A FLOATING RECOLLECTION.

In the year 1806, when the Asia East Indiaman was conveying a detachment of dragoons to Madras, the ship encountered very severe weather. Amongst the troops was a blithe "boy" named Pat Murphy, and he had also a pretty wife on board, who, instead of taking the roughs with the smooths, was continually upbraiding her husband. "Arrah, Pat, why did yez bring me here into this dark hole now? Oh! whirrasthrue and it's smashed and kilt entirely I'll be in regard o' the say-sickness and the kicking of the ship." "Och, cooshla-machree," returned Pat, trying to soften her, "rest aisy, darling. Shure an it was yerself as wanted to come and wouldn't stay behind. Small blame to you for that anyhow, seeing that Pat Murphy's the man as owns you. But rest aisy awhile, an it's the bright sun and the smooth wather we'll get, and go sailing away like a duck over a pond." "Oh, thin, Pat, but it's little feeling you've got for my misfortunate state," uttered Judy, as she burst into tears. "Never again shall I see the green-hill tops tinged with the goulden glory of the sun—never again shall I thravail free-footed through the bogs and over the moors. Oh! it's a dessolute woman I am this very day—och hone—och hone."

This sort of complaining was continually repeated, till the temper of the warm-hearted Irishman began to give way; but he struggled hard to bear up against her petulance and peevishness. One day, however, the gale increased to a downright hurricane—the ship had sprung a leak, the water was gaining on the pumps, the sea ran fearfully high, and it was evident, unless the storm abated, that the "Asia must yield to the war of elements and go down."

Pat, who had been relieved from the pumps, contrived to get below to see Judy, and was greeted with the usual reception. "Haven't I been a faithful and thrue wife to yez? and here I am smothered with the say-sickness, an' the noise and the bother!" "An' how can I help it, Judy?" remonstrated Pat. "Shure an I've done my best, and been a dootiful husband. I carn't conthrol the say or the ship as I would a horse upon the turf—long life to it—what would you have?" Judy, however, still continued her clamour, till Pat's patience was at length worn completely out, and he voiciferated in no very gentle voice, "Och, thin, howld your peace, woman; is it meself as you'd be breaking the heart of afore I'm dead? Arrah, rest aisy with yer tongue!"

At this moment, a heavy sea struck the ship on the bows, ranged fore and aft, and rushed down every cavity, causing considerable confusion. Judy shrieked and cried out, "Oh! Pat, an why did yez bring me here?" Pat, who really thought the ship was sinking, turned round, and exclaimed with vehemence, "Arrah, howld yer bodther, woman—you'll be a widdaw to-night."

This terrible announcement of her becoming a widow silenced poor Judy; and before Pat was summoned to renew his labour at the pumps,she had thrown her arms about his neck, and in loving accents implored him to avert so dreadful a calamity. The storm abated—fine weather returned—Judy grew more accustomed to the ship, but ever afterwards went by the name of "Pat Murphy's widow;" and it was nothing uncommon to hear both soldiers and sailors calling out, "Pat, Pat Murphy, your widow wants you."The Old Sailor.

SHEER TYRANNY.Cropping a poor wanderer, who has slept onenight in the Croydon workhouse, before he isliberated in the morning.SHEER TENDERNESS.Cropping a long-haired bacchanal, convictedat the Mansion-house of drunkenness,instead of fining him.

SHEER TYRANNY.

Cropping a poor wanderer, who has slept onenight in the Croydon workhouse, before he isliberated in the morning.

SHEER TENDERNESS.

Cropping a long-haired bacchanal, convictedat the Mansion-house of drunkenness,instead of fining him.

Air:—"Oh the Roast-Beef of Old England!"

O we're very well fed,So we must not repine,Though turkey we'vecut,And likewise the chine;But, oh! once a-yearWe should just like to dineOn the roast-beef of Old England,Ohthe old English roast-beef!O, the gruel's delicious,The taters divine—And our very small beerIs uncommonlyfine;But with us we thinkYou would not like to dine,Without the roast-beef of Old England,Ohthe old English roast-beef!Our soup's very good,We really must own,But of what it is madeArn't very well known;So, without any soupWe would much rather dineOn the roast-beef of Old England,Ohthe old English roast-beef!Mince-pies they are nice,And plum-pudding is fine.But we'd give up them bothFor "ribs" or "Sir Line,"If for once in the yearWe could but just dineOn the roast-beef of Old England,Ohthe old English roast-beef!"Roast beef and plum-pudding"Is true Christmas fare,But they think that ourmoralsSuch dainties won't bear.Oh! oh! it is plainNe'er more shall we shareIn the roast-beef of Old England,Ohthe old English roast-beef.Still long life to the QueenIs the toast we'd be at;With a health to the Prince,May he live and grow fat!And may all under himHave abundance ofthat—What?—Why the roast-beef of England,Ohthe old English roast-beef!

O we're very well fed,So we must not repine,Though turkey we'vecut,And likewise the chine;But, oh! once a-yearWe should just like to dineOn the roast-beef of Old England,Ohthe old English roast-beef!

O we're very well fed,

So we must not repine,

Though turkey we'vecut,

And likewise the chine;

But, oh! once a-year

We should just like to dine

On the roast-beef of Old England,

Ohthe old English roast-beef!

O, the gruel's delicious,The taters divine—And our very small beerIs uncommonlyfine;But with us we thinkYou would not like to dine,Without the roast-beef of Old England,Ohthe old English roast-beef!

O, the gruel's delicious,

The taters divine—

And our very small beer

Is uncommonlyfine;

But with us we think

You would not like to dine,

Without the roast-beef of Old England,

Ohthe old English roast-beef!

Our soup's very good,We really must own,But of what it is madeArn't very well known;So, without any soupWe would much rather dineOn the roast-beef of Old England,Ohthe old English roast-beef!

Our soup's very good,

We really must own,

But of what it is made

Arn't very well known;

So, without any soup

We would much rather dine

On the roast-beef of Old England,

Ohthe old English roast-beef!

Mince-pies they are nice,And plum-pudding is fine.But we'd give up them bothFor "ribs" or "Sir Line,"If for once in the yearWe could but just dineOn the roast-beef of Old England,Ohthe old English roast-beef!

Mince-pies they are nice,

And plum-pudding is fine.

But we'd give up them both

For "ribs" or "Sir Line,"

If for once in the year

We could but just dine

On the roast-beef of Old England,

Ohthe old English roast-beef!

"Roast beef and plum-pudding"Is true Christmas fare,But they think that ourmoralsSuch dainties won't bear.Oh! oh! it is plainNe'er more shall we shareIn the roast-beef of Old England,Ohthe old English roast-beef.

"Roast beef and plum-pudding"

Is true Christmas fare,

But they think that ourmorals

Such dainties won't bear.

Oh! oh! it is plain

Ne'er more shall we share

In the roast-beef of Old England,

Ohthe old English roast-beef.

Still long life to the QueenIs the toast we'd be at;With a health to the Prince,May he live and grow fat!And may all under himHave abundance ofthat—What?—Why the roast-beef of England,Ohthe old English roast-beef!

Still long life to the Queen

Is the toast we'd be at;

With a health to the Prince,

May he live and grow fat!

And may all under him

Have abundance ofthat—

What?—Why the roast-beef of England,

Ohthe old English roast-beef!

BY A. BIRD.

A CONTESTED ELECTION AT ROME.

There are, I doubt not, thousands and thousands subject to our most gracious and protesting Queen—"Gentlemen of England"—ay, and Ladies too—"who live at home at ease," and fancy, poor simpletons! that the age of miracles is past. No such thing. Once in every hundred years there is in the Everlasting City a regular contested election in honour of the dead, each member being returned, as it were, to earth, in the character of saint, not as with the elect of this world, for words and promises of things to be, but for miracles done and recorded.

The number of seats devoted to the saints is generally supposed to be three hundred and sixty-five, that is to say, one for every day in the year. And if we refer to the earliest period when first

"The Romans had a happy knack,Of cooking up an almanack,"

"The Romans had a happy knack,

Of cooking up an almanack,"

we shall find that every seat was occupied. Where then, it may be asked, are the addenda to be placed at the end of each century? The question is by no means easy of solution.

There is, to be sure, leap-year, with its odd day in February; yet this would only do for a bit of a saint, and coming like a comet at stated intervals, I incline to think that when "the Devil a saint would be," he takes that odd day to himself, and walks the earth with all the glories of his tail, an appendage which no true saint would acknowledge. But, as the French found room for "St. Napoleon," even while alive, I can only suppose that the longest day will hold more than the shortest, and any day hold more than one saint. When St. Nap was elected, it is clear some smaller saint must have been put in the background, and thus he remained—as we should say of an ex-minister—"out of place and out of favour," until the Bourbons returned, and included the ex-saint in their own restoration.

Leaving, however, this knotty point to the Pope and his cardinals, I come at once to St. Peter's and the fact. It was in the merry month of May 1839 that I last entered that temple, alike unrivalled for its majesty and beauty—would that I had never seen it as I saw it then! The election was over, the chosen of one hundred years were decided upon, four new saints had been returned to earth; a fifth had been nominated, but after his claims had been duly canvassed, the votes were against him. An overwhelming majority declared that he had not performed sufficient miracles to be canonised, and his bones were doomed to rest in peace. Not so the successful candidates; their names were entered in the day-book of the Pope's elect, each saint and his miracle were put upon canvass, the likenesses were warranted, and the limner's art had done its best to show how saints in heaven were made by man on earth. There they were, only awaiting the ceremonies which were to confirm the intended honours, the chairing of themselves and deeds in effigy—(if thus we may speak of hanging those huge pictures on high)—the celebration of mass, the roaring of cannon from the Castle of St.Angelo—psalmody, such as Rome alone can boast—processions wherein grandeur, littleness, gorgeous wealth, torches, and tinsel, struggle for mastery, yet form in the whole a most striking and impressive inconsistency.

Be our creed what it may, whether we approve or whether we condemn, our feelings are carried away by the feelings of the many, the thousands upon thousands who, with one accord, bare the head and bend the knee, when their Prince of the whole Christian world, their Pope, "Nostra Papa," appears! Jews, Turks, and Infidels must "off with their hat"—if they have one—but with the most rigid there is also an involuntary inclination to bend the knee.

Who, unmoved, can watch a Roman procession wending its way towards the high altar, till it pauses beneath their Holy of Holies, the wondrous dome of St. Peter's! a strange anomaly, I grant—venerable priests of Christ, tottering beneath the weight of gold embroidered on their backs; cardinals, proud and stately, wearing their scarlet hats as knights who bore the helmet of the church; beautiful boys, with angel wings upon their shoulders; censers, waving clouds of incense, lending its perfume to the air, and, like a spirit loath to quit this lower world, wheeling, hovering, slowly rising in graceful circles of fantastic flight till it mingles with the sky, and is seen no more.

"'Tis gone!" and as it passed I caught the costume of the warlike Swiss; the guards of him, the Pope who preaches peace on earth. I saw their nodding plumes of raven black, with scarlet tuft—their glittering halberts of an age gone by—their ruffs, rosettes, their belts of buff (the perfection of a painter's picturesque), armed and covered in the House of God!—Yes, this, and much untold, of that which forms a Romish procession at Rome, strange and anomalous though it be, is most striking and impressive as a whole.

The mere recollection has carried me with it, and turned aside for the moment the malediction I contemplated on the dressing up of St. Peter's. Would, I repeat, that I had never seen it! to gild the virgin gold were a venial blunder in comparison—it would still be gold, and look like gold; but to veil the majesty, the stern uncompromising beauty of St. Peter's columns with flaunting silk, to ornament perfection with tinsel hangings and festoons, this was indeed a profanation in honour of the saints elect.

St. Peter's, with me, had been a passion from the moment I first looked upon its wondrous beauty: it was love, love at first sight, but growing with my growth—a passion, holy and enduring, such as can be only felt when we stand in the presence of fancied perfection. Judge, then, of my horror when I saw this desecration!—but there is no blank so dark that we may not find a ray of light. I bless the saints for one thing—they taught me how to build a brace of angels, and in so doing they taught me the stupendous proportions of that temple, which, though built by human hands, has in it a sublimity which awes and humbles the proud heart of little man. Nay, the very portraits of their very saints diverted my angry thoughts by teaching the self-same lesson. There was one—a monstrous ugly fellow—who, preparatory to his chairing, was left to lean against a column. The proportions of this miracle-worker were so gigantic, that I deemed it some mighty caricature, painted on the main-sail of a man-of-war, till, looking at his fellows raised to their proper elevation, they seemed in their oval frames but medallions stuck upon the walls!

The angel manufactory, however, was still more striking. To give effect to the intended ceremonies, the head decorator suggested a brace of angels, to be placed on each side of the nave of St. Peter's, behind the altar. The lazy cardinals nodded assent, and the question was carriednem. con.They do all things well at Rome in honour of the church, even their greatest follies are on a scale of grandeur—their fireworks, fountains, illuminations, are all unrivalled—so are their angels, when they make them. First, an able artist is employed to sketch a design, then able workmen to build, painters to paint, and lastly, robe-makers to clothe the naked.

The construction is curious: a skeleton figure, after the late fashion ofsingle-line figures, is prepared with a strong rod of iron, which is fixed into a large block of wood, and this may be termed the building foundation. The next step—oh! most anti-angelic notion! is to collect hay-bands (enough for a hay-market), and therewith to mould the limbs and body. It were vain to attempt, by words, to describe the ludicrous effect produced; but, by the aid of the foregoing cut, it may be conceived. Good-bye to sublimity for that day!omne ignotum pro magnifico—it never answers to go behind the scenes; and if it be true that in some cases "ignorance is bliss," how much more truly do the Latin words tell us that "ignorance is ever the key-stone to sublimity."

It is true, that as I looked upon the gigantic saint, as yet unhung, and compared him with his fellows, the elect on high; as I watched this monster of miracles, raised by pulleys till he dwindled into a pretty miniature; as I saw the pigmy workmen wheeling the huge angels to their places,—it must be confessed that I had found "a sliding scale," which, in this case, answered admirably. It enabled me to measure the proportions of the stupendous pile which towered above me to judge of its most beautiful symmetry, with greater force and stronger conviction than I had ever felt whilst gazing on the children which support the holy water, the sweet babes with arms as thick as the thigh of man!

That knowledge was interesting—the angel-making was amusing, but the solemn tone of mind suited to St. Peter's was destroyed. In vain I stood before the lions of Canova; the one which slept could not inspire the repose which breathed through the sleeping marble; the one which watched, the sleepless sentinel, guarding the ashes of the dead, even this could not scare the demon of ridicule that played on hallowed ground. I turned to the mosaics, those fadeless pictures which seem as painted for eternity; no, not these—not Guido's Archangel, that wondrous type of heavenly beauty in the form of man—of power to conquer with the will to do—not even this could tame the merry sin within me. I stood before that statue which frenzied with undying passion the priest who gazed upon its beauties—the emblem of "Justice," but so lovely in its nakedness, that man, impure and imperfect, became a worshipper, and obliged the Pope to hide Justice from his children. The ridiculous prevailed; I smiled to think that the form as well as eyes of "Justice at Rome" must be hid from sight. And I laughed outright at woman's curiosity, when I thought how Lady See —— prevailed upon the Pope to lift the veil and show her the form which made a Pygmalion of a priest!

The demon was in me for the day; it had been raised by—to use a fashionable word—the desecration of the temple, and nothing could lay the evil spirit. I turned to my hotel, ordered horses for the morrow, and fled.

My course was set for Naples. As I traversed the Pontine Marshes, cheek by jowl with the sluggish stream which the pride of Popes has wedded to the road and given to the traveller's eye, what a contrast did these waters, this cold, dark, silent chain of "Mal-aria," present to the stream of life, the roar of cannon, the music, festival, and holiday, which fancy pictured in the Eternal City! But the comparison was in favour of the waters; there is, thought I, at least some use in these, for, as they drag their weary length along, death, the tyrant, fettered and subdued, is borne on their course from plains where once his rule was absolute.

Filled with these reflections, and sometimes dreaming that I saw the captive monarch in a phantom ship, with skeleton crew—sometimes that I heard the sullen splash of muffled oars; thus dreaming and reflecting, the journey seemed short to Naples; and there it was I chanced upon "A Miracle of Modern Days," which, however, must be reserved until the Omnibus shall start again.

It is the cherished wish of our heart, more especially at the moment when we are entering upon a new-year, and opening a fresh account with Time, to be at peace with all men; but Col. Talker—(ishis name Talker or Walker?)—has certainly done his utmost to uproot and scatter to the winds this pacific feeling. His conduct at the office, the day after our last publication, was extremely violent; and his threats intermingled with terrible oaths, such as "Dash my buttons," "Burn my wig," &c., were quite discreditable to him. And all on account of the dozen words we have said ofhim—for he is now cool enough on the score of Mrs. T.'s supposed grievance. This is the way with all your gallant champions! We hope Col. W. has not torn his shirt frill, nor injured his umbrella past repair. We hope too that he is not a confirmed duellist.

Trusting that we shall yet live to be on amicable terms with Col. W., we shall now describe his gallant conduct in escorting Mrs. Toddles to Bow, to spend their Christmas eve in that favoured vicinity, her dear native place, which, it appears, she has been vainly endeavouring to reach; these last nine months. Resolved however to have nothing to do with an "omnibus," they found out one of the old-fashioned stages, but, being too late (as usual!) to secure inside places, were compelled to go outside. Mrs. T. and the colonel seated themselves very comfortably in the basket or dickey. Scarcely however had they advanced on their journey beyond Aldgate pump, when, lamentable to relate, the dickey, affected by old age or by a violent jolt, suddenly separated itself from the coach, and down it came crash with Mrs. T. into the road; the gallant colonel springing to the roof as nimbly as a lamplighter. The feelings of both, as Hamlet remarks, may be more easily conceived than described. Happily however no serious injury was sustained by Mrs. T. beyond a slight fracture of the bonnet, not likely to prove fatal to its shape; her dress cap too which she was carrying in paper was also a little crumpled, and there was a crash of something in her pocket which, she most positively alleged, wasnota bottle. Colonel W., as soon as the coach could be stopped, descended and returned to the scene of the accident in time to snatch that lady from the risks to which her delicacy was exposed, which was shocked only to the extent of proclaiming a fact previously known perhaps to many, that she wore black stockings. We are trulyhappy to state that after a little delay they reached their place of destination together in perfect safety; and the very best security which we can offer to the friends of Mrs. Toddles that she suffered nothing from the untoward occurrence, is, that she was enabled in the course of the delightful evening which she spent, to take part in a cotillon with her friend the gallant Colonel; and when they were last seen, they were dancing away gloriously together.

Though short thou art in stature, Sarah dear,Thou shalt not be looked over by the world;—Nor though an antique bonnet thou dost wearOver, perchance, a wig, where hair once curled!Thy Lightfoot is beneath the grassy mound,And thou wilt see thy Heavisides no more,—Loaded with lead, thy feet, by age, are found,And thy sides lean to what they were before:—Child of a Gunn! (that went off long ago)—Lightfoot's and Heaviside's surviving half!!Relief of Toddles!!! all thy friends well knowThy worth, and say, without intent to chaff,"Sarah will be, and is (though suitors crave)"A widow still,—and Toddles to the grave!"V.D.L.

Though short thou art in stature, Sarah dear,

Thou shalt not be looked over by the world;—

Nor though an antique bonnet thou dost wear

Over, perchance, a wig, where hair once curled!

Thy Lightfoot is beneath the grassy mound,

And thou wilt see thy Heavisides no more,—

Loaded with lead, thy feet, by age, are found,

And thy sides lean to what they were before:—

Child of a Gunn! (that went off long ago)—

Lightfoot's and Heaviside's surviving half!!

Relief of Toddles!!! all thy friends well know

Thy worth, and say, without intent to chaff,

"Sarah will be, and is (though suitors crave)

"A widow still,—and Toddles to the grave!"

V.D.L.

Mr. George Cruikshankhere concludes the first volume of his "Omnibus," by wishing all his friends and readers a "happy new year." An arrangement entered into, a twelvemonth ago, withMr. Harrison Ainsworth, and now resumed, with a view to its being carried into effect on the 1st of February, prevents the re-appearance of the "Omnibus" upon the plan of monthly numbers; but the estimation and success it has obtained, encourage him to pursue the object with which he started, by presenting his second volume in the form of an Annual. That object was, to produce aFireside Miscellany—here it is; and if he and his literary associates herein should meet the reader as agreeably in an Annual, as in a Monthly form, he trusts it will be

AS BROAD AS IT'S LONG.

FOOTNOTES:[1]An exact representation of it will embellish a future "Omnibus."[2]The printer's devil had taken upon himself to make the following addition to these lines:—Blind Thamyris, and blind Mæonides, (Something like Milton).Pursue the triumph and partake the gale! (Rather like Pope).Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees, (Why, thisisShakspeare).To point a moral, or adorn a tale. (Oh! it's Dr. Johnson).To the succeeding lines the same authority had added in succession the names of Gray Wordsworth, Campbell, and so on throughout the poem. What does he mean? Does he mean to say he has ever met with any one of these linesbefore?[3]Burke.[4]Our respectable correspondent must have visited the English Opera in his younger days, or else Charles Mathews must have paid a visit to Crooksley. He must also have seen the printed addresses circulated lately in Deptford during a contest for the office of gravedigger, where the proceedings were as outrageous as these that he describes.[5]The liquids are "l, m, n, r."—Lindley Murray.[6]The bumkin is the spar that projects out from the stern to haul the mizen-sheet home.—Naval Dictionary.Here, however, it is probable that adouble entendrewas meant.[7]In No. CXLIII. of theUnited Service Journal, Sir Thomas Ussher has given an interesting account of the embarkation and conveyance of Napoleon from Frejus to Elba, in which we find the following passage:—"On arriving alongside, I immediately went up the side to receive the Emperor on the quarter-deck. He took his hat off, and bowed to the officers who were assembled on the deck. He then immediately went forward to the forecastle amongst the people, and I found him there talking to some of the men, conversing with those among them who understood a little French."[8]In another part of the same article, in theUnited Service Journal, Sir Thomas Ussher says—"This evening a small trading vessel passed near us, I ordered her to be examined; and as Napoleon was anxious to know the news, I desired the Captain to be sent on board. Napoleon was on the quarter-deck—he had a great coat and round hat on." At another place, after their arrival at Elba—"At eight, the Emperor asked me for a boat, as he intended taking a walk on the opposite side of the bay. He wore a great coat and a round hat."[9]By this name he called the Houses of Parliament.[10]A few months before Mr. Dibdin's decease, and at the intercession of some friends, he received 100l.out of the Queen's Bounty Fund. But he has left a widow and young family, for whom no provision whatever has been made.[11]Not attached to our establishment.[12]For the First, vide Lane'sArabian Nights,—"Abul Hassan, or the Sleeper Awakened."[13]Little sorrow at parting, as the man said to the bad shilling.[14]Travellers see strange things.[15]Not long since a man, heedless or drunk, fell asleep upon a railroad; the train arrived, and literally cut him to pieces. "I suppose, sir, we had betterget the man together?" said a labourer, soon after the accident had occurred. "By all means," answered he in authority. Death is but death, we allow; but death by the railroad is not only wholesale but frightfully terrific. To avoid the chance of such accidents, when possible, is an imperative duty, and every road which crosses arailroadshould beover or under it. We need only refer to two recent accidents caused by the want of such prevention.[16]The reader may use his own judgment as to the chronological accuracy of the foregoing tale. It is a fact that Jones and Nelson were both equipped by the same person, Richardson, and that the king's pilot took Horatio down to Wapping for that purpose.[17]I believe it was the same room in which Fauntleroy was confined, previously to trial.[18]Vide "the industrious fleas"—play-acting elephants, &c., &c., &c.[19]This, I fear, is a poetic fiction, but nearer the truth than usual—the wire suspension bridge is at Hammersmith.[20]Vide Capt. Tayler's Prospectus for floating breakwaters—an invention which really promises to save our ships and purses too.[21]Taste and try the "granulated potato," which in its way, promises much! I have seen a letter from the Niger Expedition wherein it is praised up to the African skies.[22]This may be seen in action on the Surry side of the river opposite Hungerford Market—that is, when you can get there without being drowned in the floods.[23]This will was proved in the archdeaconry of Huntingdon, Sept. 18, 1724.[24]It is a strange anomaly in the present law, that, where two or more insane persons are confined, a license is required for the asylum; but if only one person is so confined, the keeper does not need a license. This might be remedied without touching private houses.[25]Suggested by the refusal of the Poor-law Commissioners to allow any charitable person to send in supplies of roast-beef and plum-pudding upon Christmas day to the inmates of the Union workhouses.

[1]An exact representation of it will embellish a future "Omnibus."

[2]The printer's devil had taken upon himself to make the following addition to these lines:—Blind Thamyris, and blind Mæonides, (Something like Milton).Pursue the triumph and partake the gale! (Rather like Pope).Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees, (Why, thisisShakspeare).To point a moral, or adorn a tale. (Oh! it's Dr. Johnson).To the succeeding lines the same authority had added in succession the names of Gray Wordsworth, Campbell, and so on throughout the poem. What does he mean? Does he mean to say he has ever met with any one of these linesbefore?

[2]The printer's devil had taken upon himself to make the following addition to these lines:—

Blind Thamyris, and blind Mæonides, (Something like Milton).Pursue the triumph and partake the gale! (Rather like Pope).Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees, (Why, thisisShakspeare).To point a moral, or adorn a tale. (Oh! it's Dr. Johnson).

Blind Thamyris, and blind Mæonides, (Something like Milton).

Pursue the triumph and partake the gale! (Rather like Pope).

Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees, (Why, thisisShakspeare).

To point a moral, or adorn a tale. (Oh! it's Dr. Johnson).

To the succeeding lines the same authority had added in succession the names of Gray Wordsworth, Campbell, and so on throughout the poem. What does he mean? Does he mean to say he has ever met with any one of these linesbefore?

[3]Burke.

[4]Our respectable correspondent must have visited the English Opera in his younger days, or else Charles Mathews must have paid a visit to Crooksley. He must also have seen the printed addresses circulated lately in Deptford during a contest for the office of gravedigger, where the proceedings were as outrageous as these that he describes.

[5]The liquids are "l, m, n, r."—Lindley Murray.

[6]The bumkin is the spar that projects out from the stern to haul the mizen-sheet home.—Naval Dictionary.Here, however, it is probable that adouble entendrewas meant.

[7]In No. CXLIII. of theUnited Service Journal, Sir Thomas Ussher has given an interesting account of the embarkation and conveyance of Napoleon from Frejus to Elba, in which we find the following passage:—"On arriving alongside, I immediately went up the side to receive the Emperor on the quarter-deck. He took his hat off, and bowed to the officers who were assembled on the deck. He then immediately went forward to the forecastle amongst the people, and I found him there talking to some of the men, conversing with those among them who understood a little French."

[8]In another part of the same article, in theUnited Service Journal, Sir Thomas Ussher says—"This evening a small trading vessel passed near us, I ordered her to be examined; and as Napoleon was anxious to know the news, I desired the Captain to be sent on board. Napoleon was on the quarter-deck—he had a great coat and round hat on." At another place, after their arrival at Elba—"At eight, the Emperor asked me for a boat, as he intended taking a walk on the opposite side of the bay. He wore a great coat and a round hat."

[9]By this name he called the Houses of Parliament.

[10]A few months before Mr. Dibdin's decease, and at the intercession of some friends, he received 100l.out of the Queen's Bounty Fund. But he has left a widow and young family, for whom no provision whatever has been made.

[11]Not attached to our establishment.

[12]For the First, vide Lane'sArabian Nights,—"Abul Hassan, or the Sleeper Awakened."

[13]Little sorrow at parting, as the man said to the bad shilling.

[14]Travellers see strange things.

[15]Not long since a man, heedless or drunk, fell asleep upon a railroad; the train arrived, and literally cut him to pieces. "I suppose, sir, we had betterget the man together?" said a labourer, soon after the accident had occurred. "By all means," answered he in authority. Death is but death, we allow; but death by the railroad is not only wholesale but frightfully terrific. To avoid the chance of such accidents, when possible, is an imperative duty, and every road which crosses arailroadshould beover or under it. We need only refer to two recent accidents caused by the want of such prevention.

[16]The reader may use his own judgment as to the chronological accuracy of the foregoing tale. It is a fact that Jones and Nelson were both equipped by the same person, Richardson, and that the king's pilot took Horatio down to Wapping for that purpose.

[17]I believe it was the same room in which Fauntleroy was confined, previously to trial.

[18]Vide "the industrious fleas"—play-acting elephants, &c., &c., &c.

[19]This, I fear, is a poetic fiction, but nearer the truth than usual—the wire suspension bridge is at Hammersmith.

[20]Vide Capt. Tayler's Prospectus for floating breakwaters—an invention which really promises to save our ships and purses too.

[21]Taste and try the "granulated potato," which in its way, promises much! I have seen a letter from the Niger Expedition wherein it is praised up to the African skies.

[22]This may be seen in action on the Surry side of the river opposite Hungerford Market—that is, when you can get there without being drowned in the floods.

[23]This will was proved in the archdeaconry of Huntingdon, Sept. 18, 1724.

[24]It is a strange anomaly in the present law, that, where two or more insane persons are confined, a license is required for the asylum; but if only one person is so confined, the keeper does not need a license. This might be remedied without touching private houses.

[25]Suggested by the refusal of the Poor-law Commissioners to allow any charitable person to send in supplies of roast-beef and plum-pudding upon Christmas day to the inmates of the Union workhouses.

Transcriber notes:P.vi. '372' changed to '272' which is the correct page number.P.v. '144' changed to '124' which is the correct page number.P.16. 'filagree' changed to 'filigree'.P.21. 'naratives' changed to 'narratives'.P.43. 'though' changed to 'thought'.P.49. 'suffiicently' changed to 'sufficiently'P.84. 'defeaning' changed to 'deafening'.P.184. 'waiscoat' changed to 'waistcoat'.P.195. 'pourtrayed' changed to 'portrayed'.P.224. 'duetts' changed to 'duets'.P.226. 'neighbourhoood' changed to 'neighbourhood'.P.250. 'propects' changed to 'prospects'.p.259. 'Jemina' changed to 'Jemima'.P.278. 'riggled' changed to 'wriggled'.P.292. 'your are' changed to 'you are'.Fixed various punctuation.

Transcriber notes:

P.vi. '372' changed to '272' which is the correct page number.

P.v. '144' changed to '124' which is the correct page number.

P.16. 'filagree' changed to 'filigree'.

P.21. 'naratives' changed to 'narratives'.

P.43. 'though' changed to 'thought'.

P.49. 'suffiicently' changed to 'sufficiently'

P.84. 'defeaning' changed to 'deafening'.

P.184. 'waiscoat' changed to 'waistcoat'.

P.195. 'pourtrayed' changed to 'portrayed'.

P.224. 'duetts' changed to 'duets'.

P.226. 'neighbourhoood' changed to 'neighbourhood'.

P.250. 'propects' changed to 'prospects'.

p.259. 'Jemina' changed to 'Jemima'.

P.278. 'riggled' changed to 'wriggled'.

P.292. 'your are' changed to 'you are'.

Fixed various punctuation.

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