ably seconded by his usual auxiliary, Dr. Bluelight, the former providing the _shells_, and the latter the _mortars_, the combined effects of which produced terrific execution. From the usual habits of the troop, it may readily be conceived that _counter_ marching was the manœuvre at which they felt most at home; in fact, the only idea they had of "a regular _march_," was the one between February and April. During their encounters, they have given and taken no quarter, except an occasional fore one of lamb; whilst their undaunted courage was well shown in the speech of Ensign Miggins, who declared "that he would never shrink from coming to the _pint_, even against a rampart of _quartz_;" and his unshaken energy in bearing _the standard_ was never known to _flag_, firm as its contemporary in Cornhill. Their acknowledged love of card-playing having induced some unpleasant gambling transactions, it has been resolved, by the head of the members, to prevent all legs from bearing arms in their body; and a late regulation orders the colour of their plumes to be a deep crimson, not only as emblematical of blood and glory, but from its precluding the possibility of any one, at any time, _showing a white feather_. It is truly delightful to contemplate the harmony which reigns amongst them at present; and it it somewhat remarkable, considering their aptitude for _catches_ of all sorts, that they have made no prisoners. The only approach to anything like discord in the troop, was upon the occasion of the dispute relative to a contemplated attack upon Burgundy and Madeira; but even this added to the general harmony, since, although the dinner service was demolished in the contention, this one war was productive of one hundred _peaces_; and it furthermore enabled the members to present to their friends several unique _pieces of plate_, at a small outlay. We are indebted to their laureate for the following—

WAR SONG OF THE LUMBER TROOP.

Blow forth the clarion's pealing sound,
Your voices raise on high,
And send the bottle quickly round,
To drink to victory;
The campaign to the champagne yields.
The festive board invites,
Extinguish every thought of care—
Blow out your very lights!

But glory is a kin' o' thing I shan't pursue no furder.—
__BIRDOFREDOM SAWIN.__
]

Our march in glory's bright career,
All other troops surpasses;
For, whilst they _charge their fellow men_,
We only _charge our glasses_;
No tears our conquests e'er await,
Nor bier, with trappings sable,
They—leave _their_ dead men on the field,
We—_ours_, beneath the table!

At _Waterloo_, a fearful game
The _trumpet_ call began,
At _three card loo_ we win our trick,
And _trump it_—when we can:
The _verdant bays_ the chaplet form,
For which the warrior prays—
A different game we strive to win,
Not for, but on, _green baize_.

The ranks that join in our _piquette_,
By deep old _files_ are form'd;
We keep no _watches_ but our own—
Our posts are never storm'd;
Our own _reviews_, in brilliancy,
The "Quarterly" outshine;
Our only _challenge_ is to take
A glass of generous wine.

And should we ever take the field,
Our troops would be found _fast_;
The _first_ might trust to our support,
For sticking to the _last_;
And ever, upon equal terms,
Our enemies we'd meet,
For, did they treat us with a ball,
We would, in turn, retreat.

HIGH TREASON.

March 16.
The boy Jones found feasting in the larder at the
palace.

Why, what a scandalous piece of disloyalty,
To want to be picking the mutton of royalty!