A MOVING SCENE.

An indignant looking woman.AN INDIGNANT HOUSEMAID.

AN INDIGNANT HOUSEMAID.

The present occupants of the government premises in Downing-street, whose leases will expire in a few days, are busily employed packing up their small affairs before the new tenants come into possession. It is a pitiful sight to behold these poor people taking leave of their softly-stuffed seats, their rocking-chairs, their footstools, slippers, cushions, and all those little official comforts of which they nave been so cruelly deprived. That man must, indeed, be hard-hearted who would refuse to sympathise with their sorrows, or to uplift his voice in the doleful Whig chorus, when he hears—

The Jack, King, and Queen of Hearts with tears running down their faces.THE PACK IN FULL CRY.

THE PACK IN FULL CRY.

[pg 36]

When, in a melo-drama, the bride is placing her foot upon the first step of the altar, and Ruffiaano tears her away, far from the grasp of her lover; when a rich uncle in a farce dies to oblige a starving author in a garret; when, two rivals duellise with toasting-forks; when such things are plotted and acted in the theatre, hypercritics murmur at their improbability; but compare them with the haps of the drama off the stage, and they become the veriest of commonplaces. This is a world of change: the French have invaded Algiers, British arms are doing mortal damage in the Celestial Empire, Poulett Thomson has gone over to Canada, and oh! wonder of wonders! Astley’s has removed to Sadler’s Wells!! The pyrotechnics of the former have gone on a visit to the hydraulics of the latter, the red fire of Astley’s has come in contact with the real water of the Wells, yet, marvel superlative! the unnatural meeting has been successful—there has not been a singlehiss.

What was the use of Sir Hugh Middleton bringing the New River to a “head,” or of King Jamie buying shares in the speculation on purpose to supply Sadler’s Wells with real water, if it is to be drained off from under the stage to make way for horses? Shade of Dibdin! ghost of Grimaldi! what would you have said in your day? To be sure ye were guilty of pony races: they took placeoutsidethe theatre, but within the walls, in the verycellaof the aquatic temple, till now, never! We wonder ye do not rise up and “pluck bright Honner from the vasty deep” of his own tank.

Sawdust at Sadler’s Wells! What next, Mr. Merriman?

A silhouette standing on the back of a horse which is running in a circus ring.A JUDGE GOING THE CIRCUIT.

A JUDGE GOING THE CIRCUIT.

If Macready had been engaged for Clown, and set down to sing “hot codlins;” were Palmerston “secured” for Pierrot, or Lord Monteagle for Jim Crow, who would have wondered? But to saddle “The Wells” with horses—profanity unparalleled!

Spitefully predicting failure from this terrible declension of the drama, we went, in a mood intensely ill-natured, to witness how the “Horse of the Pyrenees” would behave himself at Sadler’s Wells. From the piece so called we anticipated no amusement; we thought the regular company would make but sorry equestrians, and, like the King of Westphalia’s hussars, would prove totally inefficient, from not being habituated to mount on horseback. Happily we were mistaken; nothing could possiblygobetter than both the animals and the piece. The actors acquitted themselves manfully, even including the horses. The mysterious Arab threw no damp over the performances, for he was personated by Mr. Dry. The little Saracen was performed so well byle petit Ducrow, that we longed to seemoreof him. The desperate battle fought by about sixteen supernumeraries at the pass of Castle Moura, was quite as sanguinary as ever: the combats were perfection—the glory of the red fire was nowise dimmed! It was magic, yes, itwasmagic! Mr. Widdicomb was there!!

Thinking of magic and Mr. Widdicomb (of whom dark hints of identification with the wandering Jew have been dropped—who,we know, taught Prince George of Denmark horsemanship—who is mentioned by Addison in the “Spectator,” by Dr. Johnson in the “Rambler,” and helped to put out each of the three fires that have happened at Astley’s during the last two centuries), brought by these considerations to a train of mind highly susceptible of supernatural agency, we visited—

the illustrious professor ofPhœnixsistography, and other branches of the black art, the names of which are as mysterious as their performance.

One only specimen of his prowess convinced us of his supernatural talents. He politely solicited the loan of a bank-note—he was not choice as to the amount or bank of issue. “It may be,” saith the play-bill, “a Bank of England or provincial note, for any sum from five pounds to one thousand.” His is better magic than Owen Glendower’s, for the note “did come when he did call it!” for a confiding individual in the boxes (dress circle of course) actually did lend him, the Wizard, a cool hundred! Conceive the power, in a metaphysical sense, the conjuror must have had over the lender’s mind! Was it animal magnetism?—was it terror raised by his extraordinary performances, that spirited the cash out of the pocket of the man? who, perhaps, thought that such supernatural talentsmightbe otherwise employed against his very existence, thus occupying his perturbed soul with the alternative, “Your money or your life!”

This subject is deeply interesting to actors out of engagements, literary men, and people who “have seen better days”—individuals who have brought this species of conjuration to a high state of perfection. It is a new and important chapter in the “art of borrowing.” We perceive in the Wizard’s advertisements he takes pupils, and offers to make them proficient in any of his delusions at a guinea per trick. We intend to put ourselves under his instructions for the bank-note trick, the moment we can borrow one-pound-one for that purpose.

Besides this, the Wizard does a variety of things which made our hair stand on end, even while reading their description in his play-bill. We did not see him perform them. There was no occasion—the bank-note trick convinced us—for the man who can borrow a hundred pounds whenever he wants it can do anything.

Everybody ought to go and see him. Young ladies having a taste for sentimental-looking men, who wear their hairà la jeune France; natural historians who want to see guinea-pigs fly; gamesters who would like to be made “fly” to a card trick or two;connoisseurs, who wish to see how plum-pudding may be made in hats, will all be gratified by a visit to the Adelphi.

We heard the “Macbeth choruses” exquisitely performed, and saw the concluding combat furiously fought at this theatre. This was all, appertaining unto Macbeth in which we could detect a near approach to the meaning and purpose of the text, except the performance of theQueen, by Mrs. H. Vining, who seemed to understand the purport of the words she had to speak, and was, consequently, inoffensive—a rare merit when Shakspere is attempted on the other side of the Thames.

The qualifications demanded of an actor by the usual run of Surrey audiences are lungs of undeniable efficiency, limbs which will admit of every variety of contortion, and a talent for broad-sword combats. How, then, could the new Macbeth—a Mr. Graham—think of choosing this theatre for his first appearance? His deportment is quiet, and his voice weak. It has, for instance, been usually thought, by most actors, that after a gentleman has murdered his sovereign, and caused a similar peccadillo to be committed upon his dearest friend, he would be, in some degree, agitated, and put out of the even tenor of his way, when the ghost of Banquo appears at the banquet. On such an occasion, John Kemble and Edmund Kean used to think it advisable to start with an expression of terror or horror; but Mr. Graham indulges us with a new reading. He carefully places one foot somewhat in advance of the other, and puts his hands together with the utmost deliberation. Again, he says mildly—

“Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!”

in a tone which would well befit the situation, if the text ran thus:—

“Dear me, how singular! Pray go!”

When he does attempt to vociferate, the asthmatic complaint under which he evidently labours prevents him from delivering the sentences in more copious instalments than the following:—

“I’ll fight—till—from my bones—my flesh—be hacked!”

We may be told that Mr. Graham cannot help his physical defects; but he can help being an actor, and, above all, choosing a part which requires great prowess of voice. In less trying characters, he may prove an acquisition; for he showed no lack of judgment nor of acquaintance with the conventional rules of the stage. At the Surrey, and in “Macbeth,” he is entirely out of his element. Above all, let him never play with Mr. Hicks, whose energy in the combat scene, and ranting all throughMacduff, brought down “Brayvo, Hicks!” in showers. The contrast is really too disadvantageous.

But the choruses! Never were they more bewitchingly performed. Leffler sings the part ofHecatebetter than his best friends could have anticipated; and, apart from the singing, Miss Romer’sactingin thesopranowitch, is picturesque in the extreme.

Fanny Elsler has made an enormous fortune by hertripsin America. Fewpocketsare so crammed byhopsas hers.

Oscar Byrne, professor of the College Hornpipe to the London University, had a long interview yesterday with Lord Palmerston to give his lordship lessons in the new waltz step. The master complains that, despite a long political life’s practice, the pupil does not turnquick enough. A change was, however, apparent at the last lesson, and his lordship is expected soon to be able to effect a complete rota-torymotion.

Mademoiselle Taglioni has left London for Germany, her fatherland, the country of herpas.

The society for the promotion of civilization have engaged Mr. Tom Matthews to teach the Hottentots the minuet-de-la-Cour and tumbling. He departs with the other missionaries when the hot weather sets in.

Charles Kean is becoming so popular with the jokers of the day, that we have serious thoughts of reserving a corner entirely to his use. Amongst the many hits at the young tragedian, the two following are not the worst:—

“Kean’s juvenile probation at Eton has done him good service with the aristocratic patrons of the drama,” remarked a lady to a witty friend of ours. “Yes, madam,” was the reply, “he seems to have gained byEatonwhat his father lost bydrinking.”

“How Webster puffs young Kean—he seems to monopolise the walls!” said Wakley to his colleague, Tom Duncombe. “Merely a realisation of the adage,—The weakest always goes to the wall,” replied the idol of Finsbury.

[pg 37]

“His name ’tis proper you should hear,’Twas Timothy Thady Mulligin:And whenever he finish’d his tumbler of punch,He always wished it full agin.”

“His name ’tis proper you should hear,

’Twas Timothy Thady Mulligin:

And whenever he finish’d his tumbler of punch,

He always wished it full agin.”

A pontificating man with his arms outstretched in the shape of a Y.

“You can have no idea, Jack, how deeply the loss of those venerated family retainers affected me.”

My uncle paused. I perceived that his eyes were full, and his tumbler empty; I therefore thought it advisable to divert his sorrow, by reminding him of our national proverb, “Iss farr doch na skeal11. A drink is better than a story..”

The old man’s eyes glistened with pleasure, as he grasped my hand, saying, “I see, Jack, you are worthy of your name. I was afraid that school-learning and college would have spoiled your taste for honest drinking; but the right drop is in you still, my boy. I mentioned,” continued he, resuming the thread of his story, “that my grandfather died, leaving to his heirs the topped boots, spurs, buckskin-breeches, and red waistcoat; but it is about the first-mentioned articles I mean especially to speak, as it was mainly through their respectable appearance that so many excellent matches and successful negotiations have been concluded by our family. If one of our cousins was about to wait on his landlord or his sweetheart, if he meditated taking a farm or a wife, ‘the tops’ were instantly brushed up, and put into requisition. Indeed, so fortunate had they been in all the matrimonial embassies to which they had been attached, that they acquired the name of ‘the wife-catchers,’ amongst the young fellows of our family. Something of the favour they enjoyed in the eyes of the fair sex should, perhaps, be attributed to the fact, that all the Duffys were fine strapping fellows, with legs that seemed made for setting off topped boots to the best advantage.

“Well, years rolled by; the sons of mothers whose hearts had been won by the irresistible buckism of Shawn Duffy’s boots, grew to maturity, and, in their turn, furbished up ‘the wife-catchers,’ when intent upon invading the affections of other rustic fair ones. At length these invaluable relics descended to me, as the representative of our family. It was ten years on last Lady-day since they came into my possession, and I am proud to say, that during that time the Duffys and ‘the wife-catchers’ lost nothing of the reputation they had previously gained, for no less than nineteen marriages and ninety-six christenings have occurred in our family during the time. I had every hope, too, that another chalk would have been added to the matrimonial tally, and that I should have the pleasure of completing the score before Lent; for, one evening, about four months ago, I received a note from your cousin Peter, informing me that he intended riding over, on the following Sunday, to Miss Peggy Haggarty’s, for the purpose of popping the question, and requesting of me the loan of the lucky ‘wife-catchers’ for the occasion.

“I need not tell you I was delighted to oblige poor Peter, who is the best fellow and surest shot in the county, and accordingly took down the boots from their peg in the hall. Through the negligence of the servant they have been hung up in a damp state, and had become covered with blue mould. In order to render them decent and comfortable for Peter, I placed them to dry inside the fender, opposite the fire; then lighting my pipe, I threw myself back in my chair, and as the fragrant fumes of the Indian weed curled and wreathed around my head, with half-closed eyes turned upon the renowned ‘wife-catchers,’ I indulged in delightful visions of future weddings and christenings, and recalled, with a sigh, the many pleasant ones I had witnessed in their company.”

Here my uncle applied the tumbler to his face to conceal his emotion. “I brought to mind,” he continued (ordering; in a parenthesis, another jug of boiling water), “I brought to mind the first time I had myself sported the envied ‘wife-catchers’ at thepattronof Moycullen. I was then as wild a blade as any in Connaught, and the ‘tops’ were in the prime of their beauty. In fact, I am not guilty of flattery or egotism in saying, that the girl who could then turn up her nose at the boots, or their master, must have been devilish hard to please. But though the hey-day of our youth had passed, I consoled myself with the reflection that with the help of the saints, and a pair of new soles, we might yet hold out to marry and bury three generations to come.

“As these anticipations passed through my mind, I was startled by a sudden rustling near me. I raised my eyes to discover the cause, and fancy my surprise when I beheld ‘the wife-catchers,’ by some marvellous power, suddenly become animated, gradually elongating and altering themselves, until they assumed the appearance of a couple of tall gentlemen clad in black, with extremely sallow countenances; and what was still more extraordinary, though they possessed separate bodies, their actions seemed to be governed by a single mind. I stared, and doubtless so would you, Jack, had you been in my place; but my astonishment was at its height, when the partners, keeping side by side as closely as the Siamese twins, stepped gracefully over the fender, and taking a seat directly opposite me, addressed me in a voice broken by an irrepressible chuckle—

“‘Here we are, old boy. Ugh, ugh, ugh, hoo!’

“So I perceive, gentlemen,” I replied, rather drily.

“‘You look a little alarmed—ugh, ugh, hoo, hoo, hoo!’ cried the pair. ‘Excuse our laughter—hoo! hoo! hoo! We mean no offence—none whatever. Ugh, hoo, hoo, hoo! We know we are somewhat changed in appearance.’

“I assured the transformed ‘tops’ I was delighted in being honoured with their company, under any shape; hoped they would make themselves quite at home, and take a glass with me in the friendly way. The friends shook their heads simultaneously, declining the offer; and he whom I had hitherto known as therightfoot, said in a grave voice:—

“‘We feel obliged, sir, but we never take anything but water; moreover, our business now is to relate to you some of the singular adventures of our life, convinced, that in your hand they will be given to the world in three handsome volumes.’

“My curiosity was instantly awakened, and I drew my chair closer to my communicative friends, who, stretching out their legs, prepared to commence their recital.”

“‘Hem!’ cried the right foot, who appeared to be the spokesman, clearing his throat and turning to his companion—‘hem! which of our adventures shall I relate first, brother?’

“‘Why,’ replied the left foot, after a few moments’ reflection, ‘I don’t think you can do better than tell our friend the story of Terence Duffy and the heiress.’

“‘Egad! you’re right, brother; that was a droll affair:’ and then, addressing himself to me, he continued, ‘You remember your Uncle Terence? A funny dog he was, and in his young days the very devil for lovemaking and fighting. Look here,’ said the speaker, pointing to a small circular perforation in his side, which had been neatly patched. ‘This mark, which I shall carry with me to my grave, I received in an affair between your uncle and Captain Donovan of the North Cork Militia. The captain one day asserted in the public library at Ballybreesthawn, that a certain Miss Biddy O’Brannigan had hair red as a carrot. This calumny was not long in reaching the ears of your Uncle Terence, who prided himself on being the champion of thesexin general, and of Miss Biddy O’Brannigan in particular. Accordingly he took the earliest opportunity of demanding from the captain an apology, and a confession that the lady’s locks were a beautiful auburn. The militia hero, who was too courageous to desert hiscolours, maintained they were red. The result was a meeting on the daisies at four o’clock in the morning, when the captain’s ball grazed your uncle’s leg, and in return he received a compliment from Terence, in the hip, that spoiled his dancing for life.

“‘I will not insult your penetration by telling you what I perceive you are already aware of, that Terence Duffy was the professed admirer of Miss Biddy. The affair with Captain Donovan raised him materially in her estimation, and it was whispered that the hand and fortune of the heiress were destined for her successful champion. There’s an old saying, though, that the best dog don’t always catch the hare, as Terence found to his cost. He had a rival candidate for the affections of Miss Biddy; but such a rival—however I will not anticipate.’”

I am thine inmygladness,I’m thine inthytears;My love it can change notWith absence or years.Were a dungeon thy dwelling,My home it should be,For its gloom would be sunshineIf I were with thee.But the light has no beautyOf thee, love bereft:I am thine, and thine only!Thine!—over the left!Over the left!As the wild Arab hails,On his desolate way,The palm-tree which tellsWhere the cool fountains play,So thy presence is everThe herald of bliss,For there’s love in thy smile,And there’s joy in thy kiss.Thou hast won me—then wear me!Of thee, love, bereft,I should fade like a flower,Yes!—over the left!Over the left!

I am thine inmygladness,

I’m thine inthytears;

My love it can change not

With absence or years.

Were a dungeon thy dwelling,

My home it should be,

For its gloom would be sunshine

If I were with thee.

But the light has no beauty

Of thee, love bereft:

I am thine, and thine only!

Thine!—over the left!

Over the left!

As the wild Arab hails,On his desolate way,The palm-tree which tellsWhere the cool fountains play,So thy presence is everThe herald of bliss,For there’s love in thy smile,And there’s joy in thy kiss.Thou hast won me—then wear me!Of thee, love, bereft,I should fade like a flower,Yes!—over the left!Over the left!

As the wild Arab hails,

On his desolate way,

The palm-tree which tells

Where the cool fountains play,

So thy presence is ever

The herald of bliss,

For there’s love in thy smile,

And there’s joy in thy kiss.

Thou hast won me—then wear me!

Of thee, love, bereft,

I should fade like a flower,

Yes!—over the left!

Over the left!

A gentleman in Mobile has a watch that goes so fast, he is obliged to calculate a week back to know the time of day.

A new bass singer has lately appeared at New Orleans, who sings so remarkablydeep, it takes nine Kentucky lawyers to understand a single bar!

Why S—e is long-lived at once appears—The ass was always famed forlength of ears.

Why S—e is long-lived at once appears—

The ass was always famed forlength of ears.

[pg 38]

“Creation’s heir—the world, the world is mine.”—GOLDSMITH.

Philosophers, moralists, poets, in all ages, have never better pleased themselves or satisfied their readers than when they have descanted upon, deplored, and denounced the pernicious influence of money upon the heart and the understanding. “Filthy lucre”—“so much trash as may be grasped thus”—“yellow mischief,” I know not, or choose not, to recount how many justly injurious names have been applied to coin by those who knew, because they had felt, its consequences. Wherefore, I say at once, it is better to have none on’t—to live without it. And yet, now I think better upon that point, it is well not altogether to discourage its approach. On the contrary, lay hold upon it, seize it, rescue it from hands which in all probability would work ruin with it, and resolutely refuse, when it is once got, to let it go out of your grasp. Let no absurd talk about quittance, discharge, remuneration, payment, induce the holder to relax from his inflexible purpose of palm. Pay, like party, is the madness of many for the gain of a few.

Unhappily, vile gold, or its representation or equivalent, has been, during many centuries, the sole medium through which the majority of mankind have supplied their wants, or ministered to their luxuries. It is high time that a sage should arise to expound how the discerning few—those who have the wit and the will (both must concur to the great end) may live—LIVE—not like him who buys and balances himself by the book of the groveller who wrote “How toLiveupon Fifty Pounds a Year”—(O shame to manhood!)—but live, I say—“be free and merry”—“laugh and grow fat”—exchange the courtesies of life—be a pattern of the “minor morals”—and yet: all this without a doit in bank, bureau, or breeches’ pocket.

I am that sage. Let none deride. Haply, I shall only remind some, but I may teach many. Those that come to scoff, may perchance go home to prey.

Let no gentleman of the old school (for whom, indeed, my brief treatise is not designed) be startled when I advance this proposition: That more discreditable methods are daily practised by those who live to get money, than are resorted to by those who without money are nevertheless under the necessity of living. If this proposition be assented to—as, in truth, I know not how it can be gainsaid,—nothing need be urged in vindication of my art offreeliving. Proceed I then at once.

Here is a youth of promise—born, like Jaffier, with “elegant desires”—one who does not agnize a prompt alacrity in carrying burdens—one, rather, who recognizes a moral and physical unfitness for such, and indeed all other dorsal and manual operations—one who has been born a Briton, and would not, therefore, sell his birthright for a mess of pottage; but, on the contrary, holds that his birthright entitles him to as many messes of pottage as there may be days to his mortal span, though time’s fingers stretched beyond the distance allotted to extreme Parr or extremest Jenkins. “Elegant desires” are gratified to the extent I purpose treating of them, by handsome clothes—comfortable lodgings—good dinners.

1st.Of Handsome Clothes.—Here, I confess, I find myself in some difficulty. The man who knows not how to have his name entered in the day-book of a tailor, is not one who could derive any benefit from instruction of mine. He must be a born natural. Why, it comes by instinct.

2nd.Of Comfortable Lodgings.—Easily obtained and secured. The easiest thing in life. But the wit without money must possess very little more of the former than of the latter, if he do not, even when snugly ensconced in one splendid suite of apartments, have his eye upon many others; for landladies are sometimes vexatiously impertinent, and novelty is desirable. Besides, his departure may be (nay, often is) extremely sudden. When in quest of apartments, I have found tarnished cards in the windows preferable. They imply a length of vacancy of the floor, and a consequent relaxation of those narrow, worldly (some call them prudent) scruples, which landladies are apt to nourish. Hints of a regular income, payable four times a year, have their weight; nay, often convert weekly into quarterly lodgings. Be sure there are no children in your house. They are vociferous when you would enjoy domestic retirement, and inquisitive when you take the air. Once (horresco referens!) on returning from my peripatetics, I was accosted with brutally open-mouthed clamour, by my landlady, who, dragging me in a state of bewilderment into her room, pointed to numerous specimens of granite, which her “young people” had, in their unhallowed thirst for knowledge, discovered and drawn from my trunk, which, by some strange mischance, had been left unlocked! In vain I mumbled something touching my love of mineralogy, and that a lapidary had offered I knew not what for my collection. I was compelled to “bundle,” as the idiomatic, but ignorant woman expressed herself. To resume.

Let not the nervous or sensitive wit imagine that, in a vast metropolis like London, his chance of securing an appropriate lodging and a confiding landlady is at all doubtful. He might lodge safe from the past, certain of the future, till the crash of doom. I shall be met by Ferguson’s case. Ferguson I knew well, and I respected him. But he had a most unfortunate countenance. It was a very solemn, but by no means a solvent face; and yet he had a manner with him too, and his language was choice, if not persuasive. That the matter of his speech was plausible, none ever presumed to deny. “It is all very well, Mr. Ferguson,”—thatwas always conceded. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead; but Ferguson never entered a lodging without being compelled to pay a fortnight in advance, and always

A cat waits for a mouse.EXPECTED TO BE OUT SHORTLY.

EXPECTED TO BE OUT SHORTLY.

3rd.Of Good Dinners.—Wits, like other men, are distinguished by a variety of tastes and inclinations. Some prefer dining at taverns and eating-houses; others, more discreet or less daring, love the quiet security of the private house, with its hospitable inmates, courteous guests, and no possibility of “bill transactions.” I confess when I was young and inexperienced, wanting that wisdom which I am now happy to impart, I was a constant frequenter of taverns, eating-houses, oyster-rooms, and similar places of entertainment. I am old now, and have been persecuted by a brutal world, and am grown timid. But I was ever a peaceable man—hated quarrels—never came to words if I could help it.I do not recommend the tavern, eating-house, oyster-room system.These are the words of wisdom. The waiters at these places are invariably sturdy, fleet, abusive rascals, who cannot speak and will not listen to reason. To eat one’s dinner, drink a pint of sherry, and then, calling for the bill, take out one’s pocket-book, and post it in its rotation in a neat hand, informing the waiter the while, that it is a simple debt, and so forth; this really requires nerve. Great spirits only are equal to it. It is an innovation upon old, established forms, however absurd—and innovators bring down upon themselves much obloquy. To run from the score you have run up—not to pay your shot, but to shoot from payment—this is not always safe, and invariably spoils digestion. No; it is not more honourable—far from it—but it is better; for you should strive to become, what is commonly called—“A Diner Out”—that is to say, one who continues to sit at the private tables of other men every day of his life, and by his so potent art, succeeds in making them believe that they are very much obliged to him.

How to be this thing—this “Diner Out”—I shall teach you, by a few short rules next week. Till then—farewell!

Lord William Paget has applied to the Lord Chancellor, to inquire whether the word “jackass” is not opprobrious and actionable. His lordship says, “No, decidedly, in this case only synonymous.”

Sir Robert Peel has convinced us of one thing by his Tamworth speech, that whatever danger the constitution may be in, he will not proscribe for the patient until he isregularly called in. A beautiful specimen of the old Tory leaven. Sir Robert objects to giveAdvice gratis.

A large assortment of peculiarly fine oyster-shells, warranted fire-proof and of first-rate quality; exquisitely adapted for the construction of grottoes. May be seen by cards only, to be procured of Mr. George Robins, or the clerks of Billingsgate or Hungerfofd markets.

N.B.—Some splendid ground at the corners of popular and well-frequented streets, to be let on short leases for edifices of the above description. Apply as before.

[pg 39]

The following invaluable literary recipes have been most kindly forwarded by the celebrated Ude. They are the produce of many years’ intense study, and, we must say, the very best things of the sort we have ever met with. There is much delicacy in M. Ude leaving it to us, as to whether the communication should be anonymous. We think not, as the peculiarity of the style would at once establish the talented authorship, and, therefore, attempted concealment would be considered as the result of a too morbidly modest feeling.

Take a consummate puppy—M.P.s preferable (as they are generally the softest, and don’t require much pressing)—baste with self-conceit—stuff with slang—season with maudlin sentiment—hash up with a popular publisher—simmer down with preparatory advertisements. Add six reams of gilt-edged paper—grate in a thousand quills—garnish with marble covers, and morocco backs and corners. Stir up with magazine puffs—skim off sufficient for preface. Shred scraps of French and small-talk, very fine. Add “superfine coats”—“satin stocks”—“bouquets”—“opera-boxes”—“a duel”—an elopement—St. George’s Church—silver bride favours—eight footmen—four postilions—the like number of horses—a “dredger” of smiles—some filtered tears—half-mourning for a dead uncle (the better if he has a twitch in his nose), and serve with anything that will bear “frittering.”

Take a young lady—dress her in blue ribbons—sprinkle with innocence, spring flowers, and primroses. Procure a Baronet (a Lord if in season); if not, a depraved “younger son”—trim him with écarté, rouge et noir, Epsom, Derby, and a slice of Crockford’s. Work up with rustic cottage, an aged father, blind mother, and little brothers and sisters in brown holland pinafores. Introduce mock abduction—strong dose of virtue and repentance. Serve up with village church—happy parent—delighted daughter—reformed rake—blissful brothers—syren sisters—and perfectdénouement.

N.B. Season with perspective christening and postponed epitaph.

Take a small boy, charity, factory, carpenter’s apprentice, or otherwise, as occasion may serve—stew him well down in vice—garnish largely with oaths and flash songs—boil him in a cauldron of crime and improbabilities. Season equally with good and bad qualities—infuse petty larceny, affection, benevolence, and burglary, honour and housebreaking, amiability and arson—boil all gently. Stew down a mad mother—a gang of robbers—several pistols—a bloody knife. Serve up with a couple of murders—and season with a hanging-match.

N.B. Alter the ingredients to a beadle and a workhouse—the scenes may be the same, but the whole flavour of vice will be lost, and the boy will turn out a perfect pattern.—Strongly recommended for weak stomachs.

Take a young man six feet high—mix up with a horse—draw a squire from his father’s estate (the broad-shouldered and loquacious are the best sort)—prepare both for potting (that is, exporting). When abroad, introduce a well-pounded Saracen—a foreign princess—stew down a couple of dwarfs and a conquered giant—fill two sauce-tureens with a prodigious ransom. Garnish with garlands and dead Turks. Serve up with a royal marriage and cloth of gold.

Take a distant village—follow with high-road—introduce and boil down pedlar, gut his pack, and cut his throat—hang him up by the heels—when enough, let his brother cut him down—get both into a stew—pepper the real murderer—grill the innocent for a short time—then take them off, and put delinquents in their place (these can scarcely be broiled too much, and a strong fire is particularly recommended). When real perpetrators aredone, all is complete.

If the parties have been poor, serve up with mint sauce, and the name of the enriched sufferer.

Lay in a large stock of “gammon” and pennyroyal—carefully strip and pare all the tainted parts away, when this can be done without destroying the whole—wrap it up in printed paper, containing all possible virtues—baste with flattery, stuff with adulation, garnish with fictitious attributes, and a strong infusion of sycophancy.

Serve up to prepared courtiers, who have been previously well seasoned with long-received pensions or sinecures.

Take a beautiful and highly-accomplished young female, imbued with every virtue, but slightly addicted to bigamy! Let her stew through the first act as the bride of a condemned convict—then season with a benevolent but very ignorant lover—add a marriage. Stir up with a gentleman in dusty boots and large whiskers.Dredgein a meeting, and baste with the knowledge of the dusty boot proprietor being her husband. Let this steam for some time; during which, prepare, as a covering, a pair of pistols—carefully insert the bullet in the head of him of the dusty boots. Dessert—general offering of LADIES’ FINGERS! Serve up with red fire and tableaux.

Take an enormous hero—work him up with improbabilities—dress him in spangles and a long train—disguise his head as much as possible, as the great beauty of this dish is to avoid any resemblance to the “tête de veau au naturel.”

Profile of a bearded young man's head, face to face with a cow's head on a platter.A TETE A TETE.

A TETE A TETE.

Grill him for three acts. When well worked up, add a murder or large dose of innocence (according to the palate of the guests)—Season, with a strong infusion of claqueurs and box orders. Serve up with twelve-sheet posters, and imaginary Shaksperian announcements.

N.B. Be careful, in cooking the heroes, not to turn their backsto the front range—should you do so the dish will be spoiled.

Take a young woman—give her six pounds a year—work up her father and mother into a viscous paste—bind all with an abandoned poacher—throw in a “dust of virtue,” and a “handful of vice.” When the poacher is about to boil over, put him into another saucepan, let him simmer for some time, and then he will turn out “lord of the manor,” and marry the young woman. Serve up with bludgeons, handcuffs, a sentimental gaoler, and a large tureen of innocence preserved.

Take a big man with a loud voice, dress him with a pair of ducks, and, if pork is comeatable, a pigtail—stuff his jaws with an imitation quid, and his mouth with a large assortment ofdammes. Garnish with two broad-swords and a hornpipe. Boil down a press-gang and six or seven smugglers, and (if in season) a bo’swain and large cat-o’-nine-tails.—Sprinkle the dish with two lieutenants, four midshipmen, and about seven or eight common sailors. Serve up with a pair of epaulettes and an admiral in a white wig, silk stockings, smalls, and the Mutiny Act.

We have no arrivals to-day, but are looking out anxiously for the overland mail from Battersea. It is expected that news will be brought of the state of the mushroom market, and great inconvenience in the mean time is felt by the dealers, who are holding all they have got, in the anticipation of a fall; while commodities are, of course, every moment getting heavier.

The London and Westminster steam-boatTulip, with letters from Milbank, was planted in the mud off Westminster for several hours, and those who looked for the correspondence, had to look much longer than could have been agreeable.

The egg market has been in a very unsettled state all the week; and we have heard whispers of a large breakage in one of the wholesale houses. This is caused by the dead weight of the packing-cases, to which every house in the trade is liable. In the fruit market, there is positively nothing doing; and thegrowers, who are every day becomingless, complain bitterly. Raspberries were very slack, at 2½d. per pottle; but dry goods still brought their prices. We have heard of several severe smashes in currants, and the bakers, who, it is said, generally contrive to get a finger in the pie, are among the sufferers.

The salmon trade is, for the most part, in a pickle; but we should regret to say anything that might be misinterpreted. The periwinkle and wilk interest has sustained a severe shock; but potatoes continue to bedonemuch as usual.

“A dinner is to be given to Captain Rous on the 20th inst., at which Sir Francis Burdett has promised to preside.”—Morning Paper.

Egyptian revels often boast a guestIn sparkling robes and blooming chaplets drest;But, oh! what loathsomeness is hid beneath—A fleshless, mould’ring effigy of death;A thing to check the smile and wake the sigh,With thoughts that living excellence can die.How many at the coming feast will seeTHE SKELETON OF HONOURED WORTH IN THEE!

Egyptian revels often boast a guest

In sparkling robes and blooming chaplets drest;

But, oh! what loathsomeness is hid beneath—

A fleshless, mould’ring effigy of death;

A thing to check the smile and wake the sigh,

With thoughts that living excellence can die.

How many at the coming feast will see

THE SKELETON OF HONOURED WORTH IN THEE!

[pg 40]

“Laselato ogni speranza, voi ch’ intrate!”

MR. JOBTICKLER said he had to move in this cause for an injunction to restrain the Peel Place-hunting Company from entering into possession of the estates of plaintiff. It appeared from the affidavits on which he moved, that the defendants, though not in actual possession, laid an equitable claim to the fee simple of the large estates rightfully belonging to the plaintiff, over which they were about to exercise sovereign dominion. They had entered into private treaty with the blind old man who held the post of chief law-grubber of the Exchequer, offering him a bribe to pretend illness, and take half his present pay, in order to fasten one of the young and long-lived leeches—one Sir Frederick Smal-luck—to the vacant bench. They were about to compel a decentish sort of man, who did the business of Chancery as well as such business can be done under the present system, to retire upon half allowance, in order to make room for one Sir William Fullhat, who had no objection to £14,000 a year and a peerage. They were about to fill two sub-chancellorships, which they would not on any account allow the company in the present actual possession of the estates to fill up with a couple of their own shareholders; and were, in fine, proceeding to dispose of, by open sale, and by private contract, the freehold, leasehold, and funded property of plaintiff, to the incalculable danger of the estate, and to the disregard of decency and justice. What rendered this assumption and exercise of power the more intolerable, was, that the persons the most unfit were selected; and as if, it would appear, from a “hateful love of contraries,” the man learned in law being sent to preside over the business of equity, of which he knew nothing, and the man learned in equity being entrusted with the direction of law of which he knew worse than nothing; being obliged to unlearn all he had previously learnt, before he began to learn his new craft.

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.—Don’t you know, sir, thatpoeta nascitur non fit?Is not a judge a judge the moment he applies himself to the seat of justice?

MR. JOBTICKLER.—Most undoubtedly it is so, my lord, as your lordship is a glorious example, but—

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.—But me no buts, sir. I’ll have no allusions made to my person. What way are the cases on the point you would press on the court?

MR. JOBTICKLER.—The cases, I am sorry to say, are all in favour of the Peel Place-hunting Company’s proceedings; but the principle, my lord, the principle!

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.—Principle! What has principle to do with law, Sir? Really the bar is losing all reverence for authority, all regard for consistency. I must put a stop to such revolutionary tendencies on the part of gentlemen who practise in my court. Sit down, sir.

MR. JOBTICKLER.—May my client have the injunction?

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR.—No-o-o-o! But he shall pay all the costs, and I only wish I could double them for his impertinence. You, sir, you deserve to be stripped of your gown for insulting the ears of the court with such a motion.

CRIER.—Any more appeals, causes, or motions, in the Supreme Court of the Lord High Inquisitor Punch, to-day? (A dead silence.)

LORD HIGH INQUISITOR (bowing gracefully to the bar).—Good morning, gentlemen. You behold how carefully we fulfil the letter of Magna Charta.

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