Chapter XVI: Part II (10)

CASE 2.—_Joseph Badger._—I'm a cabman. I didn't sleep not in no house on that night: I haven't done for years. I took a party from Doory Lane, Julyun's, to Pentonwill; and afterwards nodded on my box a bit, just a wink, cos no cabs as never no call there. Then I took a gent as was a little overcome, and thought he was at Paddington, as far as the Edg'er Road, by St. Paul's and the Regency Circus; and then I went to the Great West'un, and dozed a bit again, inside, and set on my whip and broke it, just like anythink, as you might say. Next fare I got was a up-passenger from Exeter, and took him to the Piazzy Hotel, and then I got another wink in Bedford Street, and there I was till morning.

CASE 3.—_Mr. Gregory Barnes._—I am a surgeon and chemist in Seven Dials. I certainly never slept in any house on that evening. I was rung up at eleven o'clock to an obstetric case in Endell Street; and sent from there at two, to an Irishman who'd got his skull fractured in St. Giles's, by a quart pot; and was obliged to leave him to cut down a tipsy tailor, who had just hung himself in Crown Street, and was two hours coming round; and then I had his wife in hysterics for the same time; and then it was morning, and I was obliged to go off to the Old Bailey on a trial of manslaughter.

ALARMING INCREASE OF
THE POPULATION.
]

But these examples might be multiplied to the ages of Sinclair, Widdicombe, Braham, and any other "veterans," as they are termed, combined. The people unnumbered in the Census compose waiters, tramps, stokers, carriers, gamblers, piemen, breakfast-stall-keepers, steamboat stewards, mail-train passengers, moon-shooters, show-folks, Vauxhall lamp-men, and renowned individuals of all sorts, whose night's repose is doubtful; such as Mr. Braidwood; the toll-keepers at the bridges, the beadles of the arcades, Mr. Green, if on a night ascent; the editor of the _Times_; and, on certain debates, Mr. Chisholm Anstey.

We are told that population doubles in a certain number of years. If so, when it doubles itself again, what the dickens will the crowd do in Cheapside at four o'clock in the afternoon; or the people on the roof of the Cremorne omnibuses homeward-bound; in the pit of the Adelphi; the Derby-day cheap trains; the Blackwall whitebait houses on fine Sundays; or the Watermen steamers from Greenwich Fair?

THE LION HUNTER'S MUSEUM.

Mrs. Leo Hunter has passed fifteen years of her fashionable life in the pursuit of lions. The following is a faithful enumeration of the various trophies which she carried off at different times in the ardour of the chase. They have been collected into a museum, which will be shortly thrown open to the public, on a plan somewhat similar to Mr. Gordon Cumming's South African Exhibition:—

1. The autograph of Miss Biffin, written with her toes.

2. The leg of a fowl which Bernard Kavanagh, the living skeleton, devoured at supper. Unique.

3. The rolling-pin of the "Victim of Unmerited Seduction" of the Royal Victoria Theatre.

4. The washing-bill of the Bosjemen for the delightful fortnight they honoured my country villa at Islington with their refreshing presence.

5. The cheval-glass in which Tom Thumb admired himself the memorable day he dined with me.

6. The head-dress of one of the Ojibbeways.

7. The long-bow which the celebrated African traveller, Gordon Cumming-it-too-strong, pulled after dinner whilst the muffins were being handed round.

8. Ten door-knockers, of the lion's head pattern, sent me by the spirited young Marquis of Hungerford after the night of my evening party, one of them being my own, and the other ones belonging to Nos. 1 to 9 inclusive. Capital.

9. The clay pipe smoked by the celebrated German poet Kramm, after he had recited his master-piece, in ten books, of the "Oneness of Germany".

10. The false calves of Adolphe Pétard, _premier danseur de l'Opéra et de monde_.

11. A turnpike-ticket (belonging to the Westminster Road toll) of Mr. N. T. Hicks, the 79th night he played _Mazeppa_.

A LEAF OUT OF LEDRU ROLLIN'S BOOK.

"In my celebrated book (which, I regret to say, has already proved the ruin of my French publisher) I have left out many examples of the 'Decline of England,' which I now hasten to supply.

"With what examples of thy perfidy, O Albion! shall I begin? Indeed, they are so numerous that I would as soon essay to reckon the grains of sand in one of thy tubs of sugar, as count them.

"Hast thou any Coffee? No! it is all Chicory, thou art too poor to drink coffee as the brave Parisians drink it, and though the doctors say chicory is good for the health, I hold that it is one of the causes of thy 'Decline.'

"Thou art so poor, too, that lately thou hast been obliged to cut off the skirts of thy officers' jackets, to make trousers, I suppose, for thy miserable soldiers.

THE SICK BRITISH LION AND THE FRENCH QUACK MONKEY.
]

BRITANNIA PAWNING HER TRIDENT.
]

JOHN BULL ON HIS LAST LEGS.
]

"The same symptoms of 'Decline' run through all the bodies of England; legislative, judicial, theatrical, and even royal. Is it not true that thou art reducing the salaries of all her ministers, and it is a great question whether Prince Albert himself will not be put on board wages? Is it not true that the admission at Vauxhall has been reduced to one shilling, because England's haughty nobility can no longer afford to pay four? Is it not true that the Queen has been obliged to pull down a beautiful marble arch in front of her palace in Buckingham, merely to make Carrara water out of it? Is it not true that England's favourite authors, Charles Bulwer, Albert Dickens, and Sir Edward Lytton Smith, have been compelled, by the iron pressure of the times, to publish their works in penny editions, because the public could no longer afford to give 1_l._ 11_s._ 6_d._ for them? Is it not also true that the Omnibuses—those running barometers of the social weather—have brought down their prices to threepence instead of half-a-crown? Is it not likewise true that the market for wives has been so overstocked lately that the City authorities are obliged to enlarge Smithfield; that ices are selling in the streets for one penny, and pineapples are being hawked about at two-pence apiece, because they cannot be sold at any price in the shops; and is it not likewise the truth that Englishmen are now too poor to give a penny to be shaved, and that several shops in the New Cut, and the Seven Vials, are writing up in their windows—I have seen it myself—'A CLEAN SHAVE FOR ONE HALFPENNY'.

"These are solemn, rueful, ugly truths, which show too plainly where lie the seeds of England's decline.

"One more little proof, and I have finished with this distressing subject, though it has yielded me a certain malicious pleasure in the investigation of it. I have just been told that there is not a Stilton cheese in all London but what is thoroughly decayed. The fact is as clear as a cup of (French) coffee. The people have no money to buy these cheeses, and they have been kept so long on the shelves of the shops that they have all gone bad. I point, therefore, with exulting scorn to a Stilton cheese, and say 'Libellers behold' _la décadence_ of mity Angleterre. I shall tell my publisher (Mr. John Bull) to give a morsel of Stilton cheese with every copy he sells of my book.

"LEDRU ROLLIN."

TRAVELLING FOR THE MILLION.
A SONG OF THE PANORAMAS.
BY A CLERK WHO HAS READ MACAULAY.

Leave to the middle classes
The joys of Camden Town,
Let unambitious asses
To Islington come down.
Let Clapham grow uproarious,
On mild domestic wines,
And Kennington luxurious
On cheap West India pines.

No ruins kept in neat repair,
No new "antiques" for me;
No arbours where the earwigs fall
Into the strangers' tea!
I love not the "last omnibus"—
Dark vehicle of fate—
That always when 'tis sought at nine,
Has left at half-past eight!

My home is on the raging seas,
Or some far distant shore,
Though in my office I am pent
Each day from ten till four.
Vast Egypt's parched and burning sands
No strangers are to me;
Though I must be at home at ten,
And have not a latch-key!

Each night—or mayhap morning—
Should leisure on me smile,
My heart rebounds beholding
The wonders of the Nile;
The Sphynx's solemn majesty,
That Kinglake could appal,
I solve for just a shilling
At the Egyptian Hall.

Or led by golden longings
(I'm also fond of "change"),
My gaze on California
Delightedly will range,
Beholding Nature's grandest gifts,
With blackguardism blent,
All open to the public at
The same establishment!

To India's burning shores I go,
Across the ocean grand,
Or patronize the other route—
The famous "overland;"
With Stocqueler's companionship,
Along the sands sublime,
From Regent Street the journey's made
'Tween lunch and dinner time.

While slaves at Verray's, "cabin'd cribb'd,"
Walk into plates of ice,
I range the entire Polar seas,
And pay but the same price.
Of blubber and harpoons, my friends,
I know, believe, each tale,
For oft I hear some one compare
My stories to a whale.

Beer from the homely pewter,
To "gents" I leave with scorn,
And quench my roving thirst from out
The famous Golden Horn;
Oh! what are chimney-pots to me
Who minarets have seen?
Ask one who's been in Whitecross Street,
What 'tis to quarantine!

Yet must I soon my rambles end,
Till spring shall soothe my sight;
The Mississippi moves me not,
I've Paris seen by night;—
But let me pause, too soon I blame
My melancholy fate,
A Hansom to Australia!
I swear I'll emigrate!

ALARMING SACRIFICE

THE modern draper's guide to wealth is a wonderful short cut. Perseverance, honesty, integrity, and such twaddle have got to be drugs in the market. To get on the highway of fortune, you must rush headlong down the Road to Ruin, continue straight on till you come to the Insolvent Court, and—there you are. Let business grow dull, and capital object—like a fat turtle—to be turned over and over, and the haberdashers have still the safe expedient left them of being ruined before taking in their spring goods. About six "fearful bankruptcies" will make an enterprising tradesman comfortable for life. There is nothing like "dreadful failure" for insuring complete success, and selling off at the most "frightful loss" is the cleverest way of getting the very handsomest profits. As for a shopkeeper writing up over his door "established these hundred years," it's sheer madness. He might as well say at once that he didn't intend selling off at 60 per cent. under prime cost. His father might have put up such a sign, but the nation has grown wiser.

A clever linendraper, who wishes to succeed in business, should look cautiously at the splendid establishments of his neighbours, and then try to eclipse them all. If his rival's shop-front reaches to the second floor, let his touch the third. Double the size of the plate-glass, have fifty times more brass, and a hundred times more gas, and he will take all their business away from them as easily as a watch in a crowd. Never mind the goods, but for heaven's sake look to the French polish! Remember this—A crust on silver is known to be better than venison on crockeryware. The "extensive alteration of premises," if well advertised, will fill the house like the first night of a new theatre; velvets with cotton backs, silks thin as tracing paper, calicoes half plaster of Paris, will fetch prices higher than a murderess's ringlets.

As soon as this novelty has died away, an enterprising tradesman should have a "disastrous fire," by way of a jolly, house-warming. Hang up a few scorched blankets outside the shop, with a placard stating that 20,000 are for sale, and down will rush the ladies like sparrows to a pea-sowing. Dresses soiled a little in one corner—so as not to show—by the water from the engines in the back scullery—will look _dirt_ cheap at twice their original price.

ALARMING SACRIFICE
]

But the grand _coup_—the end and aim of a real downright spirited man of business—is his own ruin. For decency's sake he must defer this until he has been in business six months at least. With the first-rate poster of "Frightful Bankruptcy!" up come the ladies, each one with the week's housekeeping money, to pick up something from the most distressing wreck. The idea of such a vast concern going to pieces draws down the beauteous wreckers like an Indiaman on a rock. To keep up the excitement, issue every Monday morning a notice that the stock "must be sold in a week," and go on every month increasing the amount of loss from fifty until it reaches two hundred per cent. under prime cost. If the tickets to each article are well scratched through and marked anew, and marked again in red ink, the success is certain. Three ruins, and a spirited salesman may change his name, take a Clapham villa, and keep his nag like a gentleman.

It is a cruel thing, but such is the spirit of competition abroad, that defy it as you will, it is not to be intimidated. Like goose for dinner, there is no keeping it down. If Smith and Co. challenge Europe in shirtings, Jones and Co. challenge the world in sheetings. Get a good idea and all your rivals instantly seize upon it; it's positively disgusting.

The other day a genius in the silk trade hit upon so excellent a plan, that it is a positive disgrace to the nation he is not allowed to patent it. He was in the ruin line (his sixteenth), and wishing to go to the dogs in style, advertised in all the papers that, previous to the doors being opened, a grand scramble of bonnets would take place. Thirty thousand Dunstables would be positively thrown away into the gutter from the first floor. Of course the attendance was terrific. A band was engaged, and at night the shop was illuminated, and the word "ruin," in blood red lamps, appearing over the shop-door. With the first shower of bonnets the scene was exciting in the extreme, the music playing "Hurrah for the bonnets so new."

A most shameful piracy of this touch of mercantile genius has already taken place. The firm of Smith and Co. have advertised a grand scramble of left-handed gloves on Monday, and the right-handed ones on Tuesday. The house of Green and Co. have announced that, previous to their annual ruin, they intend to give a grand raffle for three hundred silk gowns, with leg-of-mutton sleeves and trimmings. Doubtless some firms will shortly imitate the plan of gambling-houses, and hand round wine and cakes to the customers, and by this manœuvre perhaps a lady might see double, and take six yards instead of twelve.

Moreover, why allow the ruin principle to rest with the mere announcement of the fact, why not act a little melodrama or so to make the destruction more real and palatable. Thus the enterprising tradesman might take a hint from the plague of London, and when a carriage rolled by, or a crowd collected at his shop front, he might throw up his window, wring his hands, and scream, instead of "death! death!"—as of old—"ruin! ruin! despair!" and then disappear suddenly. Or why not, when the shop was crowded, let the shop-walker (who might be a leading tragedian engaged for the express purpose) suddenly rush down the middle, with his shirt collar open, followed by six despairing clerks, and holding an empty pistol to his forehead, which, after a desperate struggle, he might allow them to wrest from him. This would certainly succeed. Again, what a grand effect would be produced by letting an advertising cart perambulate the streets, surmounted by a _tableau vivant_ of the luckless linendraper, having his bed taken from under him by the sheriffs' officers, his wife and six interesting children weeping over him, and the whole surmounted by flags of posters announcing that the effects were selling off at desperate prices. In the evening there must be a transparency of "Despair seizing the till," and a grand display of fireworks from the attics on closing the shop at midnight previous.

After all, perhaps, the linendrapers are not more to blame than lovely woman. She drives them to the despair they glory in. Let the fond mother see her Tommy want shirts, and she will, like a prudent body, wait for the next bankruptcy rather than visit some house where honest prices prevent clap-trap trickery. But no! there is a moment's vain-glory to be had, a few words of praise to be earned, when, untying the brown paper parcel before the wondering husband, she can hold up the bargains that could "never have been made for the money."

MODERN BALLOONING,

OR THE NEWEST PHASE OF FOLLY.
]

Let us hope, however, we shall grow wiser, and that in a few years no housewife will believe in a draper's failure—that alarming sacrifices will sink down to the level of the Waterloo bullets; and a mercer's ruin, like the stucco ones at the Colosseum, be called a very good imitation that will not bear looking into too closely.

TO THE EDITOR OF "THE COMIC ALMANACK."

Sir,—I reside near a place of popular amusement "al fresco." I am of a cheerful though quiet disposition, and should be perfectly happy but for one circumstance. During the entire summer season I am in a continual state of terror from Balloons.

It was into my front garden that the Ourang-outang descended in a parachute, in 1836. I then said nothing of the annoyance caused by the mob rushing into my lawn and scrambling for fragments of the machine, of the destruction effected among my crockery by the animal attempting to escape through my scullery, nor of the alarm which his sudden appearance in the dining-room excited in the bosoms of myself and family.

I thought the Balloon mania had reached its highest pitch—no such thing, sir. After that, came the Nassau Balloon, which used to take a dozen people up at once exactly over my house, about once a week; till a terrible dream haunted me of seeing the whole party discharged into my premises.

Then, Balloons with Fireworks, waking me up every other night, and gazing at one of which, out of window, I received a severe blow in the eye from a firework-case, descending fifteen hundred feet perpendicularly.

My next alarm was occasioned by a hamper of champagne, which, during a "perilous descent," when a valve gave way, some intrepid aeronaut pitched through my roof at midnight.

Now, folks go up on horseback. Can I walk at ease in my garden, and know that the veteran Green is three miles above me, performing equestrian feats in the air? Pray, sir, exert your influence in my behalf, or we shall shortly hear of a "Terrific Ascent in a Cab," to be eclipsed by "First Ascent of the Monster Balloon, taking up the Pimlico Omnibus."

OVER-POPULATION:
A MALTHUSIAN LAMENTATION.

Oh! what a sight for those who cook
Affairs of state in clover,
To see, whichever way they look,
Our country boiling over!
So many heads, and hands, and hearts,
(Unless the blue-book _mis_-count)
Of nature's very finest parts,
At such a dreadful discount!
Though Malthus cries, "Celibacy,"
McCulloch, "Emigration,"
Folks stay at home and wed, we see,
Then swell the Population!

The Army numbers here "at home"
Of thousands double twenty;
But many not "at home" are found,
When creditors are plenty;
And more than those—by thousands five—
"On shore" there are of seamen,
But some of them are "all abroad,"
And shock tee-total tea-men!
We need a million Malthuses,
'Tis plain, to save the nation;
And myriads of McCullochs scarce
Can check the Population!

We've full a million Servants, and
To make their fortune harder,
They've fifteen thousand "P'licemen" brave
To furnish from the larder;
Yet should this number as too great
By statists be rejected,
We've fourteen thousand Lawyers, so
Our purse must be protected!
McCulloch well may advocate
His schemes of "Emigration:"
Fourteen thousand Lawyers sure
_Must_ harm our Population!

Of Authors we have thirty score,
Besides the present Writer;
And forty thousand Butchers, to
Employ when things look brighter;
We've fifteen hundred Actors, who
Our patience try most sadly;
Besides the nation's Ministers,
And they _act_ just as badly!
In such a case, Malthusian plans
Must meet with approbation:
Of Actors we have certainly
An over-Population.

OVER POPULATION
]

Four thousand Artists, most of whom,
When seen in fullest feather,
Wear beards, or whiskers, or moustache,
Or else all three together;
But let the bearded youths beware,
Nor, too self-trusting, slumber—
Their native foes, the Barbers, like
Themselves, four thousand number!
Unless in wearing beards we soon
Observe an alteration,
The Barbers they must clearly be
An over-Population!

Distillers—we have hundreds seven,
To make our men unsteady,
And full three thousand Auctioneers
To knock them down all ready;
We've ninety thousand Blacksmiths, and,
Of one the work's a wonder—
He forges chains at Gretna Green
Which none can break asunder!
The last, indeed, may well excite
Malthusian consternation—
This Blacksmith's work by no means checks
The over-Population.

We've houses where for half-a-crown
One gets a shilling dinner;
We've sixty thousand Publicans,
And not a single Sinner!
At least we can't believe there is,
Until we see some _new_ book,
For certainly there's no return
Contained within the blue book.
But tho' the book of Sinners makes
As yet no revelation,
'Tis said by some, of these there is
An over-Population!

But while these Publicans abound,
(Young gentleman, take warning!)
But twelve men Soda-water make
To sober you next morning!
And as for Sinners—bills are "done"
In public by twice twenty—
The number's small—but if correct,
E'en then we've more than plenty!
So Malthus and Macculloch both,
Pray rise and save the nation!
Of bill discounters sure we have
An over-Population!

Of Tailors we in thousands count
Six score and something over—
Of these some drive a roaring trade,
And live, 'tis said, in clover;
But some, I fear, are victimized,
And paid upon a plan, sir,
As if nine tailors really were
But equal to a man, sir!
'Tis hoped, indeed, their present state
Is but one of probation,
For, surely, of the under paid—
There's over-Population!

But naming every class that throng
Our country and our cities,
Would occupy, I fear, too long,
And need a dozen ditties.
So many Bootmakers—and yet
So many people bootless!
So many Clergymen—and yet
So many sermons fruitless!
I fear, indeed, howe'er we laud
The grandeur of the nation,
Of poverty and crime we have
An over-Population!

The "Independent" are returned,
But nothing said of toadies—
And there appears an item which
A very heavy load is;
We've twenty thousand (rather more)
Of Doctors, all in action—
And surely we should view this as
A common benefaction;
For more than eighteen millions now
Survive within the nation,
And without doctors think how great
Would be the Population.

OUR PET THIEF.

In making some inquiries relative to the state of the criminal population, my husband found it necessary to visit a low lodging-house, the abode of thieves and pickpockets. He there became acquainted with "Dan," and (from his returning some money that was given him to change) took such a fancy to him, that he determined to try whether the lad, who had resisted the temptation (for he could have gone off with the money with great ease), could not—if taken from his wretched and demoralizing associates—be induced to withstand all other temptations.

The boy (for he was but fourteen years of age), on being questioned, expressed a wish to change his mode of living, and he was brought home to me. When my husband told me what motives he had in taking charge of the lad, I must confess that in the impulse of the moment I thought it a worthy thing to do; for in my innocence I imagined that all thieves merely wanted some one to take them by the hand to put them in the way of getting an honest living.

In the evening we talked over a variety of plans for the boy's reformation. He was to be sent to school and well educated. There were many good men to be found, we were convinced, that would feel proud to take charge of him; and when he left school we were to put him to some trade or other. I really believe, in our own minds, we imagined that we should live to see him a great man! Who knew but that he might one day be Lord Mayor of London; stranger things than that, we both agreed, had occurred to poor boys. That he would ever return to his evil practices appeared to us impossible, if we would but look upon him as the good member of society that we wished him to become.

Little, alas! did we then know of the annoyance and trouble our "Pet Thief" would cause us!

The appearance of the poor shoeless creature was anything but prepossessing. His cheek-bones were high; his hair was cut close on the top, with a fringe of locks, as it were, left hanging in front; and he wore an old plaid shooting-jacket, that was black and shining with grease, and fastened together with pieces of string.

The first thing to be done was to make him take a bath. He had a great horror of washing, and seemed to look upon it as quite a barbarism. Some clothes were got together by subscription among the members of the family—one contributing a coat, another a pair of boots, and so on; but he looked, I think, worse in our things than he did in his own. The coat reached his heels, and was so large (my husband being corpulent) that the boy had difficulty in keeping in it.

We arranged that he should sleep out of the house, so we hired a bedroom for him at a coffee-shop in the neighbourhood. I thought I could find him work in the house by day, and so keep him employed under our own eyes, and prevent his returning to his old practices and companions until we could get him into some school. He was so eager to begin learning, however, that I offered to teach him myself while we were seeking a proper master for him.

For a day or two he was quite a "pattern boy;" but he soon got tired of his lessons with me, and was anxious to be placed at school. Anything for change: his disposition and previous mode of life forbade his remaining in one place, or at the same occupation, for any length of time.

The third morning after his coming to us, while we were at breakfast, "Dan" entered the room, and requested, in a most mysterious manner, to speak with my husband. He was told that he was quite at liberty to communicate what he had to say before the family; but he pointed to me, and replied, "I don't want to speak afore _her_," so I quitted the apartment. As soon as I had gone, the boy told my husband that he _must_ get him to buy him a small-tooth comb; his head was in such a dreadful state, he said, that he thought he had better have one directly. When my husband informed me of the object of the mysterious visit, I felt cold all over; for I remembered how close I had sat to him during his lessons the previous day. Then I thought of the children, and began to repent of ever having admitted such a person into the house.

But this was only the beginning of my annoyances with the boy. My husband thought it would be a good "moral lesson" for our children to let them know that "Dan" had been a thief, and that he had been in prison a great many times; but that he had resolved to become a good boy, and that was our reason for having him with us. This, however, instead of having the effect intended, made the children look upon "Dan" as an object of great interest, so much so, indeed, that they were always wanting, whenever they saw him, to ask him something about the prison, "whether the policeman had really taken him away, and whether it was true he had only bread and water in gaol?"

One morning, on going downstairs, I discovered (to my great horror) our little boy, with his mouth wide open, seated on "Dan's" knee, listening most attentively to some story. Upon questioning the child I found that our "pet pickpocket" had been telling the little fellow of the fun it was to go "sawney hunting," which I afterwards learnt was stealing pieces of bacon from shop doors.

The Sunday evening after this the cook, who was naturally timid, had been left at home with Dan alone, it being the other maid's "Sunday out." They were both sitting very comfortably talking by the fire-light (for it was winter time) when Master Dan thought fit to tell the girl all about his previous life. He gave her some very vivid illustrations of housebreakings and informed her that Sunday night, when the family had gone to church, was their best time. He also told her of the many times that he had been in Newgate, and that once he had been taken up on "suspicion" of highway robbery; it was an old woman he helped to rob, and he told of the "lark" they had with her, and of how they had left her with her hands and feet tied together in a ditch.

All these stories so terrified the poor girl that she felt convinced that the boy meant to take advantage of the tranquillity of that Sunday evening, "their best time," to serve her as he had done the "old woman;" so she rushed to the street door in her fright, and there we found her on our return home, crying and in a dreadful state of excitement. She vowed that she would quit the house the very next morning, and she wondered how we could leave her with a "common pickpocket." I tried to quiet her (for she was a very good girl, and I did not wish to part with her), by telling her that we wished to reform the lad; but nothing would pacify her save his leaving the house; so I told my husband that he must really find a school for the boy, or we should be left without servants.

He accordingly went in search of a school. It was wonderful to see how anxious the masters were to have the youth, until my husband informed them (for it was considered but right to do so), that the boy he wished to introduce to them as a pupil had lately been an inmate of Newgate. On hearing this they invariably assured him that there was a school "just up the street" that was the very thing he wanted. Upon visiting the establishment "just up the street," however, he found the master was astonished that the "head" of such a school as the previous one should refer my husband to him, for he was sure that Mr. ——'s school was the very place for such boys—nevertheless, as Mr. —— had refused to take the lad, there was an academy a short distance from that establishment that, he was sure, would not shut their doors against him. But upon going there it was the old story over again, and we soon discovered that it was impossible to find any respectable establishment willing to take charge of our young thief.

We were at last obliged to give up all idea of getting him into any school, so we thought the best thing to be done was to try and find him a situation. In the meantime he got tired of the work he was directed to do, and would sit all day long looking at the fire without taking the least notice of any one; and if told that he should occupy himself in some way or other, he would turn sullen, and mutter something between his teeth about his being promised to be put to school, and why wasn't he sent to school when that was all he wanted?

I found that my meat began to disappear in a most mysterious manner. One day the half of a goose went no one knew where. I suspected "Dan;" my husband was indignant (for he wished to think the boy had forgotten his bad habits), and said, "It was easy for the servants to make out that Dan had purloined it." This annoyed me so much that I did not hesitate to tell my husband that I saw clearly we should have no peace in the house until the boy was provided with a situation out of it.

At last the long-looked-for situation was found. It was at a large wholesale stationer's. The proprietor was made acquainted with the boy's whole history, and he promised to do all he could to effect his reformation. But upon Dan's going to him, the gentleman was so taken aback by the boy's expression, that he sent a polite note stating—"That he should really be afraid, from his looks, to have such a character in his establishment."

* * * * *

In a few days afterwards he was on his way to America.

The last we heard of him was that he and several "reformed criminals" from the London ragged schools were "working" (as the thieves call it) the city of New York. In conclusion, it is but right I should add that, although the boy while with us was frequently trusted with money to change, he never defrauded us of a sixpence.

* * * * *

N.B. The above has been written as a hint to certain philanthropic gentlemen, that the bosom of a quiet family is not exactly the place in which to foster and reclaim a London pickpocket.

THE
COMIC ALMANACK
FOR 1852.

THE "WHAT IS IT?"

(_From the Ouran-outan Town Journal and Monkey World Gazette._)

A very curious creature, unknown hitherto to the philosophy of Monkeydom, has been lately brought to this city, and is now to be seen at the Zoological Gardens. The stranger has been examined by the most learned citizens of Ouran-outan Town, and particularly by the President and Scientific Committee of the Society for the Promulgation of Unintelligible Knowledge; but opinion is divided as to his probable genus, race, and species. It is confidently stated, however, that he shows symptoms of belonging to a debased and degenerated breed of some savage Ouran-outan race, who, cut off from civilization and refinement, offer now a humiliating example of what a monkey may come to. The conjecture is supported by a sort of unintelligible jargon uttered by the animal. He frequently repeats sounds which may be spelt thus—"johnsmithstrandlondon;" and "dammeifthesemonkeychapsdontthinkthey'remen;" but upon no possible rules of philological philosophy can the meaning (if, indeed, it have any) of this gabble be ascertained. The animal, when captured by a hunting party from Ape Valley, was covered in a most ludicrous and absurd manner, by pieces of cloth cut into barbarous shapes, and presenting a sad instance of the utter negation of all rules of taste and propriety. He is believed not to have any natural tail, and so conscious is he of the want that he seems to have fashioned two cloth artificial ones, in which, by a strange and savage ingenuity, are placed (or misplaced) pouches, or holes—to be used, it is conjectured, for hiding his young ones. The animal, when taken, made no resistance, but seemed considerably surprised, and repeatedly uttered a sound like "monkeyshaveme," or "monkeysgotme," opinions are divided as to which; afterwards he looked steadily at his captors and distinctly pronounced "sichalotoguys," the apparent spelling of which was taken down on the spot.

Since its arrival at the Zoological Gardens the animal has manifested signs of decided intelligence. Meat having been set before him, instead of eating it like a civilized Ouran-outan with his paws, he produced, from some of his pouches, two strange instruments, one of a cutting nature, the other furnished with prongs, by means of which he divided the morsels and raised them to his mouth. After feeding he now walks round the company upon his hind legs, in the manner of a rational being; and were it not for his absurd clothes, his habits of rubbing or brushing his hair, washing his face, never biting nor kicking, and especially were it not for a sort of chimney-pot which he wears upon his head, many Ouran-outans would really be inclined to think of him as approaching, in some degree, to the verge of a dim and cloudy rationality. At all events the creature is a matter of enlightened curiosity, and we understand is likely to form one of the main attractions at the approaching Exhibition of the Want of Industry of Monkeys of all Nations.

Monster discovered by the Ourang Outangs.
]

HOW I WENT UP THE JUNG-FRAU, AND CAME
DOWN AGAIN.

(BY PETER TWITTERS, PHILOSOPHER, CAMDEN TOWN.)

[_From his own private Diary, which he kept for publication in the_
Times,
_only they didn't put it in._]

_July 25th._—Determined to ascend the Jung-Frau mountain, which is totally inaccessible and impossible to climb. Difficulties only add fuel to the fire of a Briton's determination. Was asked what I should do when I got to the top. Replied, come down again. That's what everybody does who goes up high hills. Engaged guides, porters, &c. Provided ourselves with necessaries, such as ladders, umbrellas, skates for the glaciers, ropes, brandy, camp stools, &c., and started. Quite a sensation in the village. Landlord of hotel with tears in his eyes asked me to pay my bill before I went. Didn't. Began the ascent; ground became steepish, as may be seen by the illustration. Hard work. Suppose such a gradient would puzzle Mr. Stephenson. Talking of Stephenson, the whole party, puffing and blowing like so many locomotives. Pulled out our camp-stools and tried to sit down on them. Ground so steep that we all lost our balance, and tumbled down to the bottom of the slope. Never mind. Gathered ourselves up, and at it again. Recovered our former position, and getting higher, found the slope still more excessive. In fact, it was a wonder to me how we managed it at all. Approached the glacier region, and found it rather softish. Unpleasant consequence of which is that the whole of our party sink up to the neck in half-melted sludge.

Scrambling out again with much ado, we feel chilly, and refresh with brandy. Being apprehensive of the ava-lanches, we keep a sharp look-out and dodge them. At one time six huge masses of moving snow fell together, but we watch our chance and slip between them with the greatest dexterity.

Next danger a really dreadful one. Arrive at a fearful precipice, the edge very much overhanging the base, so that it formed a species of cave. Called a council of war. Council of war were for going home again. Rebuked them, and pointing to rough edges of rock, proposed to try to crawl to summit. Set to work accordingly. Dangerous business, but succeeded. On the top of this tremendous cliff, discovered a vast chasm or crevice, which appeared to bar all further progress. Guides in despair. Much too wide to jump. Looked down. Crevice did not appear to have any bottom in particular. Called another council of war, and at the same moment a violent squall of wind and snow sweeping by, put up my umbrella, when, horrible to relate, the storm caught it, and lifted me into the air; the principal guide, who caught my leg, being carried up also, and in a moment we were hurried, in the very thick of the squall, and deafened by its howling, across the abyss, and landed on the further bank. The guides on the other side now flung across the rope, which we caught, and fastened to a rock, and one of their number, unfortunately the heaviest, proceeded to come across. The remaining two, however, not having strength to support his weight, he fairly pulled them into the crevice, so that we were obliged to drag up the whole three. Found that we were now not far from the summit. Saw it before us rising in a sharp peak against the blue sky. More of the steep slope work. Guides at last become so dreadfully exhausted, that I have to drag up the whole four. Terribly hard work. Nothing but my splendid muscular development would have enabled me to go through with it. Ice decidedly too rough for skating over, as may be seen by the following diagram.

Close to the summit, when another dreadful crevice with a high rock on the opposite side threatens to stop our progress. Surmounted the difficulty by a daring gymnastic feat, performed as follows:—Standing on each other's shoulders, the lowest man let his body incline over the cliff, so that I, as highest, reached the edge of the opposite side, and made fast the rope to a projection in the rock.

Thus we happily got over, and in half an hour reached the extreme peak of the Jung-Frau, where we clustered together, and gave three British cheers, while half a dozen eagles flew round and round us.

Had no time to make scientific experiments; but ascertained that the strength of alcohol is not diminished in any sensible degree by the extreme rarefaction of the air at great heights. I subjoin a telescopic view of mountain scenery, as it appeared through my double-barrelled lorgnette. N.B. I squint.

Having got up, prepared to go down again, an operation which was performed in a much quicker style than the other. Started down a slippery slope, and missing our footing, and not being able to stop ourselves, proceeded in this manner, down at least 2000 feet, before we were brought up by a ridge of rocks, composed of uncommonly hard granite, against which we rebounded like footballs. Up, however, and at it again. Came to another difficulty; found ourselves in a dreadful gully or ravine, with no sort of exit but a narrow cleft, down which poured a tremendous cataract, into an awful black and foaming pool 500 feet below. There was nothing for it but to fling ourselves into the torrent, allow ourselves to go over the waterfall, and take our chance in the cauldron—which we did, in the manner shown in cut. The exploit was quite dreadful, from the roar of the water, and the speed with which we were hurled through the air, and soused at least 100 fathoms (for I counted them) into the pool below, where, after we had reached the surface, we were whirled about for at least an hour and a quarter before we managed to emerge. Found the experience I had picked up in the Holborn swimming baths of little avail in descending this cataract, but was only too happy to escape at any price. The rest of the journey was comparatively easy, owing to a very happy thought of mine. Happening to see a roundish-shaped avalanche roll past, remembered the globe tricks in the circus, where Signor Sadustini kept his balance on a big wooden ball going down an inclined plane. Communicated the notion to guides, waited for the next avalanche, jumped on it as it passed, and went down like winking, always keeping our places upon the top of the ball, which gradually increased to such a size, that it carried off several châlets beneath us. But that, of course, we had nothing to do with; keeping our places as well as Sadustini himself, until the huge snowball came to a full stop in the midst of a pine forest, where we clambered out of the snow, and after several hours' hard walking, reached the village, where we were greeted by a deputation of the authorities, headed by the hotel-keeper holding my bill in his hand, who delivered an address of congratulation, and inquired when it would be convenient for me to settle. Postponing, however, considerations of business to those of festivity, a romantic rural _fête_ was got up in honour of our return. The happy peasantry poured in from all sides, singing, "Come arouse us, arouse us, we merry Swiss boys." The notary had a table in the corner, which is always usual. The _Seigneur du Village_ and his lady sat on a rustic throne. All the peasants had jerkins and breeches, and bright stockings, with lots of ribands, and all the peasantesses had short muslin petticoats and pink satin shoes. Choosing then, as a partner, the loveliest and the most virtuous—I was particular about the last—I opened the ball.

BLOOMERISM IN FULL BLOW.

The ladies are about to turn over a new leaf, a leaf in the matter of costume, unprecedented since the days of the fig leaf. Petticoats are to join hoops and farthingales; and long skirts, having long swept all before them, are now, in their turn, to be swept into the limbo of all the vanities.

Of course, now, breeches, trowsers, and all their synonymes, will no longer be forbidden words. The tribes of the "unmentionables" and the "unwhisperables" have had their day. We observe, however, that certain pretty modifications of the original terms are recommended, and we are told to choose between "Pantilettes and Pettiloons". But why not call the objects in question "trowser-ettos", or, if an Americanized phrase be thought appropriate, "limb envelopers" or "understanding swathers," might be advantageously adopted.

It is, of course, to be anticipated that the reformed costume will spread upwards, as well as downwards, in society; giving us an opportunity of reading, on the morrow of the first ensuing drawing-room day, that "Her ladyship wore a splendid pair of loud satin pants, of deep purple, with a double broad yellow stripe running down the leg, and new patent elastic straps, tastefully embroidered with gold." At the same time, as it is inherent in the nature of things, that pantaloons have to be kept up at the waist as well as down at the ankle, we shall expect to see advertised "The ne plus ultra ladies' braces," and the "Better than new plus ultra feminine suspenders."

One dreadful question remains unsolved: it looms upon us as we approach it, and the nerveless pen splutters in the nib. However, we will make the effort, and state the problem: Given—a horse, and a lady about to ride it. The lady is in Bloomer costume—the horse fully caparisoned for a lady in Bloomer costume. Query: Will the horse have two stirrups; one on the near side, the other on the off?

What the parks and public gardens will be we have confidently and fearlessly set forth. The mothers, daughters, grand-aunts, second-cousins, and great-grand-nieces of England, may be expected, one and all, to abjure the ancient faith of furbelows and flounces. _Cedunt arma togæ_, says our old Latin grammar, which literally translated, means, "Arms yield to the gown;" but now the gown has had its day, and in its turn, yields—not to arms, however, but to legs. Long was the reign of the proverbialized petticoat; but, like the speech of a prosy orator, it has been interrupted by the imperative cry of "cut it short."

Still we will not complain, even though Bloomerism may take a step still further, may aspire to Hessians with tassels, may dare to sport tops. For, as was sagely remarked by the American editor "Why, if female society be pronounced a humanizing agency, should we not endeavour to see as much of the ladies as possible?"

_The "Bloomers" in Hyde Park, or an Extraordinary Exhibition for 1852_
]

_The Peace Society—or a New "Field of Action" for the Military ... in
"The good time coming." (?)_
]

THE BATTLE OF THE HARVEST FIELD.

A brilliant victory has just been achieved by the troops of General Concord, Commander-in-Sheaf over a formidable field—not, however, of artillery, but of wheat. The enemy—_i.e._, the wheat, was very thickly planted on the ground, there being hardly room, indeed, amongst the heads for the insertion of another ear; and upon the approach of General Concord and his forces, immediate measures were taken for the attack. The Commander-in-Sheaf drew up his army in three lines: the first consisting of several brigades of the gallant Sickle-eers, supported by flanking parties of the Reaping-hook Light Bobs, and a strong detachment of regular and irregular Rakers. Behind, and designed to support this division, were the two celebrated brigades of Light and Heavy Binders. In the rear were disposed a powerful body of the Royal Horse Harvest Wagoneers. Scattered bodies of Foot Gleaners were dispersed here and there, and the refreshment of the forces was amply provided for by a perfect battalion of suttlers and vivandières, who, with the most cool and heroic courage, penetrated into those parts of the field where the enemy was falling fastest, with eatables and drinkables for the forces. So certain, also, was the Commander-in-Sheaf of victory, that he caused hospital accommodation, in the shape of barns and granaries, to be erected for the cut-down masses of the enemy, who were conveyed thither by the gallant Wagoneers.

The battle commenced at sunrise, by a combined attack from the Sickle-eers and Reaping-hook Light Bobs. The effect was tremendous. The enemy could not stand a moment before the sweep of our forces, who penetrated slowly but surely into their dense ranks, mowing them down by thousands. All this time the Light and Heavy Binders supported their comrades with the greatest efficiency and effect; and the Rakers, regular and irregular, performed prodigies of valour. Indeed, the coolness of the troops, in one sense was as remarkable as their heat in another. Every movement was performed with unflinching steadiness, and not a man fell (by tripping over a rake) but his comrade stepped into his place (until he got up again). The Binders also distinguished themselves by their discipline; and the order, "Form Sheafs! Prepare to receive Harvest Carts!" was regularly obeyed with splendid promptitude. The fate of the day became speedily evident. The Corn made no resistance worth mentioning, but it certainly stood up with great pluck to be cut down; and by the direction of the Commander-in-Sheaf, was carried to the receptacles provided for the disposal of a brave enemy, with all the honours of the harvest field.

By sundown the victory was complete. Not an individual of the enemy held his head erect. On our side there was a terrible effusion of perspiration, and a great quantity of provisions and drink were reported missing; but on the whole the Battle of the Harvest Field may be considered as one of the most advantageous victories ever won.

THE BATTLE OF THE YATCHES.

A truly affecting copy of verses, made by a British Tar in Spit-head last August, and corked up in a bottle, floated to the end of the Herne Bay Pier last week. The bottle was speedily uncorked, in a vague expectation of Cognac; but the finders, discovering that the only spirit which it contained was the spirit of the verses, magnanimously surrendered the whole to the board of Admiralty, as justly and legally appertaining to that body. The Board, having sat upon the bottle (and broken it), rose as soon as possible after instructing the First Lord to transmit to us the poetry, with a polite note, stating how they had come by it, and lamenting that the poet should have so obstinately adhered to his peculiar mode of spelling the word "Yacht."

THE BATTLE OF THE YATCHES.

Oh, weep ye British Sailors true,
Above or under hatches,
Here's Yankee Doodle's been and come,
And beat our crackest yatches!
They started all to run a race,
And wor well timed with watches;
But oh! they never had no chance,
Had any of our yatches.

The Yankee she delayed at first,
Says they, "She'll never catch us,"
And flung up their tarpaulin hats—
The owners of the yatches!
But presently she walked along;
"O dear," says they, "she'll match us!"
And stuck on their tarpaulin hats,
The owners of the yatches!

Then deep we ploughs along the sea
The Yankee scarcely scratches,
And cracks on every stitch of sail
Upon our staggering yatches.
But one by one she passes us
While bitterly we watches,
And utters imprecations on
The builders of our yatches.

And now she's quite hull down a-head,
Her sails like little patches.
For sand barges and colliers we
May sell our boasted yatches.
We faintly hears the Club-house gun—
The silver cup she snatches—
And all the English Clubs are done,
The English Clubs of yatches!

They say she didn't go by wind,
But wheels, and springs, and ratches;
And that's the way she weathered on
Our quickest going yatches.
But them's all lies, I'm bound to say—
Although they're told by batches—
'Twas build of hull, and cut of sail,
That did for all our yatches.