Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

Days have been often big with fate,
But ne'er was day so big of yore,
As the October twenty-eight,
In eighteen hundred forty-four.
That day will memorable be,
When taken in by history's range;
For on it thousands went to see
Victoria open the Exchange.
Serene was the morning,
And plenty of gravel
Was spread on the road
Which the Queen had to travel.
Busy policemen far and wide
Were spread upon the pavement's side;
Who oft the truncheon bravely drew
'Gainst those who would the line break through.
At length her Majesty appears,
Amid enthusiastic cheers;
There's not a gossamer or beaver
But what is waving to receive her.
Her dress was satin rich and rare,
A silver tissue, neat but splendid,—
The sleeves were short; and from the hair
Two matchless brilliants were suspended.
A riband o'er her shoulder hung,
Of costly jewels was the border;
To which with graceful ease was slung
The star that marks the Garter's Order.
Prince Albert, at her side, was dressed
In uniform without a crease,
While carelessly across his breast
Was thrown the Order of the Fleece
Chamberlain, Master of the Horse,
Were present, as a matter of course.
Assist me, Muses, while I throw
The whole procession into verse:
For metre hath an easy flow,
And poetry is always terse.
Lifeguards sent on before to clear the ways,
First carriage drawn by half a dozen bays,
Containing Usher of the Sword of State,
The Exon of the Yeomen of the Guard,
Usher of Privy Chamber, Page to wait,
Each thought himself, no doubt, a wondrous "card."
Carriage the second, drawn by bays as well,
With Lord and Groom in Waiting on the Prince,
And Silver Stick,—such an alarming swell,
He's spoken scarce to anybody since.
Third carriage, drawn by bays again,
Which did a splendid load contain:
The Treasurer of the Household he was one;
Was it supposed any might dare to dun?
'Tis prudent of her Majesty, though funny,
Always to go about well stocked with money.
Fourth carriage—bays again—had for its freight
Four of the minor officers of State.
In carriage five—drawn by bays also, six,
There sits at ease the costliest of sticks—
Gold Stick, of course, is meant; and Norfolk's earl
Sits opposite a very pretty girl,—
A Maid of Honour; while on t' other side
A Woman of the Bedchamber doth ride.
Carriage the sixth is drawn along
By six black horses large and strong;
That carriage ample seats affords
Unto two ladies and two lords.
Now follow Yeomen of the Guard,
Now Footmen, four and four;
Now the state coach, with Grooms right hard
Against the wheels and door—
In fact, there is, without a joke,
A footman placed at every spoke.
Within the coach a form is seen;
It is Her Majesty the Queen!
Who seems extremely puzzled how
To keep upon the constant bow.
Prince Albert vainly at her side
Attempts the labour to divide;
He shows that he is nothing loth
To make obeisances for both.
But no! the people wish the two
To join in a grand bow _de deux_.
And thus Her Majesty the Queen,
Like to a Chinese mandarin,
Is forced to keep her head in action
Throughout the entire city's range:
Great must have been her satisfaction
To find some prospect of a 'Change!'

LADY DAY—Old & New Style.
]

ODE TO FASHION.

Oh, Fashion! it were vain, indeed,
To try your wondrous flights to follow;
Onward at such a pace you speed,
Beating the _Belle Assemblée_ hollow.

One moment hovering on our coats,
To change the cutting of the skirts;
Then with rude grasp you seize our throats,
Altering the collars of our shirts.

Now trimming up with ribands gay,
And flowers as well, a lady's bonnet;
Then with rude hand tearing away
Each bit of finery upon it.

Shrouding one day the arm from sight,
In sleeve so large that six might share it,
And making it next month so tight
'Tis scarcely possible to bear it.

Upon a lady's dress, again,
With arbitrary hand it pounces;
Making it one day meanly plain,
Then idly loading it with flounces.

But one of Fashion's worst attacks,
By which mankind she most ill-uses,
Has been in dooming us to sacks,
From Taglionis down to blouses.

I'd rather wear the shaggy coat,
That hangs upon the heedless heifer,
Than what I've seen at door-posts float,
As a "Gent's Fashionable Zephyr."

Then, fickle Fashion, fare thee well,
To follow thee I'll not endeavour;
The fabled frog should warn the swell,
My motto is—"highlows for ever."

SUPERIOR CRAFT—IN DOCK AND OUT OF DOCK.
]

NOTE ON THE NAVAL FORCES OF GREAT BRITAIN.
BY A FRENCH ADMIRAL.

This note is avowedly designed as a companion to the pamphlet of the Prince de Joinville, which was intended to show how easily England might be taken by the French; but omitted to say how the matter might have been taken by the English. The note is written with the same exactitude as to facts, the same knowledge of the subject, and the same spirit of candour by which all recent French works on England have been distinguished. We give an abridgement of the note, which, in its original state, is extremely full, and at the same time particularly empty.

"In looking at the state of the English marine, I turned my attention to the _depôts_ for marine stores, which of course comprise the whole of the naval resources of perfidious Albion. To judge of the British marine from the state of the marine stores, nothing can be more contemptible than the former, because nothing can be more insignificant than the latter. I asked one of the marine-store dealers how he would provision a man-of-war with beef for a long voyage, and he had nothing to show me but a quantity of beef bones, which he valued at five pounds for twopence. The English sailors, it is well known, cannot fight unless they are maddened with grog; and I looked over the marine-store dealer's establishment for the exciting liquid. I looked in vain; for he had only an enormous quantity of empty bottles, some of which he told me he had that day been purchasing. I must do the English the justice to say that they provide well for the dressing of the wounds of their sailors, for the marine stores include vast heaps of linen rags, some of which I observed were brought from persons casually coming into the _depôt_ to dispose of them.

"Being desirous of avoiding any feeling of partiality or prejudice, I determined not to be satisfied with a mere examination of the stores, which must constitute the true strength of a nation's marine; and I resolved to see her vessels afloat on the Thames, for which purpose I made for the river. I made directly for Hungerford, one of her richest ports, and found a considerable fleet of steamers, several of which were manned, and at work, so that I could well judge of their capabilities. They seemed for the most part well officered, but there appeared a want of enthusiasm among the men; and a great deal of quarrelling went on among the various captains, which proves that the British navy is not in that state of union which the English flag—the _Jean d'Amitie_, or Union Jack—is emblematical of.

"Determined to give a fair trial to the merits of the British marine, I asked of the perfidious Britons themselves which was the best boat, and each began vociferating loudly the praises of the vessels before me, on the deck of one of which, _L'Homme pas marié_ (the _Bachelor_), I soon found myself. She had no guns with her, and when I asked the captain where they were, he laughed in my face, knowing, of course that the French Cabinet would submit to any humiliation rather than undertake a war with his, the captain of the _Bachelor's_, Government. At Chelsea, which is to London what Havre is to us, there was a flotilla of two vessels, and there was a great deal of small craft lying about, which as I passed appeared to assume an insolent attitude. On leaving the vessel I was made to produce a portion of the ship's papers, which I had been made to hold in my possession, and pay fourpence for before I was permitted even to embark on board the vessel. If England still avoids a war it is not the superiority of her craft, which is wretched enough, but it is something more than her craft—it is her astounding cunning."

QUARTER DAY.

(_Communicated by the late Capt. Herbert Reginald De Courcy._)

In some remote parts of England there exists an absurd notion, that tenants are bound by some obsolete law to pay rent four times a year. As I always entertained very opposite opinions on matters of Dr. and Cr. to the mercantile portion of my fellow-creatures (having entered the army at the early age of sixteen), I was preparing on the 25th of June, 18—, to avail myself of the loveliest moonlight night that I ever witnessed, to transport the few valuables that several years of half-pay had left me, when I was presented with a short note from the sheriff of Middlesex, in which the worthy functionary expressed a strong desire to avail himself of any trifles I might possess to the amount of 48_l._ 9_s._ 6_d._

This circumstance so utterly disgusted me with the world that I determined to put an end to my existence, and having communicated my intention to my wife, she not only concurred in the policy of my determination, but expressed her willingness to assist me in its perpetration. It was to the hands of that once-excellent woman that I owe as respectable a death as ever terminated the chequered life of a captain of Foot, for on the 18th of July, 18—, the following announcement appeared in the _Times_ newspaper, under the head of "Deaths:"—

"On the 16th ult., of decline, Captain Herbert Reginald de Courcy, of the —— Regiment of Foot. His loss will not be easily supplied in the _corps_, of which he was a distinguished and respected member. He served a considerable time at Birmingham, where he was quartered for eight months."

The next day I laid aside my wig, shaved off my moustachios, and removed a false front tooth, which I had worn since infancy, and the metamorphosis was so complete, that having one day imprudently ventured into the park, a tailor, to whom I was indebted a considerable sum, actually inquired of me the way to the Colosseum.

Mrs. Captain de Courcy shortly after obtained her pension as an officer's widow, and for some years I enjoyed my ghosthood without a single unpleasant interruption; but

"This world is but a fleeting show,
For man's delusion given;
There's nothing certain here below"

but death and quarter-day. About a month ago I discovered that Mrs. Captain De Courcy had presumed upon my decease, and actually considered herself in a state of widowhood, for ever since she has admitted to her table a very uncomfortably good-looking fellow, of the name of Briggs. What can I do? She defies me to interfere. _I_ am only her cousin from Yorkshire. Should I say a word, the authorities at the War Office might object that I was "returned killed" by a decline, and possibly be mercenary enough to deprive me of my hard-earned pension. Again, I say, what am I to do? As an officer and a gentleman, I ought to resent the injury. I will—I swear it, come what may—I will throw off the mask. I will kick Briggs, and uphold the honour of my profession, but not till this day has passed, for this (I blush while I write it), this is quarter-day, and I can't afford it.

THE SPRING QUARTER.
]

SPRING: AFTER THOMSON.

A poem on Spring I could indite,
Through a whole canto I could run it;
But then I feel 'tis useless quite,
For Thomson has already done it.
He's worked the subject through and through,
Looked at it under all its phases;
Yes, he's drained dry the very dew,
And threadbare he has worn the daisies.

Each little flower he's made his own,
Not one to future bards resigning;
From buttercup, that stands alone,
To jasmine round a door-post twining.
To try on such a theme to sing
Were only labour lost indeed;
So well has Thomson touched the Spring,
Succeeding poets can't succeed.

Shall I describe the tender bean,
Turning its head with caution round,
As if half-fearful to be seen
Bursting so early from the ground?
Or shall I sing the parsley mild,
Nipped by the cold autumnal frost;
Like a well-meaning forward child,
In its advances sternly crossed?

No! let me inspiration seek
Where villagers, in cheerful clump,
With health bedecking ev'ry cheek,
Are clustering round the local pump.
That pump which, e'en as memory's tear
Gives freshness to a heart that's saddish,
By pouring out its liquid clear,
Revives once more the drooping radish.

Or shall I sing that nice spring-van,
By pleasure-parties often sought,
When they're in treaty with a man
To drive them down to Hampton Court?
To-day a cargo of the fair,
To-morrow moving goods its duty;
That van must its allegiance share
'Twixt furniture and female beauty.

THE BLIGHTED ASH.
A STORY OF A SEARED BOSOM.

It was May! the merry month of May, and bees from flower to flower did melodiously hum, when a traveller, wrapped in an old weather-stricken Macintosh, wound down the little hill that enters the little village of Somerton. The old clock had just struck the hour of sunset, and the lark retired to his nest; the screech-owl was beginning to tune his voice for his nocturnal screeching; while the bat, wrapped in contemplation, kept his keen eye steadily fixed on the setting sun, which had begun to gild the highest peak of the distant mountains. Alas! it is ever thus: man in his haughty pride, like the mountain holding its head high above those by which it is surrounded, only acknowledges the smile when it is too late to take advantage of the warmth; or, to use a more homely illustration, we cherish the ray, though we may have neglected the meridian.

By this time the stranger had reached the bottom of the hill, and in a few minutes he was seated before a foaming tankard of ginger-beer, and a generous plate of captain's biscuits, in the parlour of the little hostelry of Somerton. The host of the "Blighted Ash"—such was the name of the hostelry—was a man a little above the middle stature, with firmly-knit knees, a pair of shoulders slightly rounded, a forehead bronzed by repeated exposure to an autumn sun, a capacious chest, and an upper lip with that peculiar curl which is the sure sign of native aristocracy. The traveller eyed him with searching interest, and the landlord returned glance for glance, as he replenished the invigorating pot, at the desire of his customer. At length the latter invited the former to partake of his cheer, and the stranger having pushed the captain's biscuits towards the host of the "Blighted Ash," both of them fell into a profound silence, which was only disturbed by the ticking of the clock, or the loud laugh of revelry in another room in the hostelry.

Nearly an hour had elapsed, when the stranger, drawing his chair close to that of his companion, looked steadily in his face, and throwing off a flaxen wig, discovered a natural head of hair, in which Rowland seemed to have combined with Oldridge, for the hair displayed all the gloss of the Macassar, added to all the vigour of the Balm of Columbia. It was but the work of an instant; and in another moment the stranger was locked in the arms of the innkeeper, while the latter murmured out "My son!" and the former shrieked—"My father!"

* * * * *

Both of them, a few days afterwards, left the "Blighted Ash," never to return; and many a legend did the village gossips relate, of how the landlord of the "Blighted Ash" at last found a balm for his seared bosom.

GOING TO S^t. PAUL'S.
]

GOING TO ST. PAUL'S.

Oh! 'tis a glorious sight to see
Those rosy little chaps,
Decked by the hand of charity,
In graceful muffin caps.

Yet wherefore place their calves so small
In unbecoming leathers,
Exposing their slight legs to all
Varieties of weathers?

When looking at those slender legs,
We feel a thousand pangs,
To think how fragile are the pegs
On which existence hangs.

Sure one must have a heart of stone
Those urchins to abandon!
How little—were they left alone—
They'd have, alas! to stand on.

The very cap they're doomed to wear,
Has cruel mockery in it;
Type of a luxury so rare
They ne'er can hope to win it.

'Twas mockery on those heads which placed
The emblem of the muffin;
A treat they can't expect to taste—
Those boys all born to nuffin.

Not Tantalus, who strove in vain
To grasp the luscious berry
(His fate suggested, 'tis quite plain,
The pastime of bob-cherry);

Not Tantalus was doomed to bear
More than those luckless chaps,
Who, muffinless, must ever wear
Those tempting muffin caps.

A PANIC AT THE BANK.

It was the 11th of November. It had been raining since three o'clock. A thick fog enveloped London. Horses smoked, as if in a terrible passion with the weather; and omnibuses rolled along, breaking for once their daily custom of stopping at every lamp-post on the way. I had a secret presentiment something strange would happen.

St. Paul's struck one—two—three—four o'clock. I counted them distinctly, one by one. They sounded like a death-knell. A dead silence ensued, invaded only by the cries of "Cl'pam!" "M'l'end!" that broke forth in fitful shouts from contending cads. I did not feel well. I was leaning against a lamp-post at the corner of the Bank—wet to the skin. My mind was very uneasy. I had that day accepted a bill. I was vowing within myself never to accept another, when a sudden noise—a fearful rush— recalled me to my senses. I looked around, and saw a large stream of human beings pouring, in fearful force, from the principal door of the Bank. Man seemed leagued in enmity against man—clerk looked on fellow-clerk with the lowering eyes of a malignant fiend. Their looks alarmed me. Not a policeman was in sight! What should I do? Was the Bank on fire? I had no money there, still there are moments when we can feel for others. It was like a human river broken from its bank, carrying ruin and terror wherever it went. Could it be a panic? I recollected my Julia had 500_l._ standing there in the suitable name of Smith. I dashed the drops of perspiration from my fevered brow. I endeavoured to recollect myself. It was but one effort. I determined, let it cost me what it would, to follow them to the end.

There were full two hundred beings. They formed one unbroken, moving mass. They were running, as if with one will, frantically together. Their speed was unnatural. The rain only made them run the faster. Not an umbrella had they amongst them. At last they reached the corner. The clerks behind ran as if for their very lives. I was alarmed, and ran after them, the agent of some mysterious fear. I lost sight of them for a moment. Again I saw them—and, oh! what a scene presented itself to me! A band of at least two hundred desperate clerks were struggling, fighting madly, to get admission all into one omnibus. Their screams were dreadful. One fat cashier was lying, dead or wounded, under the door-step, bathed in mud. Another was shouting in agony, at the door, unable to work his way out or in. Twenty or thirty clerks were climbing, to the imminent peril of their lives, on to the roof. At the same time a severe engagement was taking place amongst a determined dozen on the box, to decide by brutal force who should remain master of the one seat. In the algebraical fraction of a minute every place was invaded, and the omnibus rolled away before me, like some frightful dream. How many lives were lost I cannot tell. The subject was too painful to inquire into. I felt a degree of pity for the pettiness of human nature, and had a strong glass of brandy-and-water.

Never, as long as I live, shall I forget the 11th of November!

[This phenomenon, we have been told, is not so strange as it may
appear. Let the curious reader only be present at the Bank, on the
first _rainy_ day, when the clock strikes four, and he will
infallibly—should there be only one omnibus in waiting—witness the
same desperate struggle for places as occurred to our German-minded
correspondent on the memorable 11th. It is a very amusing sport, we
have been told, to be a spectator (under an umbrella) of this
animated clerk-race.]

LINES WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM.
BY THE LATE DANIEL LAMBERT.

Ellen, I will not praise thine eyes,
Nor laud the beauties of thy cheek;
For I have grown into a size,
That ladies titter when I speak
Of love! and vow they'll ne'er be won
By suitors weighing half a ton.

I will not sing of every spell
That decks thy form—thou'rt not for me;
For I've a voice that doth excel
A school-boy blowing in a key:
And lovely lips have o'er and o'er
Declared my singing quite a bore.

But let me breathe this fervent prayer,
That when to him thou hold'st most dear
Thou yield'st thine hand, oh! make him swear
To shun the wiles of bottled beer;
And, should he pause, then point me out,
And say—"Behold, that's horrid stout!"

FINE ART DISTRIBUTION.

I've got a ticket, goodness, what a saving!
A guinea for a very fine engraving.
Ten shillings is its value—some say five;
But what of that? the Fine Arts ought to thrive:
And if its real worth were but a shilling,
To patronize the arts all must be willing.
But of their eagerness, the best solution
Is the most gratifying fact,
That to the plate a chance is tacked
In some most promising Fine Art distribution,
How anxious all must feel,
At every circuit of the wheel,
When the reflection doth arise,
That one in several thousands gains a prize;
That prize a picture worth one hundred pounds!
According to the artist's estimate.
But when the critics come to judge, odd zounds!
They set it down at a much lower rate.
Art Unions have to all things been applied;
Twelfth-cakes, pianofortes, and Stilton cheese;
And fifty other articles beside,
Which could be made a pretext just to squeeze
A little money from the public pocket.
But now no more is to be got,
Parliament thought 'twas a bad lot,
And down one day accordingly did knock it.

GARDENING FOR LADIES.
THE MAMMA'S CALENDAR FOR JULY.

Your daughters now demand your serious attention. Dress and plant them in rows for evening parties. Weed poor relations. Sift "Debrett's Peerage" well through, and do your best to nail the oldest branches. Lay traps for bets at races, and hoe young gentlemen for gloves. Calculate the advantages of foreign, as compared with English husbandry, and cultivate whichever promises to turn out best. Remove younger daughters to the nursery, and towards the 30th transplant young sprigs to narrow beds at preparatory schools. Cut your box at the opera, and look forward to spa watering for the autumn. Trim your old man well, if he does not come out handsomely: if the trimming should fail, forcing must be resorted to. Put your frames in muslin bags, and cart away loose furniture to the Pantechnicon. Graft slips on window-panes, labelled "To Let," and harrow your servants with board wages. Clear out your husband's purse, or if he is rather backward this year, transplant him to back kitchen; and, screening yourselves from exposure, drill policemen to say "the family have gone out of town."

HORTICULTURAL FATE.
]

THE HORTICULTURAL FATE.

The morn was beautiful and bright,
The sun—that general adorner—
Was gilding with its glowing light
The iron rails at Hyde Park Corner.

The lodge beneath its radiance gleamed,—
Into some curds there shot a ray;
As if within the bowl it dreamed
To find on earth the milky whey.

Lured by the clearness of the sky,
A party, though the hour was late,
Resolved on ordering a fly,
To waft them to the Chiswick _Fête_.

And by those sympathetic chains
Few can describe, but each one owns,
The same idea had struck the Paynes,
Brown, Thompson, Edwards, Smith, and Jones.

Oh, sympathy! thou hast the power
To make twelve hearts in concert throb;
And eke to give, within one hour,
Twelve different liv'rymen a job.

Thus did thine influence extend
(Explain it, ye who study physic);
Making a lot of parties send
For vehicles, to go to Chiswick.

No sooner had they reached the spot,
Than straight the sky is seen to lower;
And, like a curious watering-pot,
Pours down a most terrific shower.

The _belles_ can't save their satin bows,
Their silks are watered—how they scamper
Fate on that _fête_ unkindly throws
A sudden, but decisive damper.

NOTES OF A CONTINENTAL TOUR,
IN THE SUMMER OF 1844.

BY SAMUEL SPOONER, ESQUIRE,

FELLOW OF THE ROYAL HUMANE SOCIETY, &c., &c.

Happening to be at Ramsgate in the summer of 1844, and being much out of spirits at the loss of 4_l._ 10_s._ in raffles, for which I had won a card-rack—my mind, by-the-bye, has been upon the rack ever since—I determined on availing myself of an opportunity to visit the Continent, which the starting of an excursion boat to Calais on the following day held out to me.

I retired to my apartment at the hotel, and was soon wrapped in the arms of Morpheus and a pair of Witney blankets, from both of which I emerged at six, for our vessel was chartered to start precisely at seven. Having swallowed a hasty pint of shrimps and a rapid plate of bread and butter, washed down by a cup of tolerable Twankay, I threw my zephyr over my arm, lashed my hat to my button-hole by a piece of string, and flung myself on to a camp stool near the binnacle of the packet. Our captain was a thorough tar, with a white hat and a cotton pocket-handkerchief. He had served (as a witness) in the action between the _Thunder_ and the _Bachelor_, off Westminster Hall, and was continually quoting the words of Nelson to the crew who acted under him. These consisted of a steward, a stoker, a boy, and a common sailor; the steward steering the ship, the common sailor taking the tickets on landing, and the boy throwing the rope to the people on the pier at the termination of each voyage. The gallant old captain, in quoting the exclamation of the hero of the Nile, always interpolated two words to adapt the invigorating sentence to the exigencies of his own craft, and was continually shouting—

"England expects that every man (_and boy_) this day will do his duty."

By this happy device of our captain the boy was inspired with the same enthusiasm that animated the men, and the result was that the captain was the idol of his little crew of mariners.

We left Ramsgate with a stiff hurricane all around us, steaming up in the teeth of the wind, and a good biting breeze it seemed to promise us. On getting outside the harbour, we lurched up to the right, then tumbled over to the left, and pitched heavily with the vessel's head smack into the wave, as if, like a thirsty bird, she was dipping down into the sea to take a deep drink of it. Several of the passengers performed the same extraordinary manœuvre, and I threw myself in helpless misery flat on the deck, where I continued to roll backwards and forwards between the mast and an iron grating which covered the part of the vessel containing the machinery. I had little opportunity of cultivating the acquaintance of my fellow-passengers, one or two of whom occasionally tumbled over me, and I hoped if I ever tumbled over either of them in after life, that it would be under more favourable auspices. The chief part of the voyage was passed by me in a state of unconsciousness, and I was roused from a sort of swoon by the information that we had arrived at the mouth of Calais harbour, which there would be no possibility of entering. After beating about for a space of time that I subsequently ascertained was four hours, though it had appeared to me about forty, we put back, and hopped, skipped, jumped, toppled, sidled, ambled, pitched, tossed, and tumbled over the briny deep—a great deal too deep for me to trust it again—into the harbour of Ramsgate. After getting safely on shore we all began to abuse the captain; but the jolly old tar, placing his thumb on the end of his nose, gave a puff at his cigar, and went below to his dinner. One of the party, a London attorney, who had come to Ramsgate in pursuit of health and a runaway _cognovit_, threatened the proprietors of the packet with an action for not taking us to Calais, according to agreement; but he had no sooner served process on the agent than he was referred to the little words "Weather permitting," at the bottom of the bill announcing the intended landing at Calais. This made all the difference in the contract, for the words should have been "Weather or no," in order to sustain the threatened action.

PROSPECTUS OF THE
MUTUAL PLATE PRESENTATION AND FRIENDLY
TESTIMONIAL ASSOCIATION.

The principle of plate presentation has never yet been thoroughly understood, or, at all events, it has never been completely and satisfactorily acted on. The great advantage of obtaining credit for public and private virtues through the medium of inscriptions on cups and snuff-boxes cannot be too seriously or emphatically insisted on. It is therefore proposed that a society should be formed on the plan of the United Brothers, the Associated Sons of Harmonious Freedom, and other similar institutions, the object of the projectors being the presentation of testimonials in honour of the private and public virtues of the various members.

It is proposed to issue ten thousand shares of one pound each, one shilling deposit being paid at the time of allotment. The holder of ten shares will be entitled to a snuff-box on the death of his wife, with an inscription eulogistic of his virtues as a "tender husband." On the death of each child he will receive a pencil-case, with a brief allusion to his qualities as the "best of fathers;" and on the decease of himself, his widow will be presented with a tooth-pick in albata, having a consolatory motto engraved on the back of it.

Applications for shares to be made at the offices of the Electro-Mosaic-Nickel Continental and Birmingham Gold and Silver Establishment, 0½, Houndsditch.

GOLDEN RULES FOR MENDICANTS.

1. Always carry a box of lucifers in your hand. It is the Ægis of a beggar's life, and shields him from the invasion of policemen.

2. Never be lame and blind together in the same town. One infirmity at a time is enough for the coldest sympathy.

3. Run sedulously after Quakers and fat ladies, especially if you have with you at the time a wife and a large family.

4. Never fail to sing out well in cold weather. If you have three or four little boys and girls, of mixed sizes, to sing with you, all the better. Always choose the middle of the street to give effect to your voices.

5. You must be "frozen out" regularly ever winter, and mount duty in the streets, with a pitchfork, tipped with a cabbage, over your shoulder.

6. Your costume in each season must be the opposite of that usually worn; that is to say, during the winter, a pair of very thin trousers and a corazza will be all you require. Shiver violently, and chatter your teeth as often as a person passes you. A sailor's hat, striped shirt, and canvas trousers, are not bad in a country town.

7. Mind, in your orations, you "haven't tasted food for three days," and make a practice of picking up bones, or old crusts, out of the gutter, and gnawing them, if there is any one looking at you.

8. Never be too modest, if any one has relieved you, to ask for "an old coat, or a pair of old shoes." Recollect, Holywell Street is not too proud to purchase the most worthless of wearing apparel.

9. Take care, if you are deaf and dumb, not to answer any one. Suffer yourself to be taken into custody rather than notice the impertinent questions of an officer of the Mendicity Society.

10. Take care of long crossings, if you are very lame. It is extremely unpleasant, as well as _infra dig._, to carry your crutches and run all of a sudden, if you happen to have at your heels a mad bull or a racing omnibus.

11. Chalk writing is unprofitable, and belongs to the old school. If you are driven to it, don't mind about spelling incorrectly, and be sure you are "starving." Quiet spots, like Gower Street or Russell Square, are the best markets for this branch of the profession. In great thoroughfares you will have your fresco or calligraphy rubbed out by every unfeeling passer-by, and be obliged ultimately to "walk your chalks."

SUMMER-Y JUSTICE—The heat of argument.
]

SUMMERY JUSTICE.

May it please your ludships, Edward Thomson owns
Two small estates—one let on lease to Jones.
To admit the eldest son I hold is fair—
[Usher, I wish you would let in the air.]
It was the intention of the first testator—
[Who's stopped the working of that ventilator?]
I've searched the books, and it is there laid down.
On the authority of Smith _v._ Brown,
That legatees may reasonably enter—
[Open that other window in the centre.]
It is decided in the Term reports,
And 'tis, in fact, allowed in all the courts,
That vested interests go with the land—
[This heat is really more than I can stand.]
We cannot shut our eyes, if so inclined—
[The sun's too dazzling, pray pull down that blind.]
I warmly urge the infant ought to take it—
[That square of glass wont open; Usher, break it.]
The tenant's liable for all repairs—
[We may all melt, for what that Usher cares.]
The mortgagee's demand must end in smoke—
[I'm positively roasting.] _vide_ Coke;
The rights of justice still I must maintain,
See Carrington—[Pray, Usher, break that Payne.]
I trust your ludships will not yet determine,
While 'neath the weight of your judicial ermine,
Your judgment 'twere impossible to school;
Your ludships can't, I'm sure, just now, be cool:
To ask you to decide were simple mummery,
For in the dog-days justice is too summery.

OCCUPATIONS OF THE PEOPLE.

The returns under this head are extremely interesting, and some curious calculations may be made from them. It appears that there is, in England and Wales, about one lawyer to four lunatics; thus giving him a chance of at least a couple of clients. The tables are, however, very incomplete; for we find no account of the number of omnibus cads, who are lumped under the head of "other educated persons." We presume that convicts come home from transportation are included among persons returned as independent.

RULES FOR MEDICAL STUDENTS WALKING
THE STREETS.

Take as much room on the pavement as you possibly can: if you are with four or five friends, walk all arm-in-arm together. Don't make way for a lady; the road is plenty wide enough for her. Joke smartly with the cabmen, and hail every omnibus which is passing, and then walk a different way. Ask each policeman "How's G 149?" and enter into playful conversation with every beggar who asks you for a penny. Enter newspaper shops to inquire the price of the "Penny Magazine," and stop outside cookshops to imitate the action of the carver. Shriek out "Lur-li-e-ty" as often as you please, and compliment cooks and housemaids standing at area-gates. Stop private carriages to inquire if they are "hired," and tap stout gentlemen on the off shoulder to enjoy their surprise when they turn round and see no one there. Buy baked potatoes in the street to keep your hands warm, and play at catch-ball with them as you go along. Pelt dogs with stones, or anything else you can get; and cry "Balloon" when there is none. Converse freely with old clothesmen, and laugh openly at persons in distress. Stare young ladies out of countenance, and quiz aged people on their very juvenile looks. Ring bells vigorously as you go home of an evening, and rattle your stick violently against the area-railings, taking good care to remove all pewter pots that may be hanging on them.

HISTORICAL QUESTIONS:
À LA MANGNALL.

When was ginger-beer first invented?

In whose reign did the British highlow first come into use?

Who built the Elephant and Castle?

Who was the originator of the arrangement which placed "a sandwich and a glass of ale for fourpence" within the reach of the whole population of London?

When was the House of Hanover first brought over to England, and what is its present address?

When was the fantail first worn, and by whom?

What were policemen invented for?

In whose reign was the unicorn attached to the British arms?

When was the Battle of the Constitution fought in the Registration Courts?

Upon what occasion did policemen first wear Berlin gloves?

Who was the last of the outlaws, and state a few of the actions in which he distinguished himself?

CHINESE PROVERBS,
DRAWN FROM BO-HE AND SUE-CHONG.

Never do anything hastily: remember it is the last cup of tea which is the strongest.

Be not too prodigal: the kettle when too full puts out the fire.

A little scandal is to tea what an olive is to wine.

Butter not your bread on both sides, lest in your old age you be left without bread to butter.

It is a wise washerwoman who knows her own twankay.

Measure your green according to your black.

Happy is he who can take the rough with the smooth—the strong hyson with the fine pearl gunpowder.

Delays are dangerous: remember the hottest toast will get cold by standing.

REASONS FOR CLOSING ATTORNEYS' OFFICES
AT SIX.

The lawyers' clerks, having been bitten by the linendrapers' shopmen, have caught the fashionable mania for "shutting up at six," in order to give them time for that mental cultivation which filling up writs, attending before the Master, and copying bills of costs, are not likely to facilitate.

At a recent meeting of some influential articled clerks, and a numerous body of common-law journeymen, the following resolutions, embodying reasons for closing attorneys' offices at six, were unanimously agreed to:—

"1. That the study of history is conducive to the cultivation of the
mind. That the performances at Astley's begin at half-past six, and
it is desirable that the clerks who are anxious to profit by the
dramatic representation of the great historical events of our own
time, should have an opportunity of doing so.

"2. That it is perfectly true the Cider Cellars and the Coal Hole
(where the noblest study of mankind, which is universally allowed to
be man, can be effectually carried on) do not present many
attractive features till after nine in the evening. That,
nevertheless, the cigar divans are in full operation before that
hour; and it is therefore expedient that six should be the time
appointed for the cessation of business.

"3. That stout and devilled kidneys, when introduced into the animal
system too late at night, are liable to impede the action of the
digestive organs, and impair the intellectual faculties, thus
depriving the employer of the full benefit of the clerk's shrewdness
and activity. It is, therefore, of the last importance that, by an
early release from business, the stout and kidneys may be absorbed
by the gastric juices, and the gases given off, by evaporation, in
sufficient time to enable the clerk to devote a _mens sana in
corpore sano_ by ten o'clock in the morning, to the best interests
of his principal.

"4. That the Surrey Zoological Gardens afford opportunities for the
study of natural history, which can only be followed up by daylight.
That the habits of the bear, the tiger, and other animals, cannot be
said to be without interest to an attorney's clerk; and that the
knowledge of how certain savage creatures secure their prey may
hereafter be of great service in the practice of the legal
profession. It is consequently obvious that the lawyers' clerks
should be enabled to profit by so valuable a lesson.

"5. That the shooting galleries are seldom open after eight, and
that the knowledge of the use of powder and shot is essential to a
lawyer, as he will often be called upon by a client to decide
whether a defendant is worth the articles alluded to.

"6. That there are many other occasions when, by an early closing of
the office, the lawyer's clerk will have an opportunity of being
present at some—"

BRITISH ASSOCIATION FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF SCIENCE.
]

STIRRING UP THE GREAT FIRE OF LONDON.
]

THE GREAT FIRE OF LONDON.

Among the events for which the past year will for ever remain a marked twelvemonth on the page of history, is the Great Fire of London, which broke out, for a considerable period, three nights every week, as a public prediction had declared it should, regularly, till further notice.

We are fortunately enabled to give the particulars of this great conflagration on the occasion of one of its grandest eruptions. It commenced a little after dusk, and there can now exist no doubt that it was the work of more than one incendiary.

Flames were distinctly seen to issue from one of the windows of Old St. Paul's (which seemed to have been renovated only to be re-consumed). They evidently proceeded from a torch, which, we are assured, was applied by a man in a seal-skin cap.

No less than three individuals were observed, busy in assisting the progress of the flames, by tossing ignited straw, &c., about with pitchforks. The glare distinctly revealed their shirt sleeves, thus proving them to be without coats: but, owing to the confusion, their faces were not identified.

The devouring element was brought, by a lad in a short jacket (said to have been out at elbows), with aid of a lighted stick, into contact with the touch-hole of a howitzer, which exploded with a loud noise. This proceeding was frequently repeated during the evening,—it is believed out of mere wantonness. The same heartless principle induced others to throw squibs, crackers, and other fireworks into the blazing ruins.

Neither the crowd nor the attendant policemen offered in the smallest degree to interfere. The cries and shouting of the multitude were tremendous, but seemed to partake of an exulting character.

By a little past ten o'clock the flames got under, apparently of their own accord; and, though several towers and steeples had been seen to fall with a tremendous crash, which was heightened by the frequent tocsin of gongs and the explosion of artillery, little damage is imagined to have been done, the destruction having principally extended to the fireworks and other combustibles already mentioned.

The motive assigned for this act of incendiarism is sheer self-interest on the part of the perpetrators, who received a shilling a head from people who came to witness it. The fiendish project, we fear, was crowned with the most complete success.

THE CONTEST FOR AN ALDERMANIC GOWN.

A certain alderman, well known in town,
'Twas rumoured had at last resigned his gown;
Report was right, denial had been vain,
That gown, just like the gentle Desdemona,
Had oft been made to turn and turn again
And still go on, by its too thrifty owner.
At length it had become disgraceful truly;
Upon economy no more he stands,
But taking off his gown, resigns it duly
Into the livery's (that's his footman's) hands.
The livery servant looks into the street,—
He sees two dealers in old clothes come down;
Shouts he, "I will invite them to compete
For this now vacant aldermanic gown."
They poll against each other; one is willing
To give, but not to go beyond, a shilling:
The other puts it to the livery's sense,
By tendering on the instant thirteen pence.
They wrangle, and their offers slowly raise,
Till at the self-same figure both remain;
The choice the anxious livery dismays,
The vacant gown which of them ought to gain.
At length it strikes the livery—of the two,
The one that wears three hats must be a Jew:
Unto the other is the gown decreed,
The livery saying he is left no choice,—
In fact, he's quite without a voice:
He is, indeed!
The corporation having laid it down
No Jew shall have the aldermanic gown.

ANTIPATHIES OF REMARKABLE CHARACTERS.

Almost every person who has lived in history has had some particular antipathy. Julius Cæsar couldn't eat a periwinkle, and Alexander always fainted at the sight of a blackbeetle.

Chaucer would be unwell for days if he heard the cry of "mackerel!" and Spenser never saw a leg of mutton without shivering all over.

Boadicea hated red whiskers: it nearly cost Caractacus his life, because he came into her presence one day with a tremendous pair on.

The smell of pickles always sent Cardinal Wolsey into hysterical fits. He called upon Henry the Eighth once while the monarch was lunching off some cold meat, and Wolsey fell down under the table as soon as he smelt there was pickled cabbage in the room. Henry, thinking the cardinal was intoxicated, had him locked up in the Tower immediately.

Cleopatra couldn't look at a person with freckles: Antony had all his soldiers who were at all freckled painted black to please her.

Napoleon took a violent hatred against any one who didn't take snuff: it is said the cause of his separation from Josephine was because she never would take a pinch from him.

Alfred the Great could not bear the taste of suet-dumplings.

Artaxerxes had such an intense horror of fleas that he would not go to bed without a suit of armour, made like a night-gown, to fit close to his skin. He would lose his reason for days when bitten by one. There was a reward of ten talents, during his reign, for the apprehension of every flea, dead or alive; and merchants would come from far and near to claim the reward.

Queen Elizabeth had the strongest antipathy to a sheriff's officer: she would run away as fast as she could directly she saw one, and continue running for miles, until her guards, who knew her weakness, stopped her.

Old Parr would turn pale if he touched a piece of soap: this is the reason he never shaved. Cicero had such an antipathy to the Wednesday that he used to remain in bed all that day; and Anna Bolena could not hear the word "potato" pronounced without turning violently red, and feeling low-spirited for weeks afterwards.

Charles the Second never could go through Temple Bar. It used to take the whole strength of Villiers, with Rochester and Nell Gwynne, to push him through it. Cromwell never could pass a tripe shop without bursting immediately into tears.

AN ESSAY ON COMETS.
BY OUR OWN ASTRONOMER.

The word "comet" has been derived by some from the Latin _coma_, a tail; but the better derivation is _comma_, because it never can come to a full stop.

Every comet has a tail, or train, which may be compared to some of those monster trains which are occasionally the subjects of newspaper paragraphs.

What a comet is we do not exactly know. It is certainly an eccentric body, but there are so many eccentric bodies in these days, that this hypothesis affords us no assistance.

A comet has a curious propensity to cut and come again, at very long intervals.

Astronomers talk of the mean distance of a comet from the earth, but as no comet ever came nearer than several thousands of miles, which is anything but a mean distance, we should be glad to know the meaning the astronomers attach to the word alluded to.

There is a comet due in 1848, being the same one that favoured us, or rather our ancestors, with a visit at half-past eight P.M., on the 21st of April, 1556. As the "oldest inhabitant" will not have had the honour of a previous acquaintance, it is very possible that some other eccentric body may be mistaken for our old acquaintance of the sixteenth century. Perhaps an inferior planet, disguised in a long tail, may endeavour to pass himself off for the expected visitor.

The safest mode of predicting a comet is to prophesy its appearance at least a century hence, and something luminous is pretty sure to turn up, to enable posterity to find something like a realization of the prediction. Any astronomer desirous of naming an earlier day for the appearance of a comet should stipulate for its being visible at some outlandish locality, where no witnesses will be in attendance to test the accuracy of the prediction.

The comet of 1770 has very shamefully broken its appointments with the astronomers, and shown a degree of unpunctuality which is no less perplexing than it is unbusinesslike. The comet ought to have entered an appearance, according to the law of comets, every five years and a half; but the eccentric body has been _non inventus_ ever since, and we should be glad to see it regularly outlawed from the solar system.

Comets are generally called periodical bodies because their tails are so exceedingly lengthy, like those which are continued from month to month in some of the periodicals. They differ, however, in one respect, the former being very luminous, and the latter utterly destitute of brilliancy.

Between the years 1771 to 1780 there happened a regular glut of comets; no less than five having appeared in the period alluded to. This extraordinary assemblage was no doubt the first regular specimen of a monster meeting.

THE FALL OF THE LEAF.
]

THE FALL OF THE LEAF.

Mister and Mistress Henry Brown
Were in society but young beginners;
And their ambition was to gain renown
By giving very nice _récherché_ dinners.
It was their boast, they used to say,
Not to attempt a great display;
In a small house it would have been misplaced,
Therefore they merely aimed at perfect taste.
It was a standing joke with Mister Brown—
A joke in which he hated to be foiled—
That there could be no other house in town
Where taste so ruled the roast—ay, and the boiled.
'Twas the commencement of the autumn season,
After some time in his own mind reviewing it,
Brown gave a dinner, simply for the reason
That few—except himself—would think of doing it.
A London dinner-party in September,
Brown did opine, was something out of the common line;
A sort of thing to talk of and remember.
The arrangements having been completed,
The guests are round the table seated;
Of turtle-soup each one had got a plate—
Some one remarked the summer had been brief—
"Yes!" Brown exclaimed, "'tis in the season late,
We must be looking for the fall of the leaf."
He'd scarcely said the words, when, with a crash,
Down came the dinner-table flap,
Sending some iced sauterne, with sudden splash,
Into his lady's lap.
Fish, water-bottles, knives and forks, _epergnes_,
Came rattling down upon her all in turns:
The sudden movement no one could control—
A slice of bread went off into a roll.
Decanters seemed disposed to fall,
As if they'd had a drop too much;
And stoppers never stopped at all—
In fact, refused to act as such.
'Twas a mishap, and yet, the truth to tell,
Mister and Mistress Brown both had their wish;
They hoped the dinner would go off all well,
And so it did go off—ay, every dish!

NEW LITERARY ASSOCIATION OF THE
FRIENDS OF FRANCE.

Professed patriots being always addicted to abusing their own country, it is presumed that the height of patriotism would consist in an Englishman writing leading articles for a French Radical newspaper. With this view a few literary friends of freedom have associated for the purpose of supplying the Parisian Press with Anti-English leaders at a cheap rate, and the following is submitted as a specimen of the article it is proposed to manufacture.

The subject is a particularly happy one, being no less than the solemn declaration of the King of the French (while being invested with the Order of the Garter) that he would never make war upon the Sovereign of the Order alluded to.

The circumstance that the oath taken includes no promise or declaration of the kind can of course be of no consequence, as the leader is intended for a French newspaper. The following is the specimen:—