Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

To start fair game has been my aim, and make imposture smart; To raise a laugh at many a calf the object of my heart, And "shoot at Folly as she flies," and fix her with my dart; And it's all for your comfort and joy.

Now don't despise my prophecies, and think 'em only jokes, They're just as true, I promise you, as those of other folks; And while old MOORE is such a bore, 'tis harmless sure to hoax, For it's all for your comfort and joy.

"Let TURKEY fear the Christmas near"—and ducks, if they are young, And apropos of _Quacks_,—the _game_ is up with Doctor Long, But tho' we've lost the _rubber_, we've in _tricks_ been pretty strong, And it's all for your comfort and joy.

We've toll'd the bell that rings the knell of Morison and Co., And _floor'd_ the funny Chancellor, with all his Penny Show, Who veers about to show the folk which way the wind doth blow, And it's all for your comfort and joy.

Our most uncommon Commons, and our very peerless Peers, In clearing off _old scores_, have burnt the house about their ears; Of such a nest of phœnixes I own I had my fears, But 'twas all for their comfort and joy.

Now let not those who've 'scaped my blows believe that I am fickle, For many a "Pure," who looks demure, I've put a rod in pickle, And if I'm here another year their backs I'll smartly tickle, So there's tidings of comfort and joy.

=Moral.=

WHILE WE VENERATE
WHAT IS DESERVING OF VENERATION,
LET US NOT FORGET, THAT
QUACKERY, KNAVERY, BIGOTRY, AND SUPERSTITION,
ALWAYS MERIT
EXPOSURE AND CASTIGATION.

THE
COMIC ALMANACK
FOR 1836.

PROCLAMATION.

Whereas some evil-minded folks,
It ill becomes to crack such jokes,
Have made a most unseemly rout,
By spreading false reports about,
That FRANCIS MOORE, the fam'd _Physician_,
Is _still alive_, in sound condition;
And all we said about his dying,
Last year, was nothing else but lying;
Our gravity was all a hoax,—
Our sober sayings only jokes—
'Twas but a trick to gain his pelf,
And lay the Conj'ror on the shelf,
That he might be as much forgotten
As tho' _in earnest_ dead and rotten;
And thereby fill with consternation
The _ancient female population_.
To prove this true, they say that MOORE,
Who, they assert, is _not_ "NO MORE,"
Gives out predictions quite as clever,
And full of sense and truth,—_as ever_!
Shade of the mighty Seer! look down,
And blast the wretches with thy frown!
_Thou_ know'st on _us_ thy mantle fell;
Thou know'st, too, that it fits us well.

But baser caitiffs go much further,
And tax us with committing _murther_!
They swear we burst into his room,
And quickly seal'd his dreadful doom;
For that we hocuss'd first his drink,
Then poison'd him with _writing ink_;
And having thrown him on the floor,
We basely _burk'd_ the gracious MOORE!

They vow we did this bloody deed
That we might to his fame succeed;
But good, they say, can't come of ill,
For let us do whate'er we will,
We never shall,—and that is plain,—
The _fools_ or the _old women_ gain.

Now, to confirm this idle talk,
They swear they've seen his spectre walk;
And that he's got a strange vagary,
At times, to be quite STATIONARY,
And haunt a certain place, where he
Affects Old Women's COMPANY,
Who, spite of all we've sung or said,
Cannot believe that he is dead,
But to persuade themselves they try
That FRANCIS MOORE can _never_ die!

Now, having gather'd facts like these
(Enough to cause one's blood to freeze),
We've issued forth this Proclamation
To all the lieges of the nation,
(Surmounted by MOORE'S arms and crest,
Of which by right we've 'come possest,)
To seize the knave, and maul him sore,
Who passes off for FRANCIS MOORE;
(That is, if any such there be,
Of which we're much in dubity)
For FRANCIS MOORE, whom we succeed,
Is _very—very dead_, indeed.

But should it prove a real ghost,
Who, with a _Fool's-cap_, takes his _Post_,
To grasp the _Crown_ we've fairly got,
We warn him he shall go to _Pot_,
And in the Red Sea soon be _laid_;
Or to his _warm_ berth posted back,
Where he'll be _hotpress'd_ in a crack,
Unless his exit's quickly made;
For none but nincompoops and fools
Let "dead men push them from their stools."

(Signed) RIGDUM FUNNIDOS.

┌──────────────────────────────────────────────────┬──────────────────┐ │ JANUARY. │ [1836.│ ├─────────────┬────────────────────────────────────┴──────────────────┤ │ │"Kind Reader!" (as old Francis always said,) │ │ │Beware of counterfeits, for Frank is dead; │ │ │Some Quack survives—_physician_—if he will, │ │ │To swallow, of _our physic_, many a pill. │ │ │We'll spread the caustic 'midst the town's applause, │ │ │And thank the public that the blister _draws_. │ ├──┬──────────┼────────────────────────────────────┬──────────────────┤ │ M│ Season's │ =Odd Matters.= │ WEATHER. │ │ D│ Signs. │ │ │ ├──┼──────────┼────────────────────────────────────┼──────────────────┤ │ 1│When it │ │ │ │ │ │ │ My │ │ 2│freezes │ "HARD FROST." │ │ │ │ │ │ profound │ │ 3│and │The day is clear, the frost is │ │ │ │ │ hard,— │ │ │ │ │ I very much incline, │ │ │ 4│blows │As I'm a _dab_, to have a _skate_ │ △ ⚹ ☉ │ │ │ │ Upon the SERPENTINE. │ │ │ 5│take │ │ │ │ │ │There's Mr. Tait,—he cuts an eight; │prognostifications│ │ 6│care of │ He cannot cut a nine; │ │ │ │ │And I could cut as good a _figure_ │ │ │ 7│your │ On the SERPENTINE. │ of the │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 8│nose │I _hate_ the _eight_ of Mr. Tait, │ │ │ │ │ For he's no friend of mine; │ weather │ │ 9│that it │He used me once so ungenteely │ │ │ │ │ On the SERPENTINE. │ │ │10│doesn't │ │ │ │ │ │For in the _tête_ of Mr. Tait │ ☿ △ ♂ ☉ ⚹ │ │11│get │ There harbour'd a design, │ │ │ │ │To break the ice with Sophy Price │ for │ │12│froze │ Upon the SERPENTINE. │ │ │ │ │ │ the past │ │13│and │He cut in there, and cut me out │ │ │ │ │ Of my sweet Valentine, │ year │ │14│wrap up │Which cut quite cut me to the heart,│ │ │ │ │ Upon the SERPENTINE. │ │ │15│your │ │ │ │ │ │She cut me, while I thought that I │ □ ☌ ⚹ ☉ │ │16│toes in │ Was cutting such a shine, │ │ │ │ │By cutting out her pretty name │ have all │ │17│warm │ Upon the SERPENTINE. │ │ │ │ │ │ proved │ │18│worsted │So, Billy, bring my polish'd │ │ │ │ │ skates,— │ │ │ │ │ My love I wont resign; │ so correct, │ │19│hose. │She meets her _knight_, I know, │ │ │ │ │ _to-day_, │ │ │ │ │ Upon the SERPENTINE. │ │ │20│At │ │ │ │ │ │And if my _sweet_ wont follow │ □ ♄ │ │ │ │ _suite_, │ │ │21│night │ But still my _suit_ decline, │ │ │ │ │The thaw I'll wait, to seal my fate,│ □ ☿ ♄ △ ♂ │ │22│ere you │ All _in_ the SERPENTINE. │ │ │ │ │ │ and │ │23│slip │ │ │ │ │ │ │ I have │ │24│into │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │25│bed │ │ │ │ │ │ │ ☉ □ △ │ │26│you │ │ │ │ │ │ │ herein, │ │27│may │ │ │ │ │ │ │ as well as │ │28│sip a │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │29│can of │ │ │ │ │ │ │ ☍ ☌ △ ♄ │ │30│good │ │ │ │ │ │ │ in all │ │31│flip. │ │ │ └──┴──────────┴────────────────────────────────────┴──────────────────┘

JANUARY.—"Hard Frost."
]

SLANGOLOGY.

"With many holiday and _court-like_ phrase—"

_Shakespeare's Henry IV., Part I._

MISS ARABELLA WILHELMINA WIGGINs is the pattern of gentility: She never utters vulgar words, but talks just like nobility. I met her at Vauxhall, last year, and she gave me a sad relation About Miss Briggs: I recollect it every word;—but here's her own narration: "Oh, dear! my dear Miss Popkins! have you heard what befel Miss B.? (I wish, Papa, you'd get _up to snuff_ the lights; one can hardly see: Oh, la! you've made 'em _flare up so_, I declare we are quite in a blaze: And, bless me! there's all the people staring at us, all in amaze!) I'll tell you, while Papa is taking his _punch_; _his pipkin_ he calls the bowl, (You _make yourself scarce_ any punch at home, Papa; so I suppose you'll drink the whole). I'm sure he will, Miss P.; and even then he wont have quench'd his drouth. (I really wonder, Pa', how you can pour so much punch _down in the mouth_.) But how I rattle on! quite forgetting all about Miss B. You must know we were on a visit at a country cousin's; and after tea We stroll'd about with Mr. Timbs, and Mr. Figgins, and Mr. Oddy;— I declare _there he goes with his eye out_-staring every body. Poor fellow! he has but one, for the other's made of glass; 'Twas a sad accident; and I'll tell you how it came to pass:— One night, he went out rabbit-_shooting_; _the moon_ was shining bright; His gun was overloaded and bursted; and so one eye lost its sight. Well, Miss Briggs is a very bold girl; as bold a girl as one knows; And as we were walking along, the laundress caught _my eye; and_ '_Betty Martin_,' says Miss B., '_where do you hang out_ your clothes?' She came to a well after that; and, really, I am almost ashamed to tell, But, upon my word, she behav'd exceedingly ill about that well. She began to _kick the bucket_; and to a man who was chopping down a tree, She said: 'What are you with that _axe about_?' which was very rude indeed of Miss B.; And when he left off chopping, she said, 'Why don't you _cut your stick_?' The man was just then chopping a piece of wood that was thick. Now this made him quite confus'd; and in his hurry his skill to show off, He made a slip with his axe, and chopped poor Miss Brigg's little toe off. The shock gave me such a terrible pain all over _my eyes and limbs_, That I really should have fainted, if it hadn't been for that dear Mr. Timbs. Poor Frederick Figgins was so affected that I vow he began to cry; I'm sure he did, for I was close to him, and I saw a _drop in his eye_. He's a _nice young man_; and _I shouldn't wonder_ if he soon married Miss Briggs: Her father is a coarsish man, and says he shall, _please the pigs_. He wasn't very gracious, tho', at first, to Mr. Figgins; For when he ask'd his consent, he said to him (I had the whole story from Mr. Higgins) '_How are you off? for soap_ and candles, and such-like, got me all my money; And for my daughter to marry a poor man wouldn't be vastly funny. _How's your mother_ left you; or have you your fortune to get? If you have _I wish you may get it_ soon; but I can't let you marry Miss Bet; But while I'm describing his bluntness, I'm wand'ring away from my point. The limbs of my relation are indeed terribly out of joint. Well, Mr. Figgins help'd Miss B. home to _hop_: _the twig_, which happen'd to lay across her foot, Sav'd her other toes, to be sure, but there was a terrible large gash in her boot. But poor Mr. F.! how he _fretted_! _his fat_ cheeks than a mummy's were thinner; He never could eat any breakfast, and seldom could eat any dinner. His eyes were once bright as a _star_: _the glaze_ on them now was quite ghostly; A cloud seem'd to _darken his day_—_light_some and gay he'd been mostly. A party he join'd at Vauxhall; but its gaieties fail'd to delight him: He did nothing but swallow rack-punch; as to eating, 'twas vain to invite him. He call'd to his friend: '_Jemmy Johnson, squeeze me_ a lemon;' and turning to me then, He said, in a voice that quite shock'd me, and looking as wild as a heathen: 'My spirits I cannot _keep up; your pluck_'d flowers droop slower than I do; I'm sure that I make _no mistake_,—my fate will be that of poor Dido.' (I declare I am talking pentameters; quite forgetting you're not a Blue Stocking; But that I am sure you'll excuse.)—Well, isn't the story quite shocking? Miss Briggs, tho', got quite well at last; to the dolefuls he bade adieu quickly; Yet a long while he talk'd of her death, though he no longer look'd mournful and sickly. '_All round my hat_, while I liv'd,' he said, 'a crape hatband I should have worn,— _A shocking bad hat_, to be sure; but just fit for a lover forlorn. Think what would have been my despair, with no consolation to go to! But tho' I have not lost her quite, yet, alas! I have lost her in _toe-toe_.'"

Paragraphs Extraordinary.

[ADVERTISEMENT.]—We never admit puffs into our paper in any disguise or under any circumstances, for we are sure that "the man who would make" _a puff_ "would pick a pocket." It is a love for veracity alone that induces us to state, that MONSIEUR CHARLATAN'S TUSKOLATUM MYSTIFICATUM for renewing decayed TEETH is the most wonderful and surprisingly efficacious invention ever invented. How will those ancient maidens rejoice, who have only a colt's tooth in their heads, when they are told, that by sowing this panacea in their gums overnight, a fine crop of full-grown grinders will sprout up by the following morning! We speak from our own experience; and whereas, before we used this extraordinary invention, our great anxiety was how to get teeth for our food, the only matter that now troubles us is how to get food for our teeth.

* * * * *

ACCIDENTS.—We are happy to state that there is a great diminution in the number of accidents in the past week. Only 250 persons have been drowned by steam-boats; 320 women and children burnt to death by their clothes catching fire; 560 run over by omnibusses and cabs; 252 poisoned by taking oxalic acid instead of salts; 360 scalded to death by the bursting of steam-boilers; 200 blown to atoms by the explosion of powder-mills; and about 100—there or thereabouts—stabbed by drunken soldiers, off duty; all which evinces a great increase of vigilance, carefulness, and humanity, highly creditable to all parties concerned.

FEBRUARY.—"Transfer Day at the Bank."
]

┌─────────────┬───────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │1836.] │ FEBRUARY. │ ├─────────────┼───────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │ │Look, Mrs. B——, what a crowd I see, │ │ │ And the bells they make such a clatter; │ │ │And the people run, and I hear a gun! │ │ │ Whatever can be the matter? │ │ │ │ │ │Mrs. C——, my dear, it's no good, I fear, │ │ │ For us honest women and our spouses, │ │ │For the people say, the King's going to-day, │ │ │ To open two _very bad houses_. │ ├──┬──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┬────────────┤ │ M│ Season's │ =Odd Matters.= │ WEATHER. │ │ D│ Signs. │ │ │ ├──┼──────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────┼────────────┤ │ 1│In │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 2│this │ "TRANSFER DAY." │ other │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 3│gay │As I was walking past the Bank, │ matters, │ │ │ │ (I know not why I stroll'd that way,) │ │ │ 4│month │I saw a lady tall and lank, │ ☽ ☍ │ │ │ │ With golden ringlets mix'd with grey; │ │ │ 5│I │And as she tripp'd, or strove to trip, │ ☋ ♅ ♑ ♎ ⚹ │ │ │ │ Adown the steps, so light and gay, │ │ │ 6│would │The greasy granite made her slip, │ so │ │ │ │ And down she fell on TRANSFER DAY. │ │ │ 7│not │ │ worthily │ │ │ │I rais'd her up with gallant air; │ │ │ 8│choose │ For I'm a Major on half-pay, │ stepped │ │ │ │Who only live to serve the fair, │ │ │ 9│to │ At any time, in any way: │ │ │ │ │And while she blush'd a purple hue, │ │ │10│walk │ Her eyes obliquely shot a ray, │ ♃ ☉ ♐ ♋ ♉ │ │ │ │Which seem'd to say, "You will not rue │ │ │11│the │ Your service on a TRANSFER DAY." │ into the │ │ │ │ │ │ │12│streets │And while the glance she threw at me │shoes of my │ │ │ │ Was thro' my heart a-making way; │ │ │13│in │I straight began a colloquy, │ │ │ │ │ And to myself I thus did say: │ │ │14│dancing │If tradesmen, when their bills they bring,│ │ │ │ │ Would be contented with _half-pay_; │ ♊ ☿ ⚹ │ │15│shoes │I'd soar aloft on freedom's wing, │ │ │ │ │ Nor care a rush for TRANSFER DAY. │ renowned │ │16│nor │ │ │ │ │ │But needy men the needful need; │ │ │17│would │ So, spite of ringlets golden grey, │ │ │ │ │And eyes that squint, I'll take the hint, │ ☍ ☿ │ │18│I │ Nor throw the lucky chance away. │ │ │ │ │Full soon I found—ah! pleasing sound!— │predecessor,│ │19│for │ With wealth she could my love repay; │ │ │ │ │No longer mute, I urg'd my suit, │ │ │20│the │ Upon that very TRANSFER DAY. │ │ │ │ │ │ ♀ ♂ ☿ │ │21│world │I leave untold our courtship fond:— │ │ │ │ │ I made her Mrs. Major Cox; │ the great │ │22│be │And in return for Hymen's _bond_, │ │ │ │ │ She kindly placed me in the _stocks_. │ FRANCIS │ │23│seen │Her heart is good, her temper mild; │ │ │ │ │ She rules with more than _sov'reign_ │ MOORE, │ │ │ │ sway; │ │ │24│to │Nor have I thought myself beguil'd, │ │ │ │ │ Or once regretted TRANSFER DAY. │ =Defunct=, │ │25│trip │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │26│along │ │ │ │ │ │ │ ♊ ☌ ⊕ ♓ │ │27│in │ │ │ │ │ │ │which shoes,│ │28│light │ │ │ │ │ │ │by-the-bye, │ │29│nankeen. │ │ │ └──┴──────────┴──────────────────────────────────────────┴────────────┘

_Humbuggum Ass-trologicum, pro Anno 1836._

_VOX MULTORUM, VOX STULTORUM: the Voice of the Many is the Voice of
a Zany.—It brawleth at all Places and Seasons._

COURTEOUS READER,