Chapter VII: Part II (1)

There's tumult in the Forum, and the people onward press;
Androcles, now a criminal, is in a precious mess:
He's got to meet a lion, hungry, savage, and unchained;
And act Van Amburgh with a beast that never has been trained.

The Colosseum's rows are filled with citizens of mark—
Vespasian's amphitheatre, not the one in Regent's Park—
The tribunes and ὁι πολλοι are all making up their books,
Or drawing for a lion "sweep," with eager turfish looks.

The den is opened, horror reigns, no soul is heard to speak;
Androcles strikes an attitude, like Keller's _Poses Plastiques_;
When Nero, darting from his cage, no longer fierce and wild,
Takes up the doomed one in his arms as though he were a child;
And roars and dances gaily on his hind legs loud and long,
As we have seen the Nigger when he sings the Banjo song.

The criminal is innocent!—he need no longer stay;
And with the lion arm-in-arm he bows and walks away.—
And so long live Androcles, and the lion long live he;
And next time such a thing occurs, may we be there to see!

LEO—Androcles and the Lion.
]

THE BOUQUET PROJECTOR, OR CERITO CATAPULT.

The great difficulty experienced in throwing bouquets to popular performers has long been the subject of complaint at the Opera and other theatres. It is calculated that, in every twelve bouquets thrown at the stage, three fall in the stalls, four hit the fiddles, two reach the proscenium (one of which tumbles at the feet of somebody it was not intended for), and the rest fly into the pit-boxes, where they were never meant to go, or break into pieces in the air, showering down like floricultural rockets upon the heads of the spectators. To remedy this inconvenience the Cerito catapult has been invented. It consists of a gun working with a spring; and the nicest aim can be taken, as it is screwed on to the front of the box. N.B.—Double-barrelled machines for a _pas de deux_; and bouquets prepared, like grapeshot, to tumble into thirty small ones, for danseuses Viennoises and Anglaises.

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN JULY.

AT the beginning of the month tell your partners at evening parties that you have not yet decided whether you shall go to Wiesbaden, Naples, or the Tyrol for the autumn; but be careful towards the end to bespeak the humble lodging at Gravesend or Margate.

Do not take a horse in the park that bears marks of collar and crupper, because it looks like one you might have hired at seven-and-sixpence for the afternoon's ride.

A walk at the West-end should not now be taken except in evening dress, that people may think you are going to a dinner or evening party. A reputation for fashion and fortune may be cheaply purchased by walking under the colonnade, at half-past midnight, in the same costume.

If you wish to escape from society and get yourself into condition, sponge upon some friend who has moors in Scotland for a fortnight's deerstalking. This sport consists in running with your back parallel to the horizon, and your nose within two inches of the ground, against the wind, for several hours. Do not ask where the deer are, as it will betray your inexperience; everybody is supposed to know.

THE BOW-STREET GRANGE.
BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

With blackest mud, the locked-up sots
Were splashed and covered, one and all
And rusty nails, and callous knots,
Stuck from the bench against the wall.
The wooden bed felt hard and strange;
Lost was the key that oped the latch;
To light his pipe he had no match,
Within the Bow Street station's range.
He only said, "It's very dreary;"
"Bail will not come," he said;
He said, "I have been very beery,
I would I were a-bed!"

The rain fell like a sluice that even;
His Clarence boots could not be dried,
But had been soaked since half-past seven—
To get them off in vain he tried.
After the smashing of his hat,
Just as the new police came by,
And took him into custody,
He thought, I've been a precious flat,
He only said, "The cell is dreary;"
"Bail cometh not," he said;
He said, "I must be very beery,
I wish I was in bed!"

Upon the middle of the night,
Waking, he heard a stunning row;
Some jolly cocks sang out till light,
And would not keep still anyhow.
He wished to bribe, but had no change
Within his pockets, all forlorn,
And so he kept awake till morn
Within that lonely Bow Street grange.
He only said, "The cell is dreary;"
"Bail cometh not," he said;
He said, "I must be very beery,
I'd rather be in bed!"

All night within that gloomy cell
The keys within the padlock creaked;
The tipsy 'gents' bawled out as well,
And in the dungeons yelled and shrieked.
Policeman slyly prowled about;
Their faces glimmered through the door,
But brought not, though he did implore,
One humble glass of cold without.
He only said, "The night is dreary;"
"Bail cometh not," he said;
He said, "I have been very beery,
I would I were in bed!"

At morn, the noise of boys aloof,
Inspectors' orders, and the chaff
Of cads upon the busses' roof,
To Poplar bound, too much by half
Did prove; but most he loathed the hour
When Mr. Jardine chose to say
Five shillings he would have to pay,
Now he was in policeman's power.
Then said he, "This is very dreary;"
"Bail will not come," he said;
He said, "I'll never more get beery,
But go straight home to bed!"

THE SCHOOL OF DESIGN.

In chronicling the designs of this school for the past and forthcoming year, we cannot fall in with the abuse lavished upon it by some of our contemporaries. We believe, from many others, that the following will be most likely to interest our readers:—

A design for a new dance against next season, by the Terpsichorean professors, to meet the depression in their trade, since everybody knew the Polka.

A design of the journalists of England to make the gentlemen of the bar understand their proper position.

A design of the journalists of France to attribute their thrashing in Algeria to the gold of "perfide Albion."

A design of the _Times_ newspaper to expose the railway swindles and burst all the bubbles.

A design of certain medical students against the knockers and bell-pulls near Guy's and St. Thomas's.

A design for a human oven, to enable savage aborigines to cook their victims instead of eating them raw, by Colonel Pelissier; a laudable attempt to exhibit the refinements of French colonization.

THE ZODIAC-AUGUST.
VIRGO.—THE OLD MAID.

[SCENE—A TEA TABLE.]

You like it weak, Miss Patience Crab,—the same, just as the last? (As I was saying, all those Smiths are living much too fast.) One lump of sugar more, my dear? Thank you, that's just the thing. (No income can support those trips to London every spring—) Another crumpet, dear Miss Quince—nay, just one tiny bit? (The set the girls made at Sir John did not turn out a hit.) Poor Carlo don't seem very well; I think he has caught cold— (The eldest girl is passable, I own, but much too bold.) The poor dear darling little dog is anything but strong. (Depend upon it, we shall hear of something going wrong.) Another cup, love? Sugar? Milk? I hope you like your tea? (I don't mean to insinuate—no matter—we shall see.) Now let me recommend the cake; you'll find it very nice. (I really hope that those poor Smiths will take some friend's advice.)

[_Cats and dogs begin to fight—parrot screams—confusion.
The conversation is broken up._]

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN AUGUST.

About the 10th, look for falling stars—not various actors, authors, and singers I could name, but shooting meteors. If they do not appear, you must blame them, and not me.

Towards the 12th, tell all your friends how deuced disagreeable it is to be tied by the leg from pressure of business, and not able to accept an invitation to the Highlands, where a thousand acres of grouse have been preserved on purpose for you.

About the end, buy a guinea shooting-jacket, and hang it about your room. Also keep an old gun, to be cleaning whenever your friends call.

By the way, if you should go to the North, avoid buying one of those shooting-jackets said, in the advertisements, to resemble the "bonnie heather," because your back, being seen in motion, may be taken by an inexperienced friend for a bush with a bird in it, and you will probably receive the contents of his double-barrel in the neighbourhood of your lumbar vertebræ.

VIRGO—Unmatched enjoyment.
]

HISTORICAL MEMORANDA:
KINDLY FURNISHED TO THE EDITOR BY THE MEMBERS OF THE OLD
ORIGINAL "ARCHÆOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION," RESPECTING
THE NEW HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT.

According to Fitzwalker, a monk who wrote in the middle ages, the first House of Commons was so called from having been the only house in the centre of the commons, which formed the site of the present city of Westminster. It was built by King Cole, from a portion of the ruins of Thebes, whence the stones were brought in that monarch's one-horse chaise to save expense; and as only one could be carried at a time, the journeys backwards and forwards took many years. Subsequently, a peculiar species of cake was manufactured there for the king, termed _parliament_; and from the officers of state being accustomed to eat this during their debates, the senate took its name. This structure was burnt down in 1834, by catching fire from the inflammatory speech of an Irish member; and its rebuilding was entrusted to Mr. Barry, the celebrated clown at Astley's. Much speculation has taken place as to whether the lady of this clever pantomimist and architect is the one addressed by Mr. Tennyson, in "Locksley Hall," in the line—

"As the husband, so the wife is: thou art mated to a clown."

Mr. Barry celebrated the laying of the first stone by driving four ducks on the Thames, from Battersea to Westminster, in a washing-tub,—being half of the identical butt in which the Earl of Malmsey was drowned by the Duke of Clarence, afterwards William IV., in the presence of Shakspeare, Hume, and Macready.

The notorious Guy, Lord Vaux, celebrated for blowing up the house, was captured in the vaults of the building. In trying to escape he dislocated both his ankles,—as may be always seen in the likenesses of him, carried about on the 5th of November, when the feet are invariably hind-side before.

The Speaker of the House of Commons is so called from never opening his mouth. He has, however, to take in all the members choose to spout, and therefore may be regarded as the Uncle of the senate, King Alfred being the Father, or, according to others, Mr. Byng. But this affinity does not constitute any degree of relationship between Mr. Byng (or King Alfred) and the Speaker, any more than Mr. Boyle's having been the father of chemistry, made his brother, if he had one, chemistry's uncle.

The members of the House put M.P. after their names; which are the initial letters of Mistaken Profession.

MARTYRS OF SCIENCE.

It is lamentable to think that so many of those whose discoveries have tended to advance the general welfare of society have fallen victims either to their zeal in the pursuit, or the apathy of the public. The following instances will sufficiently prove the fact:—

JAMES WATT,

Acting upon the Greek maxim, γνωθι σεαυτον, devoted his whole life to solving the mysterious problem of "what's what?" Yet he burst his boiler eventually, and, as he was accustomed with a melancholy facetiousness to remark, was seldom able to fill his own stuffing-box. He choked himself with a new roll, which was in consequence termed a penny buster. His great bust was the work of Chantrey. To him we owe the invention of the baked-tater can. His hymns have been much admired.

NEWTON,

The great inventor of the solar system, was descendant of the Earl of Orrery. He discovered the centrifugal force from watching the scenes in the circle at Astley's. Whilst seated in his usual place in the pit one night, he was hit on the head by an apple from the gallery, supposed to have been aimed at Widdicombe, which led him to the discovery of the gravity of the earth, though it destroyed that of the house. Yet this great man was in his old age reduced to keep an eating-house near Leicester Square, formerly called the Hotel Newton, but now better known as Berthollini's.

DR. JENNER,

Whilst in the incipient stages of small-pox, was tossed by a cow, which led him to the discovery of vaccination. Yet he was often without the means of procuring a ha'porth of milk; so that he was wont to say, when in a merry mood, that although his discovery had extirpated the confluent state, it had not left him in an affluent one. Cowes was his favourite residence, where he died in a state of monomania, fancying himself one of them.

HARVEY,

Invented the circulation of the blood; yet he composed his "Meditations amongst the Tombs" with no other stimulus than a bottle of his own sauce, during an excursion to Kensal Green. Ultimately, coming to poverty, he took the situation of Hermit, at Vauxhall, and lived upon pulse. His works are now only found at circulating libraries.

PRIESTLEY,

Although he discovered the properties of air, had not sufficient property of his own to raise the wind. He found out the composition of the atmosphere; but was unable to effect a composition with his creditors. During the "NO POPERY" riots his house was torn down by the mob, who said they would have "none of that _air_." He afterwards travelled about the country with lucifer matches, whence he has been erroneously termed a light porter. He died ultimately from want of breath, ungratefully deserted by that element which he had raised from obscurity, and left his discoveries as an _heir_loom to the nation. He died in a Wynd in Edinburgh, but his remains were afterwards removed to Ayr, where an humble admirer afterwards inscribed this terse but touching epitaph upon his tomb:—

"Here lies Priestley.
Whose treatment was beastly."

DAVY (SIR HUMPHREY),

Until he came of age, was originally a miner in the north of England, where he invented the wonderful lamp, mentioned in the Arabian Nights. Hence each miner, on entering the pit, is required to "take his davy," or he will otherwise be blown up. He was very fond of salmon-fishing, but was never known to catch any. Poverty having depressed his spirits he took to laughing gas, and this, combining with other gases which he was accustomed to swallow in large quantities, produced spontaneous combustion, of which he died, whilst at sea, and was there interred in his own locker. During three days in the week he might be seen in the park, dining with his noble godfather, the Duke Humphrey. Such was the fate of one, of whom we may say, in the words of the poet:—

"Take him for all in all, he cannot fail,
To point a moral, and adorn a tale."

THE ZODIAC—SEPTEMBER.
LIBRA—THE WEIGHTS AND MEASURES.
FROM SPENSER'S "FAERIE QUEENE."

And next inspectors came, with boics arounde,
And porters heavie laden with the spoyle
Of "cheapest shoppes," wherein false weights were found,
Which did the chapman's reputation soyle,
As fylching what poor folk did gain by toyle,
Making their little less, by sly transfer
Of "jerrie," pennie-piece, or wire coyle,
To get a draught against the purchaser,
But never 'gainst himself in such way did he erre.

THE JURY'S GUIDE TO FALSE WEIGHTS AND MEASURES.

BAKERS.—"_Down again to 5d.!!_" placarded on the window, expresses a draught of an ounce against the purchaser. If a microscopic "¾" is added in pencil, the loss will be greater.

GROCERS.—"_The famous Four Shilling Tea!!_" stuck in a pyramid of that article, means that a quarter of an ounce falls off in every pound. Another quarter may be added for every note of admiration.

GENERAL DEALERS.—"_Look!_" in red letters, over the price of anything per pound, intimates that you should do so, and very narrowly, when the aforesaid pound is weighed.

CHEESEMONGERS.—"_One trial will prove the fact!_" is an unmistakeable evidence of short weight. At the same time, it can scarcely be called a deception; as, if the affair is ever brought to the trial, one is usually found to be sufficient to prove anything.

_Note_—That an armed warrior at Astley's, or Mr. Paul Bedford, as the _Dragon_, at the Adelphi, cannot be taken up for using false scales; but that all Members of Parliament may be called to account for false measures.

* * * * *

A new application of the Wenham Lake Ice has been discovered. By placing a small portion on the cruet-stand, "chilly vinegar" can be produced to any amount. The success of the "Sherry Cobblers" has induced the more refined West End Clubs to establish "Madeira Shoemakers" for their patrician _habitués_. The Wenham Lake Ice is preserved in blankets. This, at first sight, appears remarkable until we recollect the power of a "wet blanket" to throw a chill over everything.

LIBRA—Striking the Balance.
]

THE REVELATIONS OF LONDON.

Mr. Harrison Ainsworth is respectfully requested to reveal the following real mysteries of London, before he concludes his romance, if it is his intention to do so:—

What becomes of all the old cabs and coaches when they get past work?

Where waiters go to when they have a holiday?

Who is _the_ subscriber to the "Metropolitan Magazine," and where a number can be seen; or whether its existence is a fiction?

Where the money comes from which everybody, without an exception, is reported to have made on the railways?

If the toll-keepers on Waterloo Bridge have any private friends?

What direction of the compass Marylebone Lane runs in, and where it begins and ends?

When the gates of Leicester Square were last unlocked; and who goes in, except the cats?

What lobster sauce is made of at cheap eating-houses; and what difference exists between the melted butter of the same places and thin paste?

Why Piccadilly omnibuses always stop at the corner of Coventry Street, and then go down a miserable narrow lane, instead of the Haymarket?

Why, when you go into a linendraper's to buy a pair of white kids, you are asked, ten times out of eleven, whether you will not have straw-coloured?

Where the crowd of boys rise up from, to open the cab-door, or seize your carpet-bag, the minute you get out of a railway omnibus, none having been visible just before?

What species of position is gained from drinking champagne with the funny singers at a supper tavern, out of a tankard?

How tradesmen of vast minds contrive to put "25,000 muffs and boas!" into a house not capable of accommodating fifty?

AN UNPUBLISHED POEM.
BY ROBERT BURNS.

"_Lilt your Johnnie._"

Wi' patchit brose and ilka pen,
Nae bairns to clad the gleesome ken;
But chapmen billies, a' gude men,
And _Doon_ sae bonnie!
Ne'er let the scornfu' mutchit ben;
But lilt your Johnnie!

For whistle binkie's unco' biel,
Wad haggis mak of ony chiel,
To jaup in luggies like the deil,
O'er loop or cronnie:
You wadna croop to sic a weel;
But lilt your Johnnie!

Sae let the pawkie carlin scraw,
And hoolie, wi' outlandish craw,
Kail weedies frae the ingle draw
As blyth as honie;
Amang the thummart dawlit wa'
To lilt your Johnnie!

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN SEPTEMBER.

If anyone sends you a brace of partridges, do not eat them yourself, but tie one of your own cards to them, write on the back of it, "shot this morning," and send them where you think the attention will pay best. In that way you are much more certain to make a hit than if you foolishly attempted to shoot them yourself.

If you are a member of parliament, get a "pair," that you may be off to your manor, this being now the custom. If you like stag-hunting, you had better stay on a railway committee.

If you meet a friend, complain of being dull and the emptiness of London: this looks as if your acquaintances were in the habit of going out of town; the fact being, that no one you know leaves London from one year's end to the other except your tailor.

If you are a barrister, you are expected to be on circuit at this time; but as this is expensive when you have no brief, put a placard on your outer door, "On the Northern Circuit," and live in a single room at Manor Cottage, Kennington, or a similar locality.

SCORPIO—The Slanderer—"I could a tale unfold."
]

THE ZODIAC—OCTOBER.
SCORPIO—THE SLANDERER.

Well, I really can't see how a laugh can be got
Out of slander, and scorpions, and lies, and what not;
If out of such subjects grow matter of mirth,
'Tis for gentry in black who live lower than earth.

And I know for my own part I've reason to grieve
That young women anonymous letters believe;
What a Scorpion was he who wrote my Mary Anne
That I was a very "irregular man!"

Oh! cruel George Cruikshank, how could you invent
Such a horrible picture with comic intent?
I hope that if ever you've your Mary Anne,
You'll be called, as I was, an "irregular man."

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN
OCTOBER.

That if you are a sober man, according to the old song, you may now prepare to "fall as the leaves do," and die this month.

If the settling for the Leger has prevented you from settling your day-book, and you wish to commit suicide without the discredit of _felo-de-se_, get invited to a _battue_. Place yourself about the centre of the wood, and you will be tolerably certain to be hit by something or somebody.

That theatres are said to open this month; but as nobody is ever known to go to them, the only proof of this is the fact that they are found open at a later time of the year.

The clubs become empty about this time, therefore it is a good opportunity of asking any friend of uncouth or disreputable appearance to dine with you, as he will only afford amusement to the servants instead of the members, which is not likely to be so painful to your feelings.

Freshmen go up to the Universities, and may be expected to come down upon their governors with heavy bills. Medical students walk the Hospitals, and run into debt.

THE NEW MAGAZINE MACHINE.

This novel application of mechanism, to the purposes of periodical publications, is the invention of an ingenious _littérateur_. The hoppers above being fed with subject of all sorts, from "Criminal Trials" to "Joe Millers," the handle is turned, and the fountain-pens immediately begin to write articles upon everything. The idea has been taken from the _Eureka_, but very much elaborated. The demand for "Virtuous Indignation" is very great just now; hence all blue-eyed, shoeless infants, taken up for stealing, street-vagabonds, and rascally poachers (whose punishment it is the fashion to call "the wrongs of the poor man"), will fetch good prices, by applying to publishers generally.

TUBAL CAIN.
BY CHARLES MACKAY.

[_To be sung by Mr. H. Russell._]

Old Tubal Cain was a cunning file,
In the days when men were green;
But not till night, when the gas burnt bright,
Was he ever to be seen.
And he fashioned reports for the daily press,
Of sudden deaths and fire;
But a penny a line by his industry
Was all he could acquire.

And he sang, "Hurrah! for my handiwork
Hurrah! for the street called Bow;
Hurrah! for the tin that its office brings,
When pockets run rather low!"

But a sudden thought came into his head,
As he gazed on the _Evening Sun_;
And he thought, as its lists of new lines he read,
That a great deal might be done.
He saw that men whom nobody knew
Soon swallowed up every share;
And he said to himself, "I will do so too,
And date my note 'Eaton Square!'"

And he sang, "Hurrah! for my handiwork;
As he posted it then and there;
Not for wealth and trade were the new lines made,"
And he _stagged_ the first railway share!

And for many a night did Tubal Cain write,
In the tap of the "Cheshire Cheese;"
And the penny stamp, with paste still damp,
Procured him his scrip with ease.
And he rose at last, with a cheerful face,
To seek his own house and grounds;
For he very soon made, by his capital trade,
Above twenty thousand pounds!

And he sang, "Alas! how I ever could think
Of my newspaper work to brag;
The only use of a pen and ink
Is to bring all the scrip to the STAG!"

FIRST ANNUAL REPORT OF THE ASTLEY'S
ASSOCIATION
FOR THE DIFFUSION OF GENERAL INFORMATION.

This meeting, first established by Professor Widdicombe, the father of the Antiquarian Society, promises to become a most important institution. Through the urbanity of the Professor, who has spent a very long life—in fact, so long as to be almost fabulous—in collecting information on various points not apparently properly understood, we have been favoured with the "Report;" and from it we propose to make various extracts, premising, that "The Bride of the Nile," "The Conquest of Amoy," "The Battle of Hastings," "The ditto of Waterloo," with other dramas, have furnished the authorities.

THE WONDERS OF ANCIENT EGYPT.

The mysteries of Isis, amongst the ancient Egyptians, were more simple than they are generally supposed to be; the sacred fires being trimmed with tow and turpentine every evening, and not being perpetual, but lighted with a lucifer, when wanted to juggle the multitude. The High Priests received six shillings a week for keeping them in order; and when the ceremonies were over, they frequently changed their costume and mingled with the crowd, to assist the deception. Celibacy was not insisted on, as several were married men, with families, residing in Lambeth.

Although in the chariot and gladiatorial contests of the Egyptians desperate struggles took place, yet all animosity ceased when the fight was over. Many of them, as they prepared for the contest, shared the Memphian baked potato, or the cold without, with much good-fellowship; and it was not uncommon, after the fight, to see the victor tending the foe whom he had forced to bite the dust until his mouth was full of it, and it required washing down with beer.

THE WAR IN CHINA.

A little circumstance connected with the taking of Amoy was not mentioned in the despatches. After Sir Henry Pottinger had addressed the troops they rushed away cheering, whilst he remained and made his horse dance a hornpipe for five minutes to the band, although he was directly under the ramparts. This is an unparalleled instance of coolness and self-possession in a moment of danger.

EARLY WIT, ETC.

Jokes were common amongst the Normans. Before "The Battle of Hastings," when Harold's envoy came to know on what principle William invaded Britain, William replied, "Tell your master we will return his wrongs with _interest_, and teach him _principle_." The barons did not laugh, probably from etiquette; but this must have been a good joke in those days.

Harold was killed by an arrow, as is commonly believed. It was, however, a species of suicide, as he stuck it into his head himself, on the sly, not choosing to trust to the archery of the soldiers. Considering the lightness of the dress in which he went to battle it is a wonder he was not killed before. His armour was simply rings of tin, tacked upon cotton velvet.

The story of the old chroniclers that Harold survived the battle, receives some confirmation from the fact that half an hour after the contest he was seen, muffled in a Tweed, asking the price of some sausages in the New Cut. These were probably to subsist on in his retirement.

The Norman William celebrated his conquest by taking a pipe and a glass of grog, with one particular friend, at an hostelry adjoining the scene of action, when it was all over.

TREACHERY AT WATERLOO

According to the latest Astley authorities, dated last June, the Battle of Waterloo occupied six minutes exactly. Several French soldiers walked undisguisedly into the quarters of the English army before the fight commenced; and some, at the extreme back of the scene, fought indiscriminately on either side, as occasion required. But the gravest circumstance is, that in the heat of the action the Duke of Wellington, approaching Marshal Soult, said to him, "Don't let your fellows fire until mine have!" a course which must have led them to destruction, had not General Widdicombe roared, with a voice of thunder, "What the devil are you doing there, you stupid asses?"—which produced the last grand charge. The story of the ball at Brussels is an idle invention. The officers were at no ball at all; except two, who had visited Mr. Baron Nathan's assembly at Kensington but a little time previously: and as to their being taken by surprise, they knew for weeks what was coming, even to the very hour and minute of the attack, and the precise manner in which it would be made. The following beautiful lines are but little known, and well deserve a place in this report. They are the production of Lord Byron, and were written at the request of the late Andrew Ducrow, Esq., describing the scene immediately before the commencement of the battle.

"There was a sound of revelry by night;
And Astley's manager had gathered then
His supers and his cavalry; and bright
The gas blazed o'er tall women and loud men.
The audience waited happily; and when
The orchestra broke forth with brazen swell,
Apples were sold for most extensive gain;
And ginger beer popped merrily as well!—
But hush! hark! what's that noise, just like our parlour-bell?

"Did ye not hear it?—No, sir!—Never mind;
P'raps 'twas the Atlas bus to Oxford Street.
Strike up, you fiddlers!—Now, young feller, mind!
Don't scrouge, or you shall go where police meet,
To chase the knowing thieves with flying feet!—
But hark! that sound is heard again—once more!
And boys, with whistle shrill, its note repeat;
And nearer, clearer, queerer than before!—
Hats off!—It is, it is—the bell from prompter's door!

"Ah! then was hurry-skurry, to and fro;
And authors' oaths, and symptoms of a mess;
And men as soldiers, who, two nights ago,
Went round the circus in a Chinese dress!
And there were rapid paintings, such as press
On those who ply the arts, with choking size,
Which ne'er might be completed! Who could guess
How all would look before the public eyes,
When on that 'Street in Brussels' the act drop would rise!"

STANZAS SUGGESTED BY A VIEW OF
ROSHERVILLE.
BY A BANK CLERK.

Oh, Rosherville! thou bringest all good things
Home to the Gravesend beaux and city "gents:"
A dinner for a shilling, rifles, swings,
Baronial halls, arbours, and canvas tents!
Where comic gentleman, or lady, sings,
And Baron Nathan some fresh dance invents;[1]
Or brave toxophilites the longbow draw,
And strive to hit the Albert Tell of straw.[2]

Sweet Eden! which for fivepence we may gain,
Or there and back for ninepence by the _Star_;
Upon whose deck, released from sacks and grain,
Mark Lane Lotharios smoke the light cigar:
Stock Exchange Stags, and clerks from Mincing Lane,
Who prate of "consols," "shares," and "scrip," and "par,"
Crowding towards the gangway, as they near
The Thames-washed steps of Rosherville's fair pier.

Enchanted chalk-pit! from thy lonely tower
Signor Gellini,[3] amidst flames of fire,
Glides on the single rope, by magic power,
When Chiarini Cocoa-nuts retire;[4]
And as it darker grows, in every bower
Soft whispered nothings—tales of love, transpire—
All this for sixpence! Can such misers be!
Who'd grudge that sum, sweet Rosherville, to thee?

Yes, Gravesend! to thy shrimps my memory clings,
And to that loved one—would I could forget her!—
Who tied in double knots my heart's young strings;
Dating from Parrock Street each scented letter,
But flew from me, one day, on fancy's wings,
All for another gent as she loved better;
And left me lonely, in a dark dilemma,
On Windmill Hill, to warble "Faithless Emma."[5]

But as, in _La Sonnambula_, the man
In love sings, "Still so gently o'er me stealing,"
Although I combat with it all I can,
I find that "memory will bring back the feeling."
But love, at any time, lasts but a span;
And so, in "spite of all my grief revealing,"
I will revisit Rosherville's domain,
And drown in "tea with cresses"[6] all my pain.

Footnote 1:

Nathan, Lord Rosherville, and Baron of Kennington, has been
immortalized in _Punch_. His Terpsichorean ingenuity is remarkable.
Perhaps his "Polka Hornpipe, in chain armour and handcuffs," is his
most remarkable dance.

Footnote 2:

"_The Albert Tell of straw._"—This work of art is an appropriate mark
for the archers to shoot at. It is a species of cross-breed between
Guy Fawkes and a bee-hive.

Footnote 3:

"_Signor Gellini, amidst_," &c.—This accomplished foreigner, amongst
other acquirements, speaks English equal to any native.

Footnote 4:

"_When Chiarini Cocoa-nuts_," &c.—The Chiarini family are a race of
animated castanets; and their evident self-satisfaction at this cocoa
dance has originated the saying of being "nuts" on anything.

Footnote 5:

Flirtations of all kinds thrive at Rosherville and Gravesend, "which
it is well beknown," as Mrs. Gamp would say.

Footnote 6:

"_Tea with cresses_," or "Tea with shrimps," each at ninepence, forms
the staple meal of Gravesend. The tea is usually the "strong rough
congou," at three-and-four. One trial will prove the fact.

SAGITTARIUS—The Archer—(Not "Venus' Son divine.")
]

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN NOVEMBER.

When you come back to town do not say to what precise part of the Continent you have been, or you may be found out; "A Walking Tour in Norway" is, however, tolerably safe; and the principal objects may be read up from Murray's "Handbook." If you were seen at the aforesaid Margate, or Gravesend (as the case may be), say you were obliged to go one day to the horrid place, to see a fellow who had sold you a horse.

That if you are in debt, the heavy fogs will allow you to walk past the doors of your principal creditors, which will open several new promenades to you.

If you wish to pass for a fox-hunter, take a day ticket on the Birmingham rail, in the second-class carriages, in pink and leathers. Everybody will then suppose you have a horse in a box behind—an impression of which you are not bound to disabuse them. This is what in melodramas is called "joining the hunting train."

That scarlet-runners may now be planted in ditches, and trained along ploughed fields in their stirrups.

THE TRAFALGAR FOUNTAINS.

These popular ornaments, whose capabilities for jokes have nearly been exhausted, are about to receive a new interest from the application of an old philosophical fact. It is well known that a jet of water will support any hollow conical body as long as it plays: it is therefore in contemplation to place an Albert hat on the top of each fountain, which will be kept at a certain elevation, and form an appropriate accompanying trophy to the Nelson column; the two portraying the United Service.

HISTORICAL MEMORANDA.
DRURY LANE THEATRE.

Drury Lane Theatre was built in 1667, one year after the great fire of London, by Mr. William Shakspeare, assisted by Mr. Bunn, a great dramatist, from the designs of Mr. Planché, an eminent architect. Shakspeare was an extraordinary musician; and his solos on the ophicleide, whilst in the orchestra of the Globe Theatre, were much admired. He composed several musical dramas, amongst which "Hamlet, Prince of Tyre," "As You Like It, or So I hope you'll recommend it," "The Two Gentlemen of Windsor," "Antony and Juliet," have gained a transient popularity. He was originally in trade at Stratford-upon-Avon, but being convicted of "stagging" on the Charlecote Line, he fled to London, and assumed the name of Fitzball, under which cognomen he published his best pieces. He was buried, at his own request, in the rotunda of the theatre, under the fireplace, where his monument may be seen for nothing on going to take places.

* * * * *

Should the _Premier_ make any unusual stir with respect to the present vegetable epidemic, it is probable that he will be known to future ages as "_Potato Peel_."

In the event of Boz's "_Cricket on the Hearth_" proving successful, a talented Lord will bring out his "_Trap, Bat, and Ball on the Mantel-piece_."

HINTS TO NOVELISTS, FOR 1846.

The increasing demand for this species of literature, whether with or without a purpose—the latter style being, perhaps, the most popular—has called forth a number of new pens to meet it. Some of these being rather new at their work, stand in need of a little assistance; and we are most happy in being able to give it, in the shape of those methods of commencing a tale which experience has shown to be the most successful, and hence the most universally followed:—

THE READ-UP, OR JAMESONIAN.

IF we examine closely the records of the past, we shall find that the principal source of the public morality, or vice, springs in most cases from the acts or institutions of the government; and this was especially remarkable at the commencement of the seventeenth century, in France. The youth of Louis XIII.; the feebleness of his character, even in advanced age; his incapacity, and that of his regent mother, gave rise to all kinds of imperfections, and opened the career to excesses of feudality, and all sorts of lawless ambitions. Evil, departing from this centre, spread amongst all classes of people: the organization of the clergy affected the position of the laity; and the intrigues of the Count de Soissons, Condé, and others, favoured the general corruption.

Things stood thus when, one fine spring morning, two horsemen in military attire were slowly traversing one of the large tracts of forest land which then stretched between Compiègne and Beauvais.

[_At this point search the British Museum, and get up the costumes from pictures. The "low countries" is effective._]

THE PSEUDO-GRAPHIC, OR WEAK BOZ-AND-WATER.

Any one whom business or pleasure has taken across Hungerford Bridge may have observed, on the right hand, as he reached the Lambeth side of the river, a curious tumbledown-looking counting-house, something between a travelling caravan and the city barge, elevated on some rickety piles, with a rusty balcony projecting from its river front, and without any visible means of access or egress, except down the chimney, or along a rotten row of spouts, barely fastened to its decaying woodwork. It is a dismal, melancholy place. The glass has been untouched for years, and is coated with dirt, although through it may be seen files of old dust-covered papers, hanging amidst festooned cobwebs and corroded inkstands, with stumps of pens still sticking in the holes. Everything tells of broken hearts and ruined fortunes; of homes made desolate by misplaced confidence, and long, long lawsuits, which outlived those who started them, and were left—with nothing else, to the poor and struggling heirs!

It was a miserable November evening: the passengers were glooming through the haze of the feeble lights, choked by the river fog, like dim spectres; and a melancholy drip fell, in measured plashings, from every penthouse and coping, as two figures slowly pursued their way towards this dreary place, through some of the old and tortuous streets that lie between the York Road and the river side.

[_The heroes (as the case may be) being thus introduced, the author can go ahead with his plot, if he has one._]

THE TOPOGRAPHICAL, OR TRANSATLANTIC.

The long chain of rocky mountains which, reaching from the Oregon to New York, forms a natural boundary to the prairies on the Canada side of the Mississippi, is more than once crossed by rugged tracks, left by the early emigrants to the far west shores of the continent. These are here and there dotted with villages, whose buildings bear traces of their Dutch origin, and watered by streams flowing through the hunting grounds of the Pawnee and Webfooted Indians, until they mingle with the roar of Niagara, above Buffalo.

[_Having settled your scene in this locality, you go on about the Indians as follows:_—]

"That's the crack of a tarnal rifle from them Mingoes," said the Scamp, as he listened to the report; "why on 'arth they're not shot off like nat'ral animals is just above my comprension."

His Indian companion looked to the ground with a low expressive "Hugh!" and picked up a shell.

"The Huron is a coward," he said: "his squaw is idle in his wigwam; and his mocassins are weak. The Ojibbeway will have his scalp."

"The creetur is right," replied the Scamp: "I'd back the downey cove's rifle against any blazer them infarnal Mingoes ever struck fire into."

[_The Indians should always speak in the third person: "fire-water," "great spirit," "pale-faces," "wampum," &c., will add to the effect; and the general habits may be ground up from recollections of the Egyptian Hall._]

THE ECLOGIC, OR GOREAN.

"Then you will be sure and come?" said Lillie Effingham, as the party of handsome girls and young men, with whom she was riding, turned through the opening, on to the turf, at the side of the Serpentine.

"Can you mistrust me?" replied her cavalier, in a low, impressive tone, that conveyed a far deeper meaning than the four words. "Shall not you be there?"

"Oh, that is all very well, I know," answered Lillie, patting, with her small hand, the glossy neck of her Arabian; "but Blanche Heathcote will be there as well, and Lady Helen, and the bewitching Mrs. Howard; you will be at no loss for attractive partners."

Charles Trevor—for such was his name—smiled with a peculiar expression; then, raising his hat to Lillie, pranced off to speak to some men in the Guards, with whom he was to dine that day at the Palace mess.

[_The reader is now to be let into the secret of who these two individuals are._]

MOTTOES FOR CRACKER BONBONS.

Everybody knows those kisses, burnt almonds and sugar-plums, in their envelopes of fringed and gaudy paper, with the concealed Waterloo cracker inside, which it is so delightful to explode during supper-time at an evening party; and everybody also knows that the motto which this discharge of enlivening artillery sets free is generally the most stupid, unmeaning thing it is possible to conceive. From a quantity we select the following as a fair specimen of the prevailing style:—

"Beauty always fades away;
Virtue will for ever stay."

Or,—

"The best affections of my heart are thine,
If you to my petition will incline."

Or,—

"What is beauty but a bait,
Oft repented when too late?"

Now, in place of these silly ideas, we suggest the following, which will have the merit of inducing thinking, and, by their matter-of-fact truth, do away with a great deal of the false atmosphere with which society is invested:—

When the master and mistress smile through the night,
Oh, do not believe that their bosoms are light;
Think of the plate they have had to borrow,
And the state that the house will be in to-morrow!

Though, after a Polka with somebody nice,
You get sentimental whilst down stairs for ice,
Before you attempt her affections to win,
First try and find out if she's got any tin.

Oh! had we but a little isle,
On which the sun might always smile;
There to reside alone with thee—
How tired out we soon should be!

Recollect, a bad _Polkiste_ don't get much renown,
If you can't dance it well, you had better sit down.

Love's like a trifle, fleeting soon;
Vows are the froth, and man the spoon.

If the night's not very dry,
Find out those who've got a fly,
Whose way home your own one suits,
Because wet walking ruins boots.

He whose gloves are new and white,
Can clean them for another night;
But he who wears them parties twain,
Can never have them cleaned again.

We wish to see the hints here given followed out generally; and we are sure their good effect on social life will be soon evident.

CAPRICORNUS—A Caper o'-corns.
]

CORN CAPERS.
THE PAS DES MOISSONNEURS.

We sing the _Viennoises_ so famed,
And those who at their laurels aimed,
And were the _danseuses Anglaises_ named.

Who made the other opera elves
Begin to look about themselves,
Dreading to be put on their shelves.

Who raised a doubt, in costume wild,
When in the final _tableau_ piled,
Which was the sheaf, and which the child.

They heard the loud approving cheers,
From stalls, and pit, and all the tiers;
For little wheatsheaves have long ears.

And knew, whilst they pursued that track,
Nor showed of energy a lack,
Their wheat would never get the sack.

No league about them did declaim;
The only league, linked with their name,
Was that which oft their audience came.

We hope to see them back again,
Fresh flowers and _bonbons_ to obtain,
Those charming little rogues in grain.

And all the world will be there too,
The stage with fresh bouquets to strew,
And their "corn-rigs so bonnie" view.

THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN DECEMBER.

That you should this month keep "in the house," by which, unlike the Andover paupers, you will escape _dripping_.

That managers rely upon boxing night for making a hit; and that orders are always to be procured for the dress-circle in any quantity on that evening; "Christmas boxes" being seldom given, and as seldom taken in the theatres.

That Christmas comes but once a year, which, looking to the bills that generally accompany it, must be a great comfort to fathers of families.

That the Christmas log is now disused, but the wood of it is found in large quantities in the wine used in negus at Christmas parties.

Hares will now stand on end with terror at the approach of the shooter, and may be knocked on the head without expense of ammunition.

That if you go out to a party, and, to save cab-hire, walk in shiny boots, you will probably bring your "light catarrh" with you, as you will find out if asked to sing.

JUDICIUM ASTROLOGICUM.
THE PRIZE PROPHECY FOR 1846.

COURTEOUS READER,

THE expense of keeping a prophet having increased with the diminution of the species, towards which those mundane authorities, termed police, are in deadly opposition, my prognostics have lately fallen in arrear. But the prize prophecy, which was thrown open to competition last year, has come to hand; and, fully convinced that everything put down in it will happen, sooner or later—or, if it does not, that it ought to have done so; and would, but for some unforeseen zodiacal altercation which threw the signs into confusion—I now offer it to you. And I beg to inform you that if you want cabalistic information upon any subject: to know the railway likeliest to pay, the definite intentions of the Prime Minister, the duration of the Income-tax, the fortune or expectations of any young lady you may meet at a party, or the winner of the next Derby—the fee of five sovereigns, enclosed to our Prophet at the publisher's, will ensure an answer by the return of post; containing, in addition to all he knows upon the subject, a great deal more that he does not. My limits forbid further observations; but keep these remarks in mind, and look out for the fulfilment of what is to happen in

JANUARY.

A frost of some duration will cover the twelfth-cakes of the metropolis at the commencement of the month, which will begin to be broken up about Twelfth Night. About the middle of the month the Humane Society will give a grand dinner, on their retirement from public life, to the Wood Pavement Company, in gratitude to the latter for offering superior attraction to skaters, and taking all accidents off their hands. The Serpentine Receiving-house will be moved to the Strand in consequence; and the Mile End Omnibuses will furnish the drags. Several diverting little surprises will happen in families, by the delivery of bills, which they are either "certain they paid at the time," or "don't believe they ever owed;" but, unfortunately, being unable to produce the receipts, will be brutally compelled to pay them again.

Great excitement in the literary world, and especially in the magazines; which, to give an air of novelty to the new year, will contain twenty continuous stories each. Fearful vision of the individual who reads them all; in which he will see the Robertses on their Travels, stopped by St. Giles; whilst St. James is gone, with Cæsar Borgia, to pay a visit to the Marchioness of Brinvilliers, and condole with her on the death of Marston, who has been shot by Rowcroft's Bushranger, now under the care of the Gaol Chaplain, whose "Revelations of London" have no effect upon him. And the weekly press aiding this complexity, by representing Mrs. Caudle quarrelling with Joe Miller for Rodwell's Umbrella which the Wandering Jew gave to his Stepmother—the nightmare of the unhappy magazine reader will be terrible indeed!

Much discord will prevail in town by reason of nocturnal bands of disturbers of the public peace, called the Waits, who will play "Then you'll remember me" for one hour continuously under your window; and call a few days afterwards, to prove the truth of their musical assertion. The juries for putting down "false weights," have no power over the measures of these ruthless marauders.

A BAD RAILWAY ACCIDENT will happen, from a collision of two trains.

FEBRUARY.

Parliament will meet at the usual time, when the Refuge for the Destitute in Playhouse Yard will be turned into an asylum for the houseless peers; the unroofed rooms and heavy rains and floods turning the intended House of Lords into a Peerless Pool. The enclosure of the Commons will be at the same time a great question of doubt.

The following events will be found this month, without fail, in the papers:—A dreadful fire in America, and another at Smyrna; a steam-boat explosion on the Mississippi; an abortive poor-law inquiry in a Midland county; a terrible inundation somewhere abroad; and the discovery of a railway swindle in London; which will give rise to a grand _battue_ of "stags," directed by the _Siva_, or destroying engine of the "Times."

A new line of railway, direct to Windsor, will be sanctioned the earliest in the Session; in consequence, those who make a pilgrim's progress to the old station will find it literally the Slough of Despond.

A bold member, moving that the statues for the new Senate of the sovereigns of England shall go up by order of merit rather than succession, will secure a tolerably good perch for Oliver Cromwell; and it is not unlikely that Byron's statue will take its place in Poet's Corner at the same time.

Two new steamers, the _Emmet_ and the _Earwig_, will run between London Bridge and Chelsea six times for a penny. They will be greatly crowded in consequence.

SERIOUS RAILWAY ACCIDENT.—A train will get off the line and run down an embankment into a farm-yard.

MARCH.

Several legal gentlemen will be expelled from one mess to get into another, for reporting cases; a plain statement of facts of any kind being against all professional morality. The press will, in consequence, turn round upon the bar; and the bar will get pretty considerably the worst of it. The inscription, "Tongues sold here," will be transferred from ham and beef shops to the chambers of honourable barristers. Such reform will be worked that a leading advocate will, perhaps, hang himself upon finding he has undertaken a wrong cause. The "Andover Commission" will be revived as the "Underhand Inquiry."

Von Lumley will arrive from the Continent with a variety of singing birds, who will pipe Norma, Puritani, Don Giovanni, duets, arias, &c.

TERRIBLE RAILWAY ACCIDENT.—A train going too fast will run over another going too slow, from neglect of signals.

APRIL.

The Shakspeare Jubilee Festival will be celebrated at the "only national theatre" on the 23rd, with the following performances:—

"The Grand Opera of 'HAMLET:' the Music by Mr. Balfe; the _libretto_ by Messrs. Shakspeare and Bunn.

"After which, a Divertissement; in which Mr. Delferier and Madame Giubelei will, as Romeo and Juliet, dance the Capulet Polka. Grotesque Pas de Caliban, from the 'TEMPEST,' by Mr. Wieland; and the celebrated Desperate Combat from 'RICHARD THE THIRD,' by Messrs. T. Matthews and W. H. Payne.

"The whole to conclude with a New Grand Pantomime of 'HARLEQUIN MACBETH; OR, THE MAGIC CALDRON AND WALKING WOOD.'"

From the Opera, the following song may be predicted to be sung by the first tenor, Hamlet:—

"TO BE, OR NOT TO BE."