Chapter XV: Part II (9)

Oh, I have quaff'd of many a drink,
Right from "Tokay" to "Tiddlelywink;"
I have grown dizzy upon the "Mountain;"
Cool'd me with "Soda from the fountain;"
My eyes have glisten'd with "Malmsey" brightening;
My soul been rous'd with "Thunder and Lightning;"
With "Rossignol" I've fill'd my throat,
Till another "jug! jug!" was all my note;
And when that cloy'd—the feast to vary—
I've madly swallow'd my "Canary;"
I've tippled Punch of my own brewing;
Gone first to "rack," and then, to "ruin;"
Like Cleopatra, th' Egyptian girl,
I've drain'd my draught of precious "purl;"
My heart I've warm'd with nice "lamb's wool;"
I've had at your "dog's nose" many a pull;
And cried aloud between my sips too,
"It's the sweetest thing I've put my lips to."
But tho' sweet your "dog's nose" to my two lips,
Oh, sweeter still are those "mint juleps;"
Yet much as Juleps I adore,
I love my neat "Old Tom" still more;
But—away with all vain artful dodges!—
I doat upon my "cordial Hodges;"
And yet it must—_shall_ be confest—
I love a little "Jackey" best.
Still it doth Jackey—Tom eclipse,
To press my "Bishop" to my lips;
Yes, 'tis that "Bishop" most I prize,
That lifts my soul up to the skies.
Yet no!—there's one so sweet and good,
That I could die with—_that_ I could!
What tho' "Old Tom" this heart enthrall?
I love a "Cobbler" more than all!
What tho' my "Bishop" spicier be?
A "Cobbler" give—oh, give to me!
My "Jackey's" strong-my "Hodges'" fine;
But ah! my "Cobbler" is divine;
In summer cool "dog's noses" are,
But "Cobblers" cooler—sweeter far.

When to the Opera I repair,
I always take my "Cobbler" there;
When at a ball I seek delight,
My "Cobbler" makes me dance all night;
For 'tis my greatest joy and pride
To have a "Cobbler" by my side.
I love all "Cobblers!"—If any best,
The last alone excels the rest;
With each I cry, between my sips too,
"'Tis the sweetest 'Cobbler' I've put my lips to."

ARABIAN NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENT.
]

"ANY ONE FOR EGYPT?—EGYPT!"

Of course we shall have a Railway to Grand Cairo—the LONDON AND GREAT DESERT DIRECT. How the antiquaries will get over this attack upon the very seat of their learning it is impossible to say. Will they stand idly by and not resent this blow levelled at their renowned Sesostris— this slap given to their Cheops?

However, as a matter of course, there will be a continual succession of cheap trips under the influence of Crisp. Every Englishman, who can afford to spend a week and a five-pound note in the pursuit of pleasure, will be sure to go. For in addition to the "MAGNIFICENT SCENERY," "FREE ADMISSION TO ALL THE PYRAMIDS," &c. &c., the advertisements will doubtless assure us that in every town at which the train stops, a professor will be engaged, so that whilst the travellers are swallowing their soup, they may be crammed with a complete knowledge of the language of the country—a process which will enable Englishmen to digest Coptic and Oxtail at one and the same time.

This Railway will assuredly be the making of Egypt and the Egyptians. In a very little time the Desert Sara will become as lively as Cremorne, and its sands as much frequented by the ladies as those of Ramsgate while the gentlemen are bathing. Villages will spring up in the bosom of the country almost as rapidly as mustard and cress would in the bosom of an Irishman. The sources of the Nile will afford beautiful spots for picnics where parties bringing their own tea may be accommodated with hot water; and the great Lake of Mæris will of course be thoroughly repaired, and opened as a National Swimming Bath—warranted free from Crocodiles.

_Cheap Excursion Trains_—
]

Then the Pyramids will be just the very place for some Mustapha Bunn to begin an operatic season in; the only thing required to be done will be to fit up each Sarcophagus as a private box; get a monster band with a mammoth ophicleide to play the Desert, and engage the celebrated vocal statue of Memnon to sing a solo. What a splendid joke too for the clown to let off on the first night of the Pantomime; when, after turning his toes in, rolling his eyes, and thrusting his tongue out, he cries, "Here we are again! Thirty centuries are a-lookin' down on us! Somebody's a-coming!" This alone would fill the Pyramids.

Then again as a place for posters, the Pyramids would soon "shut up" Waterloo Bridge. Noses and Son alone doubtless would engage one entire side of Ptolemy's, whilst Jullien would cover Cyphreus with a monster broadside.

Of course all caravans would be superseded, and camels only used for picnics and penny rides at fairs. The once-renowned Ben Haroun ad Deen will be waiting to comfort the hungry passenger, crying aloud as he stands beneath the glorious Sphinx, "Allah is good!—Baked 'taturs all hot!—and Mahomet is his Prophet. Here's your prime flowery sort!" Whilst the once bloodthirsty Ben Hassan, as he leans against the bright gas-lit Cleopatra's Needle, will lift up his voice with "May the Prophet bless you. Ham sandwiches a penny."

The salutary effect that this mixing of the English with the Egyptian will have upon our Poetry and Romance, "can be much better imagined than described,"—as George Robins used to say in every one of his advertisements. Instead of our trumpery "Wilt thou love me then as now?" and "Yes, dearest, then I'll love thee more!" we shall have good wholesome emotion, and "no nonsense," in the shape of the following little Anglo-Arabian snatch:

"For thirty days I could not eat—neither have I slept for the fleas and excessive weeping.

"Her face is like the full moon, her hair like capsicums, and her nose is the finest of Grecians.

"She moveth like the willow branch, and she speaketh Coptic with a pure Pyramidical accent.

"Her breath is like ambergris; she hath rubies and pearls, and jacinths, and heaps of red gold in the consols."

This is sterling affection if you like. There are few Englishmen who could keep a flame burning for thirty days.

When all these things are worked out, it will be time to begin agitating for that great moral change, the introduction of Polygamy into England. If true-born Britons are to be forced still to continue monogamists, what, we would ask, is to become of the surplus lady population? Either they must be induced to emigrate in a body to the Grand Sultan, or an act must be passed to make bigamy according to law. Something _must_ be done for as matters are at present our wives _are just one too many for us_.

"THE GOOD OLD TIMES."

The "good old times" are past, my boys,
The "good old times" are past,
And, if it's true what Hist'ry says,
It's lucky we live in other days
Than the "good times" past;
Then the Noble's might was the only right,
But the people have grown stronger:
The iron collar's off their necks—
Thank God they're dogs no longer!

The "good old times" are past, my boys,
The "good old times" are past,
When the skies were bloody with martyr fires,
And daughters lighted their fathers' pyres,
In the "good times" past.
Then, mothers at the stake gave birth;
And, to make their sufferings stronger,
Had their new-born babe flung in the flames—
Thank God, we burn no longer!

The "good old times" are past, my boys,
The "good old times" are past,
When we kill'd—not kept—our aged poor,—
Burnt them as witches by the score,
In the "good times" past.
Then a child of five was burnt alive,
For making the tempest stronger;
And a dog they tried, and a corpse beside—
Thank God, _that_ lasts no longer!

The "good old times" are past, my boys,
The "good old times" are past,
When the balls were cut from each dog's paw,
For fear they should hunt—so ran the law,
In the "good times" past.
Then manure, they said, was bad for the game,
And rendered the flavour stronger;
So they made it death to Manure the land—
Thank God, _that_ lasts no longer!

The "good old times" are past, my boys,
The "good old times" are past,
When the walls of Temple Bar were spread
With many a "traitor's" rotting head,
In the "good times" past.
Then for forty shillings men were hung,
And the thirst for blood grew stronger
Man's life was valued then at a sheep's—
Thank God, _that_ lasts no longer!

_What it must come to, at last, if the Ladies go on blowing themselves
out as they do!_
]

BLOWING UP ONE'S WIFE.
]

ALL A-BLOWING! ALL A-GROWING!

At the time of the French Revolution it was the fashion for ladies to wear their dresses as tight round as pillow-cases; but now-a-days all is confusion and bustle. That plaguy half-moon thing has set the ladies' dresses swelling and swelling, till it will soon take as much stuff to make a skirt as it does to make a tent. Forty years back a "full dress" would go comfortably into a bandbox, but now it is only with a great deal of pressing that more than one can be squeezed into an opera-box.

It was bad enough when "ye faire damezelles" had hoops all round, like sugar casks or painted posts; but now they are encompassed with air-tubes big enough for an atmospheric railway, and it is high time for the husbands to meddle with what they don't understand, and pick the ladies' dresses to pieces. In ten years, unless an Act of Parliament is passed to prevent the spread of feminine dresses, ladies will be such "awful swells" that there will be no coming near them. Husbands, to obtain the least "peace and quiet," will be obliged to blow their wives up not less than three times a day. Ladies' maids will be required to have lungs like an ironfounder's blast; for if, when Mary is directed to puff her mistress up into a "good figure," she cannot blow her out "nice and full," of course she will be told to suit herself with a place where "good wind" is no object. What a dreadful situation it would be for a poor dear lady of fashion if any one should call when she's _en déshabillé_—and consequently, by mere force of contrast, as thin as a Passover biscuit. There she would be running about the house wringing her hands, either promising, like a true Christian, to give a kiss for a blow, or else crying, like the lady with the Mackintosh life-preserver in a storm at sea, "Oh dear! Oh dear! Will nobody blow me out? Will nobody blow me out?"

One thing is certain; our parties will soon become literal "_spreads_," and sink into very dull affairs, for there will be no dancing, since it will be physically impossible for more than one to stand up at a time. The hornpipe—sailor's or college—is the only English _pas seul_, and _that_, we are afraid, would not exactly suit either Almack's or the ladies.

If those dreadful "dress-extenders" come into fashion, flirting assuredly must go out. It will be impossible for gentlemen, if the dear creatures keep them at such a distance—at the very _outskirts_ as it were of their soul's idol, to come within the mortal range of the very best aimed eyeballs. A squeeze of the hand will be as rare as a squeeze at Vauxhall. The supper room on the night of a "grand spread" will be a curious place. There the gentlemen will stand, armed each with a long baker's peel with which to hand the ladies their refreshments. The greatest nicety, however, will be required in presenting a trifle, a glass of wine, or a jelly by these means, lest the whole be deposited in the fair creature's lap. Still if the ladies will persist in blowing themselves out before they come, they must not complain that they cannot eat anything when they are nearly bursting.

It would require the great prophet Moore himself to foretell all the mischief to come unless these gowns are taken in a reef or two. If a cry is raised against advertising carts for blocking up a street, what noise will the city men make to a skirt stopping the way like a dead wall! No doubt this last fact will be taken advantage of by every bill sticker in London, and many a poor dear, on returning home, will find she has been walking about all day with a three-sheet poster behind her, announcing there then were "IMMENSE ATTRACTIONS, and had been entirely re-decorated and painted."

The omnibus drivers, too, will throw up their reins to a man, unless, like Pickford's, they are allowed to charge according to size and weight, and their licences are altered from "thirteen people" to "two skirts" inside. But the most frightful picture for contemplation is, in the event of another French Revolution, what will become of the women? With those dresses they are sure to be seized for making barricades with. Three or four ladies, a carriage, and a pianoforte or two, would be better than all the paving-stones in Paris.

The ladies had better be careful, or the gentlemen in revenge will introduce the old Dutch costume.

_A Splendid Spread._
]

PORTRAIT OF THE CULPRIT.
]

AN AFFECTING COPY OF VERSES
WRITTEN BY
THE WRETCHED BRIDEGROOM,
ON
THE EVENING PREVIOUS TO THE AWFUL CEREMONY.

In grief and sorrow I rue the day,
A young woman first led me astray;
There is no hope for me, to-morrow,
My life must end in shame and sorrow.

In the morning, at ten, St. George's bell
Will toll for me—dreadful for to tell;
For then, alas!—oh, bitter lot—
They ties the horrid fatal knot.

Percival Spooney is my sad name,
I do confess I was much to blame;
I see my folly, now it is too late,
And do deserve my most dreadful fate.

On the first of April, it came to pass,
I well remember,—Alas! alas!—
The very thought makes my heart to bleed,—
I did vow to do this horrid deed.

Oh, hadn't I never seen Ann Power,
I might have been happy to this hour;
Keeping company with that artful Miss
Has brought me, in my prime, to this.

It was, while a-walking in Love Lane,
She first put the thoughts into my brain;
Sure, I had much better ne'er been born,
For now I must end my days in scorn.

Intent on effecting my vile plan,
I seeks her father—a grey-hair'd man;
And, like a madman, straight attacks him,
'Twas a heavy blow when I did _axe_ him.

With a heart of stone, or hardest metal,
The poor old man I quick did settle:
He soon was silenc'd, that fatal night,
And quite cut up—what a horrid sight!

Indeed—indeed, it was shocking sad:
How could I do it?—but I was mad;
When I did think on what I'd done
I felt inclin'd for to cut and run.

Her mother was,—oh, horrid fact!
A vile accessory to the act;
For she did urge me on, you see,
To do this here atrocity.

Young men, by me pray a warning take—
Shun woman's company ere 'tis too late;
If you're a-courting, strive your lives to mend,
Pity my sad untimely end.

To-morrow, many the crowd will swell,
To behold the awful spectacle:
What a dismal sight, alas! to see
A young man launch'd into misery.

As the church bell tolls the hour of ten,
The sad procession will begin;
And then, 'midst many a tearful eye,
My hands they will proceed to tie.

While the fatal noose they do prepare,
The Parson he will breathe a prayer,
Then vainly ask for me a blessin',
And pardon crave for my transgression.

Sadly, I confess, I've done amiss.
I know there is no hope for bliss.
To-morrow I shall be a public gaze,
And then in torments end my days.

THE MELANCHOLY PROCESSION.
]

WAITING FOR THE MAIL.
]

_BON MOT_-TO WAFERS:
OR, SEALS FOR "SHUTTING-UP" GOVERNORS, LOVERS, DEBTORS, AND CREDITORS.

┌────────────────────────────────────┐
│ Obliged to be _sharper_, │
│ because _less blunt_ than usual. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ Love should come with a │
│ _ring_, but not _without a rap_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ To-day I write; │
│ To-morrow I writ. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ Rat-a-tat! │
│ Look out for a Latitat. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ A little "soft solder" │
│ for a little tin. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ A _billet_ more than _doux_ │
│ for a _bill_ that's over-_due_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ Pig's _cheek_ pleases—Woman's │
│ tickles—Man's offends. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ I send you _an oat_ (a note), │
│ Respondez _wheat_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ May we never _differ_, │
│ But always _correspond_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ Like a sheep I seek │
│ consolation in my _pen_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ This is between you and me │
│ and the _post_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ Though we correspond, I │
│ trust there'll be _no words_ │
│ between us. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ You can't _do wrong_, │
│ If you _do write_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ May the _female_ be as │
│ trustworthy as the _mail_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ I write on spec: │
│ and hope it will _answer_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ You know _the hand_; │
│ Become the possessor of it. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ Though a person of extreme │
│ _diffidence_, │
│ I write this in _confidence_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ Pray give me your _countenance_; │
│ it will put a _better_ │
│ _face_ upon the matter. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ I trust you wont be _dreadfully_ │
│ _affected_ on receipt of this. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ Sow your wild oats, and │
│ reap five-p'un'-'_otes_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ You _do_! │
│ I _dun_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ The "Governor" holds out, │
│ and wont give up the keys. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ Eat a hearty breakfast, and │
│ _Dinner_ forget. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ To one who possesses a good large │
│ _chere amie_ (_share o' me_). │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ If I _correspond_ with you, │
│ You must "_match_" with me. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ You're _dying_ for me you declare; │
│ So you _are_, poor old │
│ fellow,—_your hair_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ Friendship is the _cement_ of │
│ life, and we the "_bricks_." │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ You require _bleeding_; │
│ Allow me to _stick_ you. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ This is the land of Liberty, │
│ so I take one. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ Don't be always _for-getting_, │
│ And never _for-giving_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ For _cleaning_ your _tables_ │
│ there's nothing like a good │
│ "_Sponge_." │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ One chaste salute, │
│ Go it my _two-lips_. │
├────────────────────────────────────┤
│ Give your _countenance_, and │
│ you'll give something │
│ extremely _handsome_. │
└────────────────────────────────────┘

THE LORD MAYOR IN IRELAND.

It is sad pity the City of London broke off their bargain about the Connaught waste land. Everybody was waiting for the fun, when his Civic Majesty should pay his state visit to the Kingdom of Bogs that he had added to that of Gog's. How the "boys" would have laughed to see the whole procession stick fast in the mud, and the man in armour, weighed down in his own scales, sink up to his helmet in the swamp. How the "finest pisinthry" would have cheered to see the gilt coach, Lord Mayor, Recorder and all, suddenly disappear in the illigant muck.

In compliment to his new subjects, the Emperor of all the Bogs and Gogs, of course, would have ordered the faithful Birch (for spare the birch spoil the "boys") to supply a "feast" replete with every Irish delicacy of the season. The bill of fare for this most probably would have been, _First Course_—Praties wid de bones in 'em; _Remove_—the smallest taste in life of salt mate, to make the poteen come like a "rale blessin." Then to win the hearts of his new subjects the King of Cockneydom would, doubtlessly, have spoken in the richest brogue he could manage. At Donnybrook he would have chucked all the girls under the chin and called them "_Macrees_," and "_Astores;_" and delighted the men by flourishing his shillelah and crying "Och! Goroo! Goroo! Tare an 'ouns will nobody thrid on the tails of my gownd?" while, to complete the thing, he would have directed the "Mace-bearer, darlint, to feel round the tint for the bald hids of the Aldermin."

Realty our London _Mayors_ are almost as strange animals as the Irish Bulls.

"The Lord Mayors—Show—
And—The Lord Mayors Feast
—in—IRELAND"
]

The Fearful, but probable ultimate effects of—feeding John Bull—upon
Foreign produce
]

AGRICULTURAL DISTRESS.
]

DREADFUL CASE OF AGRICULTURAL DISTRESS.

The state of the British Farmer is growing desperate. Unless something is done quickly, they will ere long become mere men of straw. As it is, the distress prevalent in the different counties has nearly reached its climax. The farmers are so tied down in NOTTS that scarcely any of them have tasted Champagne for the last six months. There isn't a man in BEDS that dreams of hunting more than twice a-week, and OXON, nearly mad from being driven so hard, has scarcely a dozen families in which the French language is spoken.

The great question of what will become of the British Farmer has been in part answered by Mr. Hiceter, who has become—insolvent. It appears that gentleman has for some time expected the Ploughshare of Distress to cut up his hearth, and the Harrow of affliction to dig its teeth and nails into the bosom of his family. This he has long anticipated, on account of his not having paid any rent for the last two years—indeed from the fact of farming seldom _paying_, Mr. Hiceter had long since learned to look upon the agricultural business as an extensive _field for hoeing_ (owing). Mr. Hiceter complains that he has suffered much from his kidneys, which have been diseased for these last two years. His barley, he says, has run to nothing but beard. His ears, however, have been remarkably long; still, his corn has been so bad of late, that it has been as much as he could do to hobble on for this long time. Two large fields of Mangel Wurzel have been swallowed up by a _Native de Paris_, whom he engaged to perfect his daughters in the French tongue; and the whole of his six acres of canary seed have gone to teach the girls singing.

The sympathy of the country for miles round has been raised on behalf of the Misses Hiceter. Their accomplishments are such that if they were not born, at least they have been bred ladies of quality. In the midst of their sorrows they find great comfort in the use of the globes. They do not complain, but pass their time singing Italian duets, and they have already worked several superb ottomans. Their extreme repugnance to the disgustingly early hours, and vulgar laborious offices of a farm life, completely reconciles them to their present condition of having nothing to do. They also feel great consolation in knowing that in future they will be able to appear every evening in "low-necked dresses," without being pointed at by the ploughboys, and to dine at the much more civilized hour of seven, without being called proud by the Goodies.

In their prosperity it was ever the object of the Misses Hiceter to ennoble and refine the low manners and customs of the British Farmer. It was through their exertions that their brother, Mr. Albert Hiceter, was induced to wear a diamond ring and yellow kid gloves whilst guiding the plough. Whistling at the plough was also strictly forbidden by them among the farm servants, and white berlin gloves and meerschaum pipes rigorously insisted upon.

It is very gratifying to learn that these two young ladies have made up their minds to marry only persons of independent fortune and title, and to leave their papa as soon as they conveniently can, unless he consents to forego his filthy clay pipe before company.

We subjoin a few of the lots and purchasers at the late sale:—

Lot 5.—A capital Guernsey Cow; a first-rate Spanish Guitar; two Breeding Sows; and a lovely Chalk drawing of a "Brigand," by Miss Victoria Hiceter.—(_Bought for £22 10 0 by Ensign Namby, whose features bore a great resemblance to those of the Brigand._)

Lot 8.—Thirty sacks of prime Potatoes (Early Yorks); a patent Rat-trap; a splendid Embroidered Cat; Wheelbarrow, never used; four ropes of strong Onions; six dozen of the best French Cambric Pocket Handkerchiefs; and a binocular Opera Glass.—(_Sold very cheap to a Gin Spinner of the name of Baylis._)

Lot 22.—Capital Set first-rate Harness; several Embroidered Collars; sixteen Hay Forks; three rows lovely Imitation Pearls; two bushels of Buckwheat; nearly a peck of dirty White Kid Gloves (warranted cleaned only twice); and a bunch of handsome False Ringlets.—(_Purchased by the_ _Rev. G. Hodder, who complained that some of the Kid Gloves would not bear cleaning again._)

Lot 36.—Two pair of magnificent Top-boots; half an acre of fine Turnips; one quart of Lavender Water; a sack of Oats; a dozen plump Geese; six new Ostrich Feathers; and a bundle of blue Veils.—(_Sold to Mrs. Glyde of the Rookery._)

Lot 54.—Magnificent Stuffed Spaniel (King Charles's breed); eight good Spades; ditto Pitchforks; two beautiful Fancy Dresses (one Circassian Slave, and one Mary Queen of Scots); several Vols. Italian Duets; splendidly bound Family Bible (not much used); large Garden Roller; and six loads strong Manure.—(_Knocked down to Lady Guy Tomlins, who had brought her carriage to take them with her._)

BREACH OF PROMISE.
OGLES _v._ WINKIN.

On the day appointed for the trial of the wretched man MIKE WINKIN, the rush of ladies was so terrific that, we regret to state, several highly respectable females met with severe accidents. MRS. DE SMYTHE SMITH had her bonnet completely crushed, and her body literally torn from her. She was carried to a shop in the neighbourhood, where her head was immediately dressed; her body, however, was found to be so injured that it was thought advisable to take it off. MISS BEEVES, we are sorry to say, also lost both her legs, they having been taken from under her in the scuffle.

The greatest praise is due to MRS. INSPECTOR DAKIN of the T division, who kept up a constant and strong supply of that body.

At ten o'clock MRS. SERJEANT BLUBAG took her seat on the _fauteuil_. She was attired in a robe of _poult-de-soie rose_, trimmed with _peau de lapin blanc garnie de demi queue de chat noir_, and with her hair _au cactus_. On the "devotionals" beside her were seated the MISSES JUSTICE, TRACTS, and GRUEL.

The prisoner on being brought in was assailed with cries of "You brute! Oh, you brute!" which drowned the call of Miss Asthma the usher, for "Silence, my dears! Pray, silence, my dears!"

Miss Wartz, Q.C., the celebrated authoress of the "Trials of Women," assisted by fifteen other ladies, appeared for the prosecution; and, having laid down a lovely pair of braces that she had been engaged in working, opened the case by saying that—

In the whole of her born days she had never heard of such a downright cruel affair.

Ever since she had worn a filthy disgusting wig that covered her "seat of reason" with horse-hair.

What on earth had come to the gentlemen lately was really more than she could say.

But men's _suits_ now-a-days were so plentiful that it was the third time she had appeared in breeches that day.

Really, marriage was made such game of now-a-days, that, terrible to tell! Hymen had completely extinguished his torch; for, as he said, "_le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle_." (Great confusion and cries of "Silence, my dears! Pray, _pray_, my dears! let us have silence.")

The plaintiff in this case is a very good young woman, in the prime of life, and the pastrycook line;

Whose manners are lovely, morals excellent, character superb, and eel pies divine.

Early each morning defendant would seek out her shop, and stop there the whole of the day.

Paying, the great big silly, nothing but compliments for emptying the whole of the stale-tart tray.

But his promises proved only pie-crust; for he suddenly left her to make love to a cook-shop next door.

After having sworn the fondest devotion, and lived on her eel pies for a good six months or more.

And now he sends her a nasty impudent letter, saying, carrots are things he cannot a-bear;

Though, as the poor fond dear said, she was ready to _dye_ for his sake, the very moment she heard he didn't like nice warm auburn hair.

Mrs. Sniggles was called as witness. She objected to say how old she was. Might be forty—might be twenty. On her oath, she wasn't sixty. _Would_ swear she wasn't fifty-nine. Was perfectly well aware of the consequences of perjury; and yet _would_ persist in affirming that she had not reached her fifty-eighth year. Objected to answer any more questions as to age. (Objection allowed.) Knew plaintiff. Had called to see her, and found the poor thing fainting. She came to a little when the chemist's young man tickled her. Plaintiff hadn't eaten enough to lie on a fourpenny-piece ever since. Wouldn't swear to a fourpenny-piece.

At this point of the case, the forewoman of the jury stated to her Honour that their minds were perfectly made up as to the guilt of the prisoner: whereupon Mrs. Serjeant Blubag proceeded to put on the black cap. It was of _crêpe noir_, splendidly trimmed with artificial flowers of rosemary and rue, and had a very _distingué_ and solemn effect. Her Honour dwelt for a considerable time on the wretched man's impudent expression of countenance, asking him in a most impressive manner where he expected he would go to, and concluded by sentencing him to marriage and hard labour for the remainder of his days, as hanging was too good for him.

The defendant was then removed in the custody of Mrs. Twentystone, the turnkey, and an old maiden lady of a serious turn of mind was immediately sent for, to prepare the man for his wretched doom.

A REGULAR POSER.
]

COCKNEY ENIGMAS.

No. 1.
(_On the letter H._)

I dwells in the Herth, and I breathes in the Hair;
If you searches the Hocean you'll find that I'm there.
The first of all Hangels in Holympus am Hi,
Yet I'm banish'd from 'Eaven, expell'd from on 'Igh.
But tho' on this Horb I am destin'd to grovel,
I'm ne'er seen in an 'Ouse, in an 'Ut, nor an 'Ovel;
Not an 'Oss nor an 'Unter e'er bears me, alas!
But often I'm found on the top of a Hass.
I resides in a Hattic, and loves not to roam,
And yet I'm invariably habsent from 'Ome.
Tho' 'ushed in the 'Urricane, of the Hatmosphere part,
I enters no 'Ed, I creeps into no 'Art.
Only look, and you'll see in the Heye I appear,
Only hark, and you'll 'ear me just breathe in the Hear;
Though in sex not an 'E, I am (strange paradox!)
Not a bit of an 'Effer, but partly a Hox.
Of Heternity Hi'm the beginning! And mark,
Though I goes not with Noar, I'm the first in the Hark.
I'm never in 'Elth—have with Fysic no power;
I dies in a Month, but comes back in a Hour.

No. II.
(_On the letter W._)

The Vide Vorld you may search and my fellow not find;
I dwells in a Wacuum, deficient in Vind;
In the Wisage I'm seen—in the Woice I am heard,
And yet I'm inwisible—gives went to no Vurd.
I'm not much of a Vag, for I'm vanting in Vit;
But distinguish'd in Werse for the Wollums I've writ.
I'm the head of all Willains, yet far from the Vurst—
I'm the foremost in Wice, tho' in Wirtue the first.
I'm us'd not to Veapons, and ne'er goes to Vor;
Tho' in Walour inwincible—in Wictory sure.
The first of all Wiands and Wictuals is mine—
Rich in Wen'zon and Weal, but deficient in Vine.
To Wanity given, I in Welwets abound;
But in Voman, in Vife, and in Vidow an't found;
Yet, conspicuous in Wirgins! And I'll tell you, between us,
To persons of taste I'm a bit of a Wenus;
Yet none take me for Veal—or for Voe in its stead,
For I ranks not among the s-veet Voo'd Vun and Ved.

"I SEE I MUST GIVE IT UP."
]

THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE.

The Ancients certainly made a great mistake in not choosing Niobe for the Goddess of Marriage. Hymen is by far too jolly; he is all smiles— more of the hyena than the crocodile; whilst Niobe is just as she ought to be—all tears.

There never yet was a marriage that was not a perfect St. Swithin affair. No one—unless he has a soul of gutta-percha, thoroughly waterproof—should think of going to a wedding with less than two pocket-handkerchiefs; and, even then, a sponge is better adapted to the "joyful occasion." Men take wives as they do pills, with plenty of water—excepting, indeed, when the "little things" are well gilt.

If a kind of matrimonial barometer were kept in each family, and its daily indications as to the state of the weather at the fireside accurately registered, we have no doubt that on the average being taken the following results would be arrived at—

BEFORE MARRIAGE _Fair_.
DURING MARRIAGE _Wet_.
AFTER MARRIAGE _Stormy_.

Meteorologically speaking, it would be highly interesting could we arrive at a knowledge of the exact amount of "doo" prevailing during courtship.

Nobody can feel more truly wretched than on the happiest day of his life. A wedding is even more melancholy than a funeral. The bride weeps for everything and nothing. At first she's heart-broken because she's about to leave her Ma and Pa; then, because she hopes and trusts Chawles will always love her; and, when no other excuse is left, she bursts into tears because she's afraid he will not bring the ring with him. Mamma, too, is determined to cry for the least thing. Her dear girl is going away, and she is certain something dreadful is about to happen; and goodness gracious! she's forgotten to lock the dining-room door, with all the wine and plate on the table, and three strange greengrocers in the house. At church the water is laid on at _eye_-service; indeed, the whole party look so wretched, no one would imagine there was a "happy pair" among them. When Papa gives away his darling child, he does it with as many sobs as if he were handing her over to the fiercest Polygamist since Henry the Eighth—instead of bestowing her upon one who loves his "lamb," regardless of the "mint" sauce that accompanies her. The bridegroom snivels, either because crying's catching, or because he thinks he ought, for decency's sake, to appear deeply moved; and the half-dozen bridesmaids are sure to be all weeping, because everybody else weeps.

_The Happiest moment of my life_——
]

When the party return home, however, the thoughts of the breakfast cheer them up a little; and the bridesmaids, in particular, feel quite resigned to their fate. As if they had grown hungry by crying—or the tears had _whetted_ their appetites—they drown their cares for a while in the white soup-tureen. The champagne goes off, and goes round. Eyes begin to twinkle, the young ladies get flushed, and titter and giggle with the bridegroom, until at last the "funny man" of the party begins talking of the splendid gravy spoon he means to give when he's a godfather; but is immediately frowned down by the old aunt opposite, who has come dressed out as gaily and as full of colours as an oilman's shop-front.

Then the father gets up, and after a short and pathetic eulogium upon the virtues of that "sweet girl," whom he "loves as his own flesh and _blood_," thumps the table, and tells the company that "any one who would not treat her properly would be a _scoundrel_!" Upon this everyone present turns round to look and frown at the wretched villain of a bridegroom, and then they all fall to weeping again. But so strongly has the feeling set in against the new son-in-law, that it is only by a speech full of the deepest pathos, that he can persuade the company that he has not the least thought of murdering, or indeed even assaulting his wife.

At last the mother, bride, and bridesmaids retire to say "Good-bye," and have a good cry altogether upstairs. Then the blessing and the weeping begin again with renewed vigour. As at Vauxhall, they seem to keep the grandest shower for the last. The bridesmaids cry till their noses are quite red, and their hair is as straight as if they had been bathing. And when the time comes for the happy pair to leave, in order to catch the train for Dover, then the mother, father, sisters, brothers, bride, bridegroom, bridesmaids, and every soul in the house, all cry—even down to the old cook "who knowed her ever since she were a babby in long clothes"—as if the young couple were about to be "transported for life" in the literal rather than the figurative sense of the term.

RECOMMENDED TO MERCY.
]

FIRST AND SECOND WRANGLERS.
]

COLLEGE FOR LADIES.
Examination Papers.

Examiners.

DOCTORESS SENNA.

PROFESSORESS FANNY SANDELLS. | PROFESSORESS EYEBALLS, M.A.

English Language and Literature.

1. According to the Anglo-Norman pronunciation, is it correct to say "the people of Frarnce love to darnse on the grarse, 'neath the bloo sky?" or is it more elegant to speak it thus: "The people of Frannce love to dannce on the gras, 'neath the bleeugh skeeigh?"

2. In High English is there such a word as Cabbage?

3. Is the "wide-awake hat" a weak or strong Mœso-Gothic phrase? and give your opinion as to whether "wide-awakes" were worn by the early Teutonic tribes.

French.

[_To be translated into French by the Senior and Junior Classes._]

1. I saw a perfect love of a "white chip", at Howell and James's, and some of the sweetest muffs I ever beheld in all my life.

2. Our Fanny is a great big silly, and your Charles is a perfect duck.

[_Observation sur le Comte D'Orsay, par Mademoiselle Séraphine._]

La cravate! c'est là, la force et la puissance de cette homme. Elle était d'une bleu magnifique. Son gilet brodé en cheveux certains, noirs, et gris, était d'un velour superbe et d'un rouge infernel. Ces yeux-Seigneur! ces étoiles qu'il avait pour yeux! Tout ce qu'il regarde, il perce, comme l'éclair. Ils sont cruels et adorables! Mais surtout— surtout! qu'elles délires, qu'elles extase à voir les favoris de cet homme ravissant. C'est là, est toute sa puissance. Il sont véritablement le lit rosier de mille Cupidons——

O-o-oh! sacre nom de tonnerre! le comte est un ange terrestriel et séduisant.

Philosophy of Logic.

1. Test the following examples by logical rules—

I should like to know your age?
Would you!
Then you wont.

2. What form of syllogism does the following come under?—

Dinner is late again!
Why is it so?
Because it is.

Mathematics.

1. Is the highest power of T equal to x x x?

2. What is the square of Lincoln's Inn, and is it equal to the square of Belgrave?

3. State the _areas_ that the K division of the whole force will occupy.

4. Given a ¼ of lamb, required to know how many times C21 + E9 will go into the same.

Architecture.

1. Draw the ornaments of a Corinthian cap, and explain to what kind of front and facings same is becoming.

Zoology.

1. Are boys monkeys, and men great pigs?

Botany.

1. Does Maiden's Hair (_Briza Media_) bear many flowers? State whether it grows to great length; and if, when cut, some asses are not very fond of it.

2. Is Sweet William (_Dianthus Barbatus_) very hairy about head, and remarkable for bristles? Is he likewise five-toothed, and how many pistils does he usually carry?

Law.

1. Mention some of the impediments to marriage, and state what ceremonies will make a marriage complete in Scotland without celebration _in facie ecclesiæ_.

2. In the case of separation by mutual consent, to what extent is the husband liable for the maintenance of his wife?

Geology.

1. What kind of crust is the crust of the earth? Is it a flaky one? and do you think Nature has a nice light hand for a crust?

Knitology.

1. Explain fully the meanings knit 4, make 1, slip 4, knit 1, pass the slip stitch over, slip 1, purl 13, make 3, and reduce them into form.

Anatomy.

1. Give an account of the general arrangement, size, structure, and mode of development of the lower bustle, and explain how, in case of accident, you would remove and take up same.

Gastronomy.

1. How do you prepare hands of pork? Must you first clean your hands.

2. In dressing calves' feet, should you first wash your feet?

Natural Philosophy and Optics.

1. When an object is placed before a mirror, explain the principles why the appearance of the figure is increased.

2. Are all _bodies_ compressible? and, if so, state what force is required to approximate the two sides of the body, so as to describe a perfect figure.

Mechanics and Hydraulics.

1. If there be one inclined _plain_ and a positive "object", state at what rate all bodies will fly from them.

2. Explain the action of "pumps", and state how many would be required to cause an overflow at Almack's. State also how many feet ordinary pumps will work.

* * * * *

THE
COMIC ALMANACK
FOR 1851.

"FEMALE EMIGRATION."

Mr. Sidney Herbert has forced upon us a great fact—an uncomfortably great fact—it is thrust into our brain like a fat thirteenth into an omnibus—we are alarmingly overstocked with lovely women; there is a perfect glut of angel purity. Our drawing-rooms, we are told, are choked up with book-muslins; and who would not weep to behold the despairing virgins forced to "polk," "waltz," and "quadrille" together. Glance down the longest of our very long drapers' shops—is it not dreadful to contemplate the two endless rows of bonnets? Even the few hats that you do see in such places belong to swains that have been dragged there with smiles and coaxings—lambs led by garlands to the sacrificial counter.

And what is the consequence? Our youths are pursued by clever mammas, and hemmed in by desperate daughters. Embroidered braces, worked cigar-cases, and beaded pen-wipers are showered down upon them. Still all the ladies cannot be married! Bountiful nature has provided two and a half wives for each Briton; but selfish Parliament denies them more than one; and no Englishman—however sanguine—can expect to be a widower more than twice.

But great times produce great men, and at this sad crisis Mr. Sidney Herbert steps forward to call the attention of the British public to Australia—to Australia, the land of the wifeless!

[_An interval of four months is supposed to elapse._

Already have a few shipments been made on speculation, and they have answered beyond all hopes. We give the advices received of the last cargo.

"_Per the 'Orange Wreath,' 400 tons. Lovit, Commander._

"Seventy cwt. of serviceable spinsters averaging twelve stone, warranted affectionate and good mothers.

"One ton and a half neat widows, fond of children, and small eaters."

[_An interval of twelve months is supposed to elapse._

The news received (we are happy to say) is very cheering. "Ringlets to the waist are in great demand. Black eyes (very superior jet) are freely disposed of; and red hair, well oiled, at prices slightly in advance of the raw material."

An emigration mania has seized upon the ladies. Every spinster in and out of her teens is sighing for the land where husbands are to be as numerous as dead flies in a grocer' window. Paris bonnets are being soldered down in tin cases, and low-necked dresses are "run up" in a night—like mushrooms. Wedding-rings are bought up for fear of accidents, and the marriage service is rehearsed every evening before going to bed.

[_An interval of six months is supposed to elapse._

If the desire for emigration among females is not stopped, England will soon be like a bee-hive, with only one female in it, and that—the Queen. Only wait a year—a little year—and then do not be startled to find "The Bridesmaid" leaving early in January so full of virgins as to be obliged to "let out her stays" before she can "take her wind" properly. Every month hundreds of our daughters (of course we speak figuratively) are hurrying to the Australian shores to get settlers for life. Before age shall have made our whiskers bushy, London will be womanless. Let us grow prophetic and show what will happen.

[_An interval of two years is supposed to elapse._

Half the linendrapers' shops are closed; Waterloo House is "to let;" Sewell and Cross' has become a cigar divan. Oh this female emigration mania! We'll give the committee another ten years, and then let our un-darned socks be upon their heads. When at last we have become a nation of shopkeeping monks, Government will have to take the matter in hand. Ladies will have to be imported to supply the place of the exported; our fleets will be obliged to scour the seas, touching at every island, till their cargo of lovely virgins and charming widows be made up, and then—back again to shirt-buttonless England.

No doubt a duty will he levied upon the blooming freight. The love-sick bachelor, armed with a "tasting order," will hurry to the docks to try the sweetness of the charming Negresses before taking them out of bond. We can imagine the diary that will be kept some years hence.

[_An interval of thirty years is supposed to elapse._

"This morning up early and went, as usual, to hoot under old Sidney Herbert's window. I smashed the only sound pane of glass in the dining-room. He hasn't had a knocker these three months. Was delighted to hear that the Albany had, for the seventy-fifth time, challenged him to a man; he has again refused!

"Heavens! what a state we are in. Before I could go out, I had to gum up the holes in my socks, as usual, and sent for the saddler to sew a fresh buckle and strap on my false collar.

"Had a long talk with a poor policeman, who was positively starving. He told me of the good old days of the cooks, when a gallant officer was always sure of his six good suppers. Poor fellow! he is not worse off than the army. Many of our bold troops have not smoked for months; they miss the maid-servants' wages sadly.

"I groaned as I walked down Regent Street. All the shops closed. The crowd round the wax female bust at Rossi's was fearful. Heavens! what a lovely head and shoulders it has!

"Dined at Ned Franklin's yesterday, and had a small piece of pickled gooseberry pie that his sister had sent him from Australia. He tells me the subscription among the Mahomedan countries goes on well. The Grand Turk was moved to tears at our situation, and subscribed twenty of his wives on the spot. Bless him! Bless him!

"Fluffy has been obliged to lock his wife up in the cellar. His door was broken open yesterday _ten_ times by the adoring multitude. All over his walls has been chalked, 'NO MONOPOLY!'

"We are on the point of despair! Is it not kind of the Queen to allow her lady's-maid to be on view every Saturday? The angel is sadly small-pocked, but still valued at 4000 guineas.

"Last week the daughter of the late Miss Biffin was wheeled to the altar, and gave her foot in marriage to the Honourable James Jessamy. Here's a state of things!"

[_An interval of ten years is supposed to elapse._

"Glorious news, glorious news! The prayers that have been read in church for the last six months are answered. The 'Lover's Hope,' A 1, has been spoken with off Deal. She has a splendid cargo of fine healthy angels. Three marriage offers were made off Ramsgate through speaking-trumpets.

"_Gravesend._—Met all my old companions, like myself, with wedding-rings and wedding-cakes under their arms. As many of the pets have dark complexions—most of them, indeed, are quite black—some of the fellows brought glass beads, nails, and old knives with them.

"Hurrah! we have struck our bargains and paid the duty. This morning two hundred of us were married, ten at a time. The clergyman fainted. My dear angelic wife is of a beautiful japan black. I clothed her before introducing her to my friends. The dear affectionate creature presented me, after the ceremony, with a joint of her little finger, neatly done up in a piece of her red shawl. It is a custom of their country. I had to buy her, for her wedding _trousseau_, six bright tin saucepans and a set of polished fire-irons that she took a fancy to on her way to church."

[_A short interval is supposed to elapse._

"Three quarters of a year of unexampled bliss have fled quickly by: I am the father of two raisin-coloured little heirs. I wish I could persuade my wife not to wear the kitchen poker suspended from her neck."

[_An interval of ten years is finally supposed to elapse._

"Despair! Despair! Why did not the 'Matchmaker' arrive a few years sooner? She is laden with the loveliest cream-coloured Circassians.

"DEATH OR BIGAMY!"

FELLOWS, OF THE ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY.
]

AN INVITATION TO THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS.
(BY A GENTLEMAN WITH A SLIGHT IMPEDIMENT IN HIS SPEECH.)

I have found out a gig-gig-gift for my fuf-fuf——fair,
I have found where the rattle-snakes bub-bub——breed.
Won't you c-c-c-come, and I'll show you the hub-bub——bear,
And the lions and tit-tit——tigers at fuf-fuf-fuf——feed.

I know where the c-c-c-co——cockatoo's song
Makes mum-mum-mum——melody through the sweet vale;
Where the m——monkeys gig-gig——grin all the day long,
Or gracefully swing by the tit-tit-tit-tit—tail.

You shall pip-pip——play, dear, some did-did——delicate joke,
With the bub-bub——bear on the tit-tit——top of his pip-pip-pip——
pole;
But observe, 'tis for-for-for——bidden to pip-pip——poke
At the bub-bub——bear with your pip-pip——pink pip-pip-pip-pip——
parasol.

You shall see the huge elephant pip-pip-pip——play;
You shall gig-gig-gaze on the stit-tit——ately racoon,
And then did-did——dear together we'll stray,
To the cage of the bub-bub——blue fuf-fuf-fac'd bab-bab-bab——boon.

You wish'd (I r-r-r——remember it well,
And I l-l-l-lov'd you the m-m-more for the wish)
To witness the bub-bub-bub——beautiful pip-pip——pel-
-ican swallow the l-l-live l-l-l-little fuf-fuf——fish.

Then c-c-come, did-did-dearest, n-n-n-never say "nun-nun-nun-nun——nay;"
I'll tit-tit-treat you, my love, to a "bub-bub-bub——buss,"
Tis but thrup-pip-pip-pip——pence a pip-pip——piece all the way,
To see the hip-pip-pip—(I beg your pardon)—
To see the hip-pip-pip-pip—(ahem!)
The hip-pip-pip-pip——pop-pop-pop-pop—(I mean)
The hip-po-po-po——(dear me, love, you know)
The hippo-pot-pot-pot——('pon my word I'm quite ashamed of myself).
The hip-pip-pop——the hip-po-pot.
To see the Hippop——potamus.

THE CENSUS OF 1851.

The earnest care of the Government to know the exact number of people that the parish of Clumpley-cum-Bogglesmere contained on an especial night—how many folks slept in 43, Parson's Court, Upper Bloater Street, Chandler's Market, on the same occasion: who populated the police-cells; who put up at hotels; who dozed the night away in cabs and coffee-shops— on billiard-tables and heaps of cabbages—anywhere, everywhere, and nowhere—this great investigation of those who cannot believe their Census any longer, is about to come off again, and again to furnish its utterly false returns.

We say utterly false, for the means taken to insure correctness, as to the number of persons who slept in a particular place on a particular night, are contemptibly inefficient. With the smallest foresight, we can furnish a number of tables proving its inaccuracy; and from the mass of evidence taken by the Census Committee of Inquiry after the last return (which evidence has never been made public) we can also bring forward conclusive facts. To show the futility of expecting a correct return from houses we subjoin the following information, taken quite at random, from different individuals.

CASE 1.—_Mr. Mark Lane._—I am a single man, and on the Corn Exchange. I never slept anywhere on the night in question. I went to dine at the Divan, and then I went to the play, and then I went to the Albion, and then I went to the Cyder Cellars, and then I went about, and then I went to a coffee-house, and then I went to Westminster Bridge to see the sun rise, and then I went to my office and then I went to bed on the counting-house table, and upset the inkstand into the wafers; and then I went to sleep till the clerk came.

TAKING THE CENSUS.
]