Chapter XIII: Part II (7)

The Lamp of Aladdin, of course, will be used as a safety signal, and the bow-string (that "great moral engine" which draws everybody in the East into one common terminus) as a signal of danger. It is also understood that the celebrated "Slave of the Ring" will be posted by turns at the different stations to announce the arrival of the trains; and that in place of the electric telegraph, the celebrated telescope of Prince Ali (which beat Lord Rosse's hollow) will be used in conjunction with the Prince Hassein's carpet to discover accidents and despatch assistance; while the apple of Prince Ahmed, which cured all diseases, will be used for the relief of the sufferers. The solemnity of Eastern manners will have a singular effect among the—to us—every-day associations connected with railway travelling. We can fancy a director, on a dividend day, exclaiming, "Holy Profit!" but we can _not_ fancy the chairman and directors dining together afterwards at the Bosphorus Blackwall, wherever that may be, without wine or whitebait, and getting through the gormandizing process with their fingers. Then, on coming away, what a tedious process it must be; the finding of the slippers which have been left in the hall—an annoyance which an English director could imagine if he had ever been obliged to leave a festive party at the Crown and Sceptre in a small Wellington and a big Blucher, belonging to other gentlemen. Of course, the subordinates on the line will be equally polite with their betters. As a train arrives at a station, the Oriental guard will rise from his chibouk, and say, with a profound salaam, "Kosh Amedid! You are welcome!" and express a hope to the party, Pasha or highly-fed Aga, as they alight from the first-class carrages, that their respective shadows may never be less—which, by the way, to men who are wont to indulge in habitual oxen, stuffed with perpetual pistachio nuts, is rather an uncharitable wish than otherwise. Then the official will solemnly approach the second class, and exclaim, "Mashallah, oh ye gents—(there are doubtless gents in the East)—but are the tickets of the faithful ready?" and add, on receiving them, "Bishmillah, the Mare of Mahomet be praised!" To the third class, where the unbelievers will throng, the expression will be—"Allah is great, and Mahomet is his Prophet. Dogs of Christians, tickets!" Reversing the English custom, a carriage must be set apart in every train for the infidels who do _not_ smoke.

THE POTATO ITSELF AGAIN.

We are glad to announce the recovery of the Potato. It has been too long absent from the festive board, and we are sure its reappearance at the dinner table will be hailed with all the warmth of a public friend, whose generous nature enables thousands to keep the pot boiling all the year round. How rejoiced the Baked Leg of Mutton will be to embrace its old companion once more! The two agree so well that they never should be separated. We can imagine the pans and kettles too, which have been growing rather rusty in its absence, will now brighten up again at its return, and bless "its dear eyes," _à la_ T. P. Cooke, to see it looking so well. In Ireland its recovery will be quite a national feast. The "whole biling" of them will be, let us hope, in every man's mouth. In England, also, it will be a guest everywhere, from the palace to the potato-can. England is proud of its Champion; and justly—for no Champion strips so quickly for his rounds as the Potato. May it never leave us again! We could well spare a better vegetable.

HOW TO MAKE SURE TO WIN.
A TALE OF A FAT CATTLE SHOW.

The other day, in some country town,
A husbandman, who owned the name of Brown,
Had such a heifer as was never matched
In all the homesteads round;
So fine a head, such legs, and buttocks clean,
Small-boned, well-fleshed, its peer was never seen,
_Juste milieu_—fat and lean.
Farmers admired, and graziers praised galore.
Until the lucky owner vowed and swore,
"The lowest price for't wor a hundred pound."
But we all know that love can't get fat upon flowers,
And the heifer was found to fatten on praise.
Rent day _would_ come round,
Yet no hundred pound
Appearing—our farmer "flared up" to a blaze,
And getting a hint the "stumpy" to raise,
Thought the very best way to get the best price
Was to dabble a bit—he was not very nice—
In a morsel of gambling, and offer his friends
A chance for the prize, which should certainly go
By way of a _raffle_—five guineas a throw.

——

Great was the clatter, the noise and array,
Of farmers at dinner the next market day.
The host of the Crown
In Diddleton town
Counted up on his fingers that forty sat down
To devour his hot roast and to drink his best ale,
Whilst they talked over crops, or reckoned the sale
Of their hay and their oats,
And the eels from their moats,
Of their lucerne, their tares,
Their apples, their pears,
Their boars and their sows,
Their calves and their cows;
But one and all joined, when the dinner had past,
In the cry "Now the raffle; who'll win her at last?"
But amidst all the noise one farmer was still,
Till he'd given his stomach a right hearty fill.
Then from deep 'neath his waistcoat a deeper voice stuttered,
"Cousin Stumps, thou'lt be in't, mind, and I'll share wi' you,
And Hodge, bo', you've paid, and I'm halves wi' you too.
And as for _my_ meaning, I'se just dropped the tin,
And wi' your luck and mine I feel cock-sure to win.
I doant come from Yorkshire for nothing, you know—
It's just three to one that I win on the throw;
And my luck, which has stood up so mony a time,
Makes me sure in a hour the beast'll be mine."

——

"Clear off the dishes and cloth in a trice;
Bring in the grog and bring in the dice,
Two, three, four, and seven,
Eight, ten, and eleven."
The dice rattle down, and the numbers are told,
One after another the farmers are _sold_.
Till it's Farmer York's turn,
And his digits they burn
To handle the box and to give it the twist
That at old Crockford's College is taught to the wrist.
The ivories clatter—
All silence their chatter,
As they see with surprise and vexation enow,
How Dame Fortune will always well grease the fat sow.
The gamble is done—
Fat Yorkshire has won!
And the heifer, the glory of Diddleton town,
Is to trudge to his straw-yard from that of old Brown.
"Stop awhile", halloos Stumps, "half York's chance was mine,
And, safe enough, Hodge, t'other half must be thoine:
He went 'halves' in my chance, and he went shares in yours;
_And he's won the prize heifer to make it all ours_.
He don't come from Yorkshire for nothing, you see,
But makes 'cock sure to win'—for you and for me".

MORAL.

Now all good youths and maidens, pray,
Who this true story scan,
Remember what I'm going to say.
And act on't—if you can;
Still on life's chequered strange highway,
Whatever path you cross,
Don't be too greedy, or you may
Make sure to win—_a loss_.

WHAT A GENTLEMAN MAY DO, AND
WHAT HE MAY NOT DO.

He may carry a brace of partridges, but not a leg of mutton.

He may be seen in the omnibus-box at the Opera, but not on the box of an omnibus.

He may be seen in a stall inside a theatre, but not at a stall outside one.

He may dust another person's jacket, but mustn't brush his own.

He may kill a man in a duel, but he mustn't eat peas with his knife.

He may thrash a coalheaver, but he mustn't ask twice for soup.

He must pay his debts of honour, but he needn't trouble himself about his tradesmen's bills.

He may drive a stage-coach, but he mustn't take or carry coppers.

He may ride a horse as a jockey, but he mustn't exert himself in the least to get his living.

He must never forget what he owes to himself as a gentleman, but he need not mind what he owes as a gentleman to his tailor.

He may do anything, or anybody, in fact, within the range of a gentleman—go through the Insolvent Debtors Court, or turn billiard-marker; but he must never on any account carry a brown paper parcel, or appear in the streets without a pair of gloves.

THE GENEALOGICAL SHIRT.
]

SHIRTICULTURE.

A new branch of the Fine Arts has lately flourished, which we do not know how to designate by any better name than SHIRTICULTURE. It is the art of painting on shirts—an art which cannot fail to go to the bosom of every one who enters at all into it. It was a favourite maxim of Buffon, that "_Le style c'est l'homme_." With all due respect to one who dressed animals in the finest language, we beg to say, that nowadays "_La chemise c'est l'homme_." The shirt is the man. Depend upon it, that shortly the particular profession, trade, penchant, or weakness of every one, will be laid bare to the whole world upon his breast. The gent has nearest to his heart a ballet-girl; and the sportsman is immediately detected by the last winner of the Derby peeping through his "Dickey." The noble game of cricket has been got up on a piece of lawn, no bigger than your chest; and we have seen Jack Sheppard breaking through a publican's shirt-front. Rowing matches not unfrequently run down the back of a river swell; and we know a gentleman who never appears on the turf without a whole steeple-chase galloping right over him, with a tremendous hunter jumping over each shoulder. The rage for pictorial shirts will ultimately spread over everybody in the kingdom. Men of noble descent will be drawing out their genealogical tree on a square of fine calico; and admirers of the "Fancy" will be putting their pet bull-dogs into muslin. We shall have heraldic shirts, theatrical shirts, military shirts, archæological and antiquarian shirts, temperance and convivial shirts, and shirts with portraits of puppy-dogs, men, parrots, and women. We shall have artists in shirts, as we have artists in hair; and every washerwoman's drying-ground will be an exhibition, to which the public will be admitted without having to pay a shilling to witness the pictures. A catalogue, in fact, could be drawn up, and might run as follows:—

EXHIBITION OF SHIRTS IN THE WASHING ACADEMY OF MRS. TUBBS AND
JACK TOWELL, ESQ., BALL'S POND.

1. Portrait of a Fat Cook, in the possession of A 1 and B 2.

2. A Lion's Head, sketched from a celebrated door-knocker in
Portland Place, which was taken off on November 15, 1842, by a noble
marquis.

3. Cleopatra, a beautiful pug, and Sulky Bob, a lovely terrier,
belonging to the Houndsditch Stunner.

4. The Last o' Peel—Sir Robert tendering his resignation to Her
Majesty.

5. Leg of mutton and trimmings—the shirt of an alderman.

6. Views of Canterbury and York cathedrals—The two sleeves of a
bishop.

7. A Soldier's Beer, and Relieving Guard; the shirt of two Blues—The
souvenirs of a housemaid.

8. "'Till so gently stealing;" Jack Sheppard helping himself in Mr.
Wood's shop—The shirt of a young gentleman in Field Lane.

9. The Last Man—the property of a life-pill manufacturer.

10. St. George's, Hanover Square—The bosom comforter of a young
lady.

11. "When hollow hearts shall wear a mask;" a view of Jullien's
Masquerade—A False Front, late the property of a medical student,
but now belonging to his cherished Uncle.

12. Distant view of Reading—The shirt of a critic.

13. Polly, a celebrated Hampshire pig, who won the prize for short
snouts and curly tails, at the Royal Agricultural Show, 1845—The
chemise of Mr. Giblett.

A LONDON INTERIOR.

If you have ever been to the Casino, you must have seen young Watts O'Clock. He aspired, in his Gentish soul, to be "a Fast Man;" and certainly his ambition was gratified, for he was universally looked upon as the "Fastest of the Fast." He went so fast that eventually he disappeared altogether.

I was going home very late, one dark morning, when I heard my name called out. I looked up, and noticed before my door an immense advertising van. The name issued again from one of the little windows at the side, and, lo! I recognised the Roman nose of Watts O'Clock peeping through it. Where there is a nose, I said, there must be a face; and if there is a face, it is highly probable that there is a body somewhere to it.

"Come up, my boy," the same voice and nose continued. I needed no further invitation. In another minute I was inside the van. True enough, it was young Watts. The interior was fitted up not very stylishly, but just as good as any lodging-house. The walls were papered with a handsome pattern, at three-halfpence a yard. In one corner of the room was a turn-up bedstead, and in the other a large sofa. A table and two chairs completed the furniture—with a meerschaum and a lucifer-box.

"Glad to see you," he said; "make yourself at home."

"It's a queer place for home," I could not help saying.

"Not at all. I've been here ten days, and I can assure you it's precious comfortable. No taxes; and rent only three shillings a week; and nothing for attendance. Not an extra, except occasionally a turnpike."

"And it has one advantage, you can go wherever you like, and move as often as you please."

"Exactly. Last night I slept in Drury Lane; the night before in the Borough; to-night, you see, I honour your neighbourhood with a visit; this morning I make a call in Tottenham Court Road, and then on to Gretna Green."

"Gretna Green!" I exclaimed; "whatever is taking you in an advertising van to Gretna Green?"

"A matter of affection," he said, seriously. "Jack, did you ever see an elopement in high life? Well, then, my good fellow, you shall see one this morning. Here, I say, old slowcoach," he exclaimed, putting his head out of the door, and speaking to the driver. "The old shop, Great Russell Street; and take care of the corners, mind. The stupid fool nearly upset the van the other day, driving sharp round Percy Street. I was breakfasting at the time, and received the teapot in my bosom, besides stamping a medal with the exact copy of my features on a pound of butter."

"But how came you here?"

"Why, the constable drove me to it. We had a running match together last week. The long-legged runner of the law was gaining rapidly upon me. I saw Whitecross before me. Fear lent me the rapidity of a mad bull. Every one got out of my way. I bounded through the Little Turnstile like a pea through a tube. I found myself in Holborn. I felt the asthma of the bailiff close behind me. My left shoulder ached with the ague of a thousand writs. There is a touch in human nature which makes all mankind run; and that is the touch of a sheriff's officer. I ran across the road, but lo! an immense tower, a moving house, a mountain on wheels, in short, an advertising van, obstructed my path. Hope whispered into my ear, 'Get into it, you donkey!' In another minute I had jumped over the driver's head, and was inside these hospitable walls. I peeped through one of the eyes of 'Grimstone's Snuff' posters, and saw my pursuer looking wildly for me in every direction, wondering where I had disappeared to. I bought that good driver's silence, and I have remained his tenant ever since. We go on remarkably well together, excepting when he takes a strange turn, and upsets me by his clumsy driving. I stop here, because it is not safe to venture out, and so I have furnished my portable apartment as comfortably as I can." Here the van stopped, and Watts said, "Now, my good fellow, I must trouble you to leave me. This is the house where my flame lives. You see it is burning now in the bedroom window. She elopes with me to-night. I have been courting her now, thanks to that long ladder, for the last week. A modern version of Romeo and Juliet. She has consented to entrust her fortune to me. She is an heiress, as I needn't tell you. But her window opens. Dear creature, how anxiously she's expecting me. Fondest Emily, I fly to you. Leave me, Jackey, and witness this elopement in high life outside my humble habitation." So saying, he ran up the ladder which was perched against the side of the interior of his lodging. I watched him from the street. The top of the monster cart was just on a level with the bedroom windows. A fair form issued out of one. A pair of arms caught the trembling figure, and they disappeared together down the hollow square of the van. The next moment a handkerchief, with a portrait of the winner of the Derby, was waved out of one of the little windows of the vehicle, and I heard Watts's voice call out, "Coachman, Gretna Green!" Whether the van ever reached its destination is a mystery which must remain in darkness for the present.

POPULAR CONTINENTAL DELUSIONS RESPECTING ENGLAND.

That Englishmen never eat anything but "biftecks" and "pomme-de-terres."

That a Lord, when he is displeased with his wife, can take her to Smithfield, and putting a rope round her neck, sell her in the market for a pot of beer, or whatever a drunken drover chooses to bid for her.

That brandy is allowed to be drunk in the House of Lords.

That no daguerreotype can be taken in London, in consequence of the perpetual fogs; and that the church clocks are illuminated for the same obscure reason.

That the only pastry is plum-pudding; the only wine, ale or porter; the only fruit, baked potatoes; the only song, "God Save the Queen," and the only national amusement, boxing.

That no gentleman's establishment is complete without a bull-dog.

That the ladies propose to the gentlemen; that Gretna Green is an omni-bus-ride from London, and that half the marriages in England, those of Royalty and cooks included, are celebrated by The Blacksmith.

That commissions are purchasable in the police force, and that the sons of noblemen are proud to serve in it.

That the result of every dinner-party is for the gentlemen to drop, one by one, underneath the table, after which they are carried upstairs to the ladies.

That half the population is "_milors_," and the other half "_millionaires_."

That there is no English school of painting, excepting that practised by Clowns and Ethiopians.

That the Boy Jones is (if the truth was known) a member of the Royal Family.

That George the Fourth was in the habit of going to the Coal Hole.

That Watt stole his steam-engine from the French; and other absurdities by far too numerous to mention.

NEW YEAR'S GIFTS.

A LITTLE WRINKLE FOR NEXT SESSION.—If the parliamentary privilege of freedom from arrest is done away with, we are afraid that the question of the Jews in a British Parliament will touch not only the prejudices but the persons of certain members too closely ever to be admitted.

CURIOUS DISCOVERY OF A SKELETON.—The perfect skeleton of a goose is found in November next in Thames Tunnel by a police-officer looking for an escaped criminal. The poor animal is supposed to have taken refuge there on Michaelmas day, and to have died of starvation. This little paragraph is written to record its sagacity. Readers, if you have any sympathy, you will drop a tear to the memory of that goose!

Why do sailors serving in brigs make bad servants?

Because it's impossible for a man to serve _two-masters_.

A NOVELTY.—Prince Albert's pig does not get a prize this year. The law is a long Chancery Lane that hath no turning but Portugal Street.

"OUR NATURAL ENEMIES"—tailors.

"THE BOTTLE."—"Ah, my dear fellow, you're gradually drinking yourself into the grave," as the Pint Bottle said to the Quart.

PROVERB JUST IMPORTED FROM BOULOGNE.—A moustache covers a multitude of debts.

QUESTION AND ANSWER.

_Shakspeare._—"What's in a name?"

_Widdicombe._—"The continual nuisance of writing your autograph."

FULL-FLAVOURED SIMILE.

Men are frequently like tea—their real strength and goodness is not properly drawn out of them till they have been for a short time in hot water.

* * * * *

WHO SAYS IT ISN'T?—The reason so many whales are found about the North Pole is, because they supply all the Northern Lights with oil.— _Communicated by a Traveller._

_The Preparatory School for Fast Men._

To teach the young idea how to shoot, smoke, drink, fight, cheat, and
the various accomplishments of "regular bricks."
]

THE
COMIC ALMANACK
FOR 1849.

PROJECTED LINES
TO RUN THROUGH ALL ALMANACKS.

MOVEABLE FEASTS.—The greatest one on record is the Barmecide Feast of Sancho Panza.

FAST-DAYS.—Greenwich Fair at Easter and Whitsuntide, the Derby, the Thames Regatta, balloon days at Cremorne, and masquerade mornings at Jullien's.

CANVASSING THE LIVERY.
]

MICHAELMAS DAY.—Election of the Lord Mayor—Moses takes his measure, and rushes home to cut up the goose.

LEAP YEAR.—It takes three springs to make one leap year.

PURIFICATION.—It is very curious that the very day after Candlemas should be the anniversary of a "Blaize."

HOLIDAY AT CHANCE. OFFICES.—The English of Chance. is Chancery.

LOW SUNDAY.—Boating on the Thames, or riding in the Park on a hired horse.

OLD MAY DAY.—An exiled Pole in England.

LENT.—To ascertain its beginning and end, you have only to become security for a friend at a Loan Office.

BARTHOLOMEW.—One of the reduced fairs.

CHRISTMAS.—The Earl of A-db-r-gh presents all his servants with Christmas Boxes—of Holloway's pills.

OLD LADY-DAY.—The only lady whose age is known to a day.

THIS IS WHAT LADIES CALL A MINIATURE BROOCH!!!
]

FASHIONS FOR 1849.

The rage for flounces in ladies' dresses will grow deeper and deeper. Two noble Duchesses will compete as to the greater number. They will continue each time bidding one flounce over one another, till their dresses will be nothing but flounces. The fashion is evidently borrowed from the hackney-coachman's cape.

PORTRAIT OF A LADY OF RANK AS SHE WILL APPEAR AT THE HORTICULTURAL
FETE NEXT YEAR.
]

Gentlemen's fashions will remain just the same, that is to say, as ugly as ever.

A DREAM OF THE YEAR.
(AFTER PLANCHE'S "DÆDALUS.")

I'm in such a flutter I scarcely can utter
The words to my tongue that come dancing—come dancing
I've had such a dream, that it really must seem
To a telegraph e'en like romancing—romancing;
I must have got frisky on Kinahan's whisky,
Although I don't wish you to blab it—to blab it;
Or else 'twas a question of slight indigestion,
Through eating too much of Welsh rabbit—Welsh rabbit.

I dreamt Lord John Russell was dining with Fussell,
To meet Louis Blanc and Alboni—Alboni,
When Feargus O'Connor declared, on his honour,
He'd only had half a polony—polony.
On which all the Chartists and Suffolk Street artists
Ran off to the train and got in it—got in it,
In spite of their fears of the new engineers,
Who blew up a boiler a minute—a minute.

On this, Ben Disraeli, who'd burnt the Old Bailey,
Declined being paid for his trouble—his trouble;
And ran in a funk to the Joss on the junk,
To prove Schleswig-Holstein a bubble—a bubble.
So Barbés and Blanqui both looked very cranky,
Because Jenny Lind chose to marry-to marry;
But Thackeray cried, "If you bother the bride,
I'll wed her at once to John Parry—John Parry."

_Female Parliament_—

_German Parliament_—

_Irish Parliament_—

_A Sheet of Parliament._
]

FOUR WARNED——FOUR ARMED.
]

I next had a row, I can scarcely tell how,
With Van Amburgh for showing his lion—his lion,
And stealing a sack from the widow Cormack,
In which she had popp'd Smith O'Brien—O'Brien;
When Soyer came up with a Summerley cup,
Just purchased at Stowe for a shilling—a shilling,
And told the inspector he'd give him some nectar,
Provided they came to no killing—no killing.

Then Anstey arose, and he took off his clothes,
To prepare for a six months' oration—oration;
When Monsieur Dumas said he was but an ass,
To bathe in the Hyde Park stagnation—stagnation.
On which hurry-scurry they flew in a hurry,
To shut Mrs. Gore in the Tower—the Tower—
With Juba and Pell, to amuse her as well,
Whilst she wrote fifteen novels an hour—an hour.

But Charles Dickens caught up a plate quick as thought,
And made it spin round on his finger—his finger:
Till Wellington came, and observing his game,
Was afraid any longer to linger—to linger.
So Gilbert A'Beckett swore he would soon check it,
And drew up a statement confessing—confessing,
That all he had done had been nothing but fun,
So Wakley might give him his blessing—his blessing.

I next heard a scream, and a whistle and gleam,
A racketing noise and a humming—a humming;
And then an increase of the railway police
Proved Mr. G. Hudson was coming—was coming.
As he aimed at my head I jumped clean out of bed,
For I knew he would give me no quarter—no quarter;
And a knock at the door as I fell on the floor
Show'd the servant had brought my hot water—hot water.

A RAILWAY TRIP IN THE AUTUMN OF 1848 IN
SEARCH OF THE PICTURESQUE.

It is not so easy to find the New Waterloo Terminus of the South-Western Railway, but, by dint of innumerable halfpence to innumerable little boys, and chartering several policemen, we found it at last. It is a good day's walk _from_ Waterloo Bridge—that is to say, if you cross the river in the morning, you may reach it before the evening; even then you will require to have a guide, or else you will infallibly pass it without ever suspecting that tremendous high wall, with a lamp-post growing out of the top, is

The architecture of the terminus partakes very largely of the impromptu Band-box Order. The offices must have been designed by the architect who ran up in one day the House of Commons Committee Rooms. You imagine innumerable floors must have been torn up, for all the works published at this office are bound in strong boards. However, they look very light and airy, though hardly adapted, we should say, to stand against a strong wind. It would be a curious sight to see, some day next March, a covey of railway offices winging their way down the Strand in the direction of Birdcage Walk.

But the railway is whistling to us. Suppose we take a four-penny trip down the line to view the

SPLENDID SCENERY FROM WATERLOO
BRIDGE TO NINE-ELMS.

We believe there is nothing like it in the world, excepting the Blackwall line.

We will jot down right and left the principal beauties that most enchant us on this picturesque little railway, which is certainly the most laconic line that was ever sent through the electric post by one company to another.

We are sitting with our backs (though, by-the-bye, we have but one back) to the New Cut; the fertile district of Lambeth is on one side, the milky river on the other.

We were quite taken aback with the immense forest of chimneys which the engine cuts through like so much brush wood; they seem to be the only vegetation of the place. It is easy to distinguish the chimneys that have been recently stacked from those of previous years' crops. A curious windmill, supposed to have attained the age of three hundred and twenty, meets the left eye. It is quite the Methuselah of windmills. Cockney artists come from far and near to ask it to give them a sitting.

Your right eye will not fail to light up with the group of merry pipers that are sitting on the roof of the "Duke of Wellington." Their bright tankards sparkle in the sun, with which they moisten their respective clays. They present a pleasing picture of the happy peasantry of the suburbs. One laughing fellow presents his tankard to us, but we are obliged to refuse it, from the reason that the railway will not stop to allow us to take it.

An immense volume of smoke from a supposed brewery, though the perfume from the brewery is not particularly hoppy, is at the present moment delivered to the public in numbers. The passenger, if he is wise, will shut his eyes, and not open them again till he sees that it has quite blown over.

A magpie in a wicker cage, suspended from an attic window, is worth the passing sympathy of the third-class passenger. The first-class ditto can have no sympathy, from the obvious fact that he cannot see anything (MEM. To enjoy nature, there is nothing like the third-class; to enjoy a good snooze, there is nothing like the first.) We do not envy that poor magpie, with the engine rushing by him all day long. See how he crouches into the corner of his prison! And hark! he has learnt the railway whistle. Wretched bird! thou canst not have a pleasant life of it. How willingly, methinks, thou wouldst hop the twig, if thou couldst!

But what is that? It looks like a large game of scratch-cradle—but no, it isn't—it is merely the top of a gas factory. We wonder if they take off the lids of those immense black cauldrons, when they want to see how the pot boils?

Behold how contentedly that man is smoking his pipe, with his bare arms resting on the parapet of the railway, as if it were a cushion. The train rushes screaming by him, but not an eye winks, not a nerve shakes. The pipe still hangs from the lips of that iron man—well adapted to live so close and be, a railway sleeper. By-the-bye, it cannot be pleasant to have an engine almost touching your bedroom window whilst you are shaving!

Look to your right, you will see the Houses of Parliament, the Barrycade of Westminster that has now been up for six years, and likely to remain up for thirty more. The bird you see on the top is a crane. It is sacred hereabouts, and is highway robbery if any one attempts to dislodge it.

The Thames is worth looking at; but you must be quick, for unless you look down that narrow street before the train passes it, you will not see it. The silver speck—like a half-crown—you see at the end of that lane is the Thames.

Turn quick to the left; you will perceive what an Englishman most delights in—a fight.

Bah! you're too late; the Policeman has emerged from some invisible spot, and the fight is adjourned. One man in blue disperses five hundred Britons.

You will see plenty of English Interiors on each side of the country. They display all varieties of paper, mostly at a halfpenny a yard. How desolate the fireplaces look, and yet they are interesting, as the last abiding-places of the grate must always be.

How ferocious those chimneys look!—they give you quite a turn. Hurrah! now we approach Vauxhall! At night you can see the fireworks for nothing. Sometimes they drop in also upon you. A Roman wheel occasionally visits the first-class carriage, when he proves a very troublesome visitor, and which no one likes to turn out. The sticks—the departed ghosts of the short-lived rockets—think nothing of falling down upon the third-class passengers. But in the day-time you have nothing of these entertainments. All you see is the shell of the pagoda peeping through the trees, or an artist busy in veneering ham for the sandwiches; or you may get a small view of the airy abode of Il Diavolo, who led such a wire-drawn existence.

Holla! there's a cab coming over Vauxhall Bridge, and a steamer going underneath it. The horse still carries it over steam occasionally.

Now, you have reached the Vauxhall terminus. But which is the way out? There, down that trap. Why, it looks like the cabin of a steamer; but it isn't. Venture down it—it only takes you into the cellar, for the passengers at this station are shot out through a dry arch. But this species of exit—underhand as it is—is not half so perplexing as the one at Waterloo Bridge—as they will persist in calling the terminus—though never were Directors so far out in their calculations. Here, as you rush in a hurry to discover the exit, you are stopped by the following directions:—

Well, how have you enjoyed your trip? Only consider the variegated landscape, the picturesque scenery, the wonderful insight into the domestic habits of the natives, which you have just enjoyed in your delightful little trip of three minutes' rapid flight over roof and chimneys, from Waterloo Bridge to Nine Elms. If you are a real lover of nature, you will never forget it as long as you live.

RAILWAY PORTRAITS, TAKEN AT THE RATE OF FIFTY MILES AN HOUR.
]

EMIGRATION CARRIED TO AN ABSURD EXTENT,
OR,

WIDDICOMBE SITTING AMONGST THE RUINS OF LONDON.
]

* * * * *

AN ASYLUM FOR STRANDED PASSENGERS.—The Lowther Arcade has been called the Gents' Umbrella. Might it not also be called the Ladies' Parasol?

THE HAUNT OF THE REINDEER.
]

THE SYREN AND THE PHILOSOPHER.
A MARINE DUET.

SYREN. Here beneath the deep blue waters
Where the sea-plants twist and curl,
And the ocean's loveliest daughters
Dwell in palaces of pearl,
Come unto me. I've a notion
That for those of mortal birth
Fairer far must be the ocean
Than the dry and stupid earth.

PHIL. No, fair Peri; I have lectured
On each scientific theme,
And propounded, and conjectured—
Showed the air-pump, gas, and steam.
But, to make my story shorter,
I was taught, e'en in my teens,
When the nose is under water
Suffocation supervenes.

SYREN. Golden halls with diamonds dusted
Shall rejoice thy wondering eyes.
PHIL. No, with barnacles encrusted,
There each foundered treasure lies.
SYREN. Every costly jewel twinkles
In the ocean's caverns green.
PHIL. No, there's naught but weeds and winkles
On those rocks that I have seen.

SYREN. Daintiest food, my mortal lover,
I will bring thee with this hand.
PHIL. No, I fear I should discover
'Midst the viands too much sand.
SYREN. I will love thee well and dearly,
Sing thee songs of music rare.
PHIL. No, acoustics prove most clearly
Sound exists alone in air.

SYREN. Sea-born nymphs shall serve your table—
Syrens of the fairest mien.
PHIL. I assure you 'tis a fable,
Mermaids yet have ne'er been seen.
One there was in Piccadilly,
Half a fish, and half an ape;
You must think me very silly
To believe in such a shape.

SYREN. Horrid science! ever giving
Negatives to fancies fair;
Yet, if I can't have thee living—
Dead, my kingdom you shall share.
I will raise the waters o'er thee;
See, they rise! you have no boat.
PHIL. But I swim away before thee,
Furnished with a Patent Float!

A LITTLE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THEM.

_Bagman (with his bill)._ "I say, waiter, haven't you charged me as a gentleman?"

_Waiter._ "Oh! no,—as a commercial traveller, sir."

* * * * *

TO DESCRIBE A CIRCLE ROUND A GIVEN POINT.—Get into a cab, and order the driver to take you to the Bank of England.

* * * * *

HOW TO SEE JENNY LIND'S PORTRAIT.—Visit an affected mother; let the subject of your conversation be the Opera, and she is sure to introduce one of her daughters who is universally acknowledged to be the "exact picture of Jenny Lind."

INCREDIBLE TESTIMONIAL.

THE EARL OF OLDBUFFOUGH'S DAUGHTER'S DOLL
CURED BY THE USE OF
HOLLOWAY'S OINTMENT, ROWLAND'S KALYDOR AND MACASSAR,
GRIMSTONE'S EYE SNUFF,
PARR'S LIFE PILLS, STOLBERG'S VOICE LOZENGES, ETC.

MORRISON'S PILLS—A GREAT REDUCTION ON TAKING a QUANTITY.
]

Extract from an interesting Letter from Lady AMELIA (the lovely
Daughter of the venerable Earl of OLDBUFFOUGH) to her Cousin, Lady
ARAMINTA LAMB.

"NAPLES, _9th of October, 1848_.

"MY DEAREST, DEAREST, DEAREST, EVER FONDEST ARAMINTA,—On my arrival
here I was _so_ sorry to learn that my darling doll had been thrown
out of the carriage, and sadly hurt by the fall; but I must tell
you, first of all, she had been terribly upset by the shaking of the
steam-vessel, for she tumbled out of her berth, and it was a
thousand mercies she was not smashed into a thousand pieces. As it
was, the shock was too much for her delicate nerves, and she was
laid up for a month in a drawer. Her beautiful ringlets (auburn, you
will recollect) all fell off. Her lovely complexion had completely
gone from dropping into the sea, and her pretty eyelids, once so
quick, would neither open nor shut, though I tried pins and
everything I could think of to make her open them. Oh, Araminta
darling, believe me when I assure you I was tossed about so madly
that I was completely bouleversé.

"I was quite distracted with the fearful change. I called in the
assistance of the most experienced Italian doll-makers, but their
remedies were unavailing. My little pet gradually got worse, when
mamma's French maid, Smith, persuaded me to apply to my sister's
toilet-table for restoratives. After several applications of
Macassar Oil to her bald head, I cannot tell you how delighted I was
to perceive the hair beginning to grow again. I jumped for joy. I
was quite a little mad thing for the space of ten minutes! But I
persevered, and now (thanks be to that sweet Rowland) her ringlets
are just as beautiful as ever, with this slight difference, that
they are now jet black instead of the light auburn they formerly
were. The little dear looks all the better for the change of hair.
Still its complexion was _so_ very bad, I did not like to take her
out with me into society at all. Smith again, like a good creature,
recommended me to try some of Rowland's Kalydor. I did. I washed the
darling's face with it every morning for a week, and you will
scarcely believe it, but it is no story, when I assure you that my
doll has quite resumed her pristine bloom, and is now as pure and as
lovely as ever. But her eyes pained me the most, so I made bold to
ask Sir John Sheepshanks, who never travels without Holloway's
Ointment, to oblige me with a little bit. He gave me as much as
would cover your tongue, and, before putting her to bed, I placed it
over her eyelids, and the next morning gave her a good pinch of
Grimstone's Eye Snuff, when, upon pulling the strings, will you
credit me on my word, my dearest Araminta, when I inform you that
her eyelids opened and shut just as well as when my dear papa gave
me the beautiful doll on my birthday. I was going to give her a
small box (price 11_s._) of Parr's Life Pills, but Smith assured me
she would probably come _alive_, and I was frightened, as we have no
nurserymaid here to attend to her. My doll is now quite a new
creature, and I should advise you, Minta dearest, to try the same
remedies, if ever you find yours looking faint, or losing her
colour, or growing old.

"_Toute à toi, mia amica cara_ Minta,
"AMELIA.

"I forgot to tell you, that my sweet pet also lost her voice from
catching cold rather late one night at the Opera. I gave her half a
dozen of Stolberg's Voice Lozenges, and now she says 'Pa' and 'Ma'
more distinctly than ever. You recollect, too, her voice was a deep
baritone. It has changed to the most beautiful falsetto! Isn't it
wonderful?"

"THE HUM OF MEN."
]

HOW STARS ARE DISCOVERED.

MONS. ARAGO says:—"Talking of the new fashion of discovering stars:— there's my friend Millevoye, who wrote to me post-haste one morning to say, he had just discovered two new stars! Now, one star is enough at any time, but two were so surprising in my eyes, that I rushed to him immediately to see if there was anything in them. 'Come, my dear Millevoye,' I said, 'can you look me in the face and say you have discovered two new stars?' 'I can,' he said boldly, and he turned his eyes full upon mine. The absurdity of the thing flashed so ridiculously upon me that I could not help laughing—the double discovery was at once apparent—_for the poor fellow squinted_. Take my word, never believe in a new star till you have seen it yourself."

HISTORICAL PORTRAIT OF IRONSIDES.
]

ASTLEY'S HISTORICAL QUESTIONS.

Many of us owe to a visit to Astley's our earliest initiation into the mysteries of histories; and we are of opinion that a set of questions should be framed in accordance with these grand dog-mata—or horse-mata, as a maliciously-disposed person might call them—which we have gleaned from the boards of that great equestrian establishment. The arena of the circus is not a mere desert of sand or sawdust to him who looks at it with an intelligent eye, for many a wise saw may be picked up from the aforesaid sawdust, if the eye itself does not disdain the humility of the pupil. We subjoin a few specimens of the sort of questions and answers that would be found to meet the case, if we looked at history through some of Astley's grand spectacles.

_Q._ How was the battle of Waterloo decided?

_A._ By six Scotch Greys popping out from under two trusses of straw beautifully divided into six, and representing about half a pint of "standing corn," from which the gallant fellows emerged in time to "discomfit" eight French cuirassiers, who retired before the battery of the flats of the enemy's swords upon their highly polished breast-plates.

_Q._ How did Napoleon succeed in crossing the Alps?

_A._ He was carried across in an open boat on the backs of four supernumeraries.

_Q._ In what manner did the Emperor travel to Russia?

_A._ In a pasteboard hackney-coach, gorgeously emblazoned with Dutch metal, and which had been discovered among the rich relics of barbarism used for the old melodrama of Xaia of China.

_Q._ How did the Duke of Wellington behave at Waterloo?

_A._ He never spoke a single word, but pranced about, looking unutterable things, on a piebald charger.

_Q._ To what are our successes in India attributable?

_A._ To Lady Sale having surmounted an extensive range of platforms on a highly trained steed, and called upon "the whole strength of the company, with a numerous train of auxiliaries," to "advance for the honour of Old England," while the band in the orchestra played "Rule Britannia."

_Q._ Mention some prominent points connected with the burning of Moscow?

_A._ There were several terrific bangs, which had the effect of throwing a red glare over the whole scene; and several of the public buildings fell like the flap of a dining-table, showing underneath a very ruinous state of things; while the inhabitants appeared to be indulging themselves in letting off squibs and crackers into the air for the purpose of heightening the horrors of the conflagration.

_Q._ What became of Napoleon's trusty Mameluke?

_A._ On the last occasion that he took a part in public affairs he was recognised as a baker who had been just pillaged and pummelled by the clown in a pantomime.

_Q._ State some of the most striking peculiarities of the late Emperor Napoleon?

_A._ He chiefly depended for his advice on the "ferry-man" of his army; he took immense quantities of "property" snuff from a "practicable" snuff-box; he granted long interviews to "females in distress," and finished every alternate speech he made by declaring himself "the son of destin_ie_."

APOLLO ARRESTED BY A WRIT.

It was said of a certain officer of a certain sheriff, "nihil tetigit quod non ornavit," which means that it was really an honour to receive a tap on the shoulder at his hands, and we have no doubt that even a writ would have acquired from his peculiar touch a grace and a dignity. We know there is nothing that may not be elevated by poetry, and we have endeavoured therefore to force the Muses into the service of a writ for the purpose of investing it with a new charm, and giving it what it ought to possess—a taking character, in place of the old prosaic form, which is repulsive rather than attractive, and instead of enabling every one who runs to read, causes every one who reads to run. We would throw it into verse, and, by giving it poetical feet, place it on quite a new footing:—

Oh, come to me where Denman sits.
Victoria unto thee
Sends greeting, from her store of writs,
The one which now you see.

Within eight days we do command
(I'll own the time is short),
At Westminster, you'll understand,
You must appear in court.

It is an action on the case
At Laura Thomson's suit—
Her claims, if you have got the face,
Come forward and dispute.

Take notice, also, by the way,
If this you fail to do,
The aforesaid Laura Thomson may
Appearance make for you;

And then to judgment proceed,
With execution straight.
My friendly counsel prithee heed,
And thus avoid your fate.

Thomas, Lord Denman, you I call
Witness, of learning sober,
At Westminster's historic hall,
This first day of October.

But if, ere four brief days have fled,
The debt and costs be paid,
No further you'll by law be bled—
Proceedings will be stay'd.

CONSCIENCE MONEY.

"A FAST man, who acknowledges having read the 'COMIC ALMANACK' of last year through the shop-windows, and is ashamed now of the petty meanness, begs to forward to the Editor, as conscience money, the sum of One Shilling. The halves of six blue postage-stamps are now enclosed, and the remaining halves will be forwarded as soon as the first are acknowledged."

[The above have been duly handed over to Mr. Bogue, who has generously paid the amount into the Poor-box for the _Relief of Distressed Jokers_— a most deserving charity.—ED. C. A.]

THINGS THAT ARE INDISPENSABLE FOR A
GENTLEMAN'S POCKET.

Advertisers seem to imagine that a gentleman's pocket is as capacious as a kangaroo's—everything is for the pocket. We subjoin a few that will go to the bosom of every gentleman, especially those who have carried them— as the pressure of so many articles must have been rather inconvenient, if carried in the waistcoat pocket.

Pocket-comb.
Pocket Shakspeare.
Pocket Map.
Pocket Case of Instruments.
Pocket Sandwich-box.
Pocket Cab and Hackney-coach Fares.
Pocket Guide.
Pocket Dictionary.
Pocket Classics.
Pocket Dressing-case.
Pocket Life-preserver.
Pocket Constable's Staff.
Pocket Respirator, &c., &c.

to say nothing of innumerable Pocket-Books and Pocket Pistols, the latter of which, we think, a gentleman had better be without. To contain all the above articles, a gentleman's pocket need be as large, and packed as close, as a pocket of hops. We shall be having Houses for the Pocket next! and, who knows, a Pocket Railway?

A POCKET GENTLEMAN.
]

THE GAME OF FRIGHT.

This round game has been played very extensively in France and other countries this year. In some circles the king has been thrown out and all the honours put aside, which has increased the fright to a very great extent, as it was always doubtful what low card would be the next turn up. Hitherto the clubs have been uppermost, and the knaves have shared all the spoil; but people are just beginning to see through the game, and are calling for a fresh pack; so we hope there will soon be an end to fright.

A POCKET-BOOK PICKED UP IN THE GREAT
DESERT.
(SUPPOSED TO HAVE BELONGED TO A FASHIONABLE TOURIST.)

The Great Desert is only solitary confinement applied to travelling.

If you wish to know yourself, travel by yourself; and, egad! you will never wish to renew the intimacy.

I can't make out the Sphinx; but I suppose it must have been the first likeness taken in stone. If the Egyptians could not make better riddles than that, they were perfectly right in never trying their hands upon another.

They say this place is very romantic; but, on my word, I cannot see it, and I have looked everywhere. If there be a romance, it can only be a flying volume of Sand. I recollect my eyes filling several times, and certainly I cried once till I was nearly blinded; but on the whole I prefer the Waverly Novels.

If the Pyramids had been in Paris, they would have been broken long ago for barricades.

We are strange creatures; we leave London because it is empty, and come to the Great Desert for a change; for myself, I like London best; there may not be a soul, but you can get a sherry-cobbler, and there is the waiter at all events to speak to.

What is Society? Running away from one's self; but here you only run to meet yourself. You might as well turn hermit, or toll-man on Southwark Bridge.

I have met with but one sign of civilization since I have been here, and that was an empty soda-water bottle off Cairo!

I cannot see the fun of climbing up that Great Pyramid. It is immense labour, and, like an election, is attended with bribery and corruption at every step, for you have to pay those greedy Moors before they will give you a hand, or the smallest lift.

I could not help shouting out, as I saw a big fat alderman-looking fellow going up, "Twopence, Moor, and up goes the donkey!" It was very vulgar, but I could not help it.

It is time that those forty centuries were relieved. I know of but one man to do it, and that's Widdicombe.

I am certain solitude begets contempt. If I were to stop here another day I should positively hate myself.

I had the bump of travelling, but have quite lost it now, after travelling for a week on a camel.

Stupid people express their astonishment at the quantity of stones collected by the Egyptians to build the Pyramids, and never bestow the smallest wonder at the immense collection of dust; and yet the one is just as wonderful as the other, and, I am sure, much more difficult to get over.

Decidedly travelling in the plains of Egypt will never be comfortable till they introduce watering-carts.

If you wish to ascertain how slowly the sand of human life trickles through the minute glass, go to the Great Desert. But I suppose "what must be, must;" in other words, as the Duke of Bedford would say, "Che Sahara, Sahara." But the proverb is rather musty.

I wonder they do not lay down a railway here. No elevations required, no tunnels excepting through the Needles, and Obelisks, and Tombs; everything is as smooth as a billiard-table; it looks as if it had been laid down on purpose, ready ruled for a series of lines. One thing, however, is very plain, and that is, they do not catch me in the Great Desert again until there is a railway!

MIND OVER MATTER.
]

Cheapside at four o'clock, Gower Street on a Sunday, the Ancient Concerts, a Jury-box in the dog-days, a pantomime in July, a Blue-book on a wet Sunday—anything, confound it! is better than this Great Desert. On my word, I never saw, since I have travelled, a place with so little in it.

"Here, Bou Maza, bring my camel to the door. I'm off to London."

* * * * *

UNPUBLISHED DOGMA OF DOCTOR JOHNSON.—"The man who wears a moustache has no right to eat vermicelli soup."

CAPITAL OFFENDERS

A woman who says "my love," and "my dear," and "my pet sweet," to her husband in public, and pulls his hair, probably, in private.

A young man who is studying statistics, and tells you "the number of quarters of bonded corn there were in Hamburgh in 1835 was 10,000 more than any other year," and quotes voluminously about refined tallows and prime Muscovados from

"PORTER'S PROGRESS."
]

A woman of great intellect, and a young lady at supper who wishes to go into a convent.

A man who is perpetually boasting of his "favourite old port that has been these fifteen years in bottle," and gives you nothing but British brandy.

A woman of fifty years of age who dresses like a girl of nineteen.

A woman who drops her pocket-handkerchief every five minutes at an evening party, in order to test the gallantry of the gentlemen.

A man who gives a dinner party, and keeps saying to his guests, "You see your dinner, gentlemen."

A woman who is always talking about her "delicate constitution."

An old maid who doubts, during dessert, "if you could love _madly_," and then asks, "What is your _beau ideal_ of the tender passion?"

A young man who quotes Latin at a social party, and proposes healths and toasts; or a German at the Opera who hums all the tunes, overture, and recitatives, stamps his feet, and takes snuff.

A faded coxcomb who talks of his successes with "the dear creatures."