A CAROL ON CAROLINE CHISOLM.

The Most Unpleasant Meeting.—Having to meet a Bill.

A CAROL ON CAROLINE CHISOLM

Come, all you British females of wealth and high degree,Bestowing all your charity on lands beyond the sea,I'll point you out a pattern which a better plan will teachThan that of sending Missioners to Tombuctoo to preach.Converting of the Heathen's a very proper view,By preaching true religion to Pagan and to Jew,And bringing over Cannibals to Christian meat and bread,Unless they catch your Parson first and eat him up instead.But what's more edifying to see, a pretty deal,Is hearty British labourers partaking of a meal,With wives, and lots of children, about their knees that climb,And having tucked their platefuls in, get helped another time.Beyond the roaring ocean; beneath the soil we tread,You've English men and women, well housed and clothed and fed,Who but for help and guidance to leave our crowded shores,Would now be stealing, begging, or lie starving at our doors.Who taught them self-reliance, and stirred them to combine,And club their means together to get across the brine,Instead of strikes, and mischief, and breaking of the law,And wasting time in hearing incendiaries jaw?Who led their expeditions? and under whose commandThrough dangers and through hardships sought they the promised land?A secondMoses, surely, it was who did it all,It was a secondMosesin bonnet and in shawl.By means of one good lady were all these wonders wrought,ByCaroline Chisholm'senergy, benevolence, and thought,Instead of making here and there a convert of a Turk,She has made idle multitudes turn fruitfully to work.The ragged pauper crawling towards a parish graveShe roused—directed to a home beyond the western wave;She smoothed his weary passage across the troubled deep,With food, and air, and decencies of ship-room and of sleep.There's many a wife and mother will bless that lady's name,Embracing a fat infant—who might else have drowned the same,A mother, yet no wife, compelled by poverty to sin,And die in gaol or hospital of misery and gin.TheReverend Ebenezer, I'd not deny his dues,For saving Patagonians, and Bosjesmen, and Zooloos;ButMrs. Chisholm'smission is what I far prefer;For saving British natives I'd give the palm to her.And now that a subscription is opened and begun,In order to acknowledge the good that she has doneAmong that sort of natives—the most important tribe—Come down like handsome people, and handsomely subscribe.

Come, all you British females of wealth and high degree,

Bestowing all your charity on lands beyond the sea,

I'll point you out a pattern which a better plan will teach

Than that of sending Missioners to Tombuctoo to preach.

Converting of the Heathen's a very proper view,By preaching true religion to Pagan and to Jew,And bringing over Cannibals to Christian meat and bread,Unless they catch your Parson first and eat him up instead.

Converting of the Heathen's a very proper view,

By preaching true religion to Pagan and to Jew,

And bringing over Cannibals to Christian meat and bread,

Unless they catch your Parson first and eat him up instead.

But what's more edifying to see, a pretty deal,Is hearty British labourers partaking of a meal,With wives, and lots of children, about their knees that climb,And having tucked their platefuls in, get helped another time.

But what's more edifying to see, a pretty deal,

Is hearty British labourers partaking of a meal,

With wives, and lots of children, about their knees that climb,

And having tucked their platefuls in, get helped another time.

Beyond the roaring ocean; beneath the soil we tread,You've English men and women, well housed and clothed and fed,Who but for help and guidance to leave our crowded shores,Would now be stealing, begging, or lie starving at our doors.

Beyond the roaring ocean; beneath the soil we tread,

You've English men and women, well housed and clothed and fed,

Who but for help and guidance to leave our crowded shores,

Would now be stealing, begging, or lie starving at our doors.

Who taught them self-reliance, and stirred them to combine,And club their means together to get across the brine,Instead of strikes, and mischief, and breaking of the law,And wasting time in hearing incendiaries jaw?

Who taught them self-reliance, and stirred them to combine,

And club their means together to get across the brine,

Instead of strikes, and mischief, and breaking of the law,

And wasting time in hearing incendiaries jaw?

Who led their expeditions? and under whose commandThrough dangers and through hardships sought they the promised land?A secondMoses, surely, it was who did it all,It was a secondMosesin bonnet and in shawl.

Who led their expeditions? and under whose command

Through dangers and through hardships sought they the promised land?

A secondMoses, surely, it was who did it all,

It was a secondMosesin bonnet and in shawl.

By means of one good lady were all these wonders wrought,ByCaroline Chisholm'senergy, benevolence, and thought,Instead of making here and there a convert of a Turk,She has made idle multitudes turn fruitfully to work.

By means of one good lady were all these wonders wrought,

ByCaroline Chisholm'senergy, benevolence, and thought,

Instead of making here and there a convert of a Turk,

She has made idle multitudes turn fruitfully to work.

The ragged pauper crawling towards a parish graveShe roused—directed to a home beyond the western wave;She smoothed his weary passage across the troubled deep,With food, and air, and decencies of ship-room and of sleep.

The ragged pauper crawling towards a parish grave

She roused—directed to a home beyond the western wave;

She smoothed his weary passage across the troubled deep,

With food, and air, and decencies of ship-room and of sleep.

There's many a wife and mother will bless that lady's name,Embracing a fat infant—who might else have drowned the same,A mother, yet no wife, compelled by poverty to sin,And die in gaol or hospital of misery and gin.

There's many a wife and mother will bless that lady's name,

Embracing a fat infant—who might else have drowned the same,

A mother, yet no wife, compelled by poverty to sin,

And die in gaol or hospital of misery and gin.

TheReverend Ebenezer, I'd not deny his dues,For saving Patagonians, and Bosjesmen, and Zooloos;ButMrs. Chisholm'smission is what I far prefer;For saving British natives I'd give the palm to her.

TheReverend Ebenezer, I'd not deny his dues,

For saving Patagonians, and Bosjesmen, and Zooloos;

ButMrs. Chisholm'smission is what I far prefer;

For saving British natives I'd give the palm to her.

And now that a subscription is opened and begun,In order to acknowledge the good that she has doneAmong that sort of natives—the most important tribe—Come down like handsome people, and handsomely subscribe.

And now that a subscription is opened and begun,

In order to acknowledge the good that she has done

Among that sort of natives—the most important tribe—

Come down like handsome people, and handsomely subscribe.

TUESDAY—MAY 28, 18—,

Shall I ever forget the day? As it comes round—if I'm spared for fifty years—I'm sure I shall always feel a chill, a pang at the thoughts of it. That dear, foolish creature,Fred! As if being shot could make it any better! And then the thought—the horrid thought would press itself—piercing like a dagger—to be sent into weeds in one's very Honeymoon!

Of course, the whole house was raised. WhenJosephineheard me scream, and came to the bedroom door, and found it locked, and couldn't make me sensible to open it—for I'd the key in my hand, and so had dropt it on the floor when I fell myself in a swoon—

Of course, whenJosephinecould make nobody hear, she very soon raised the house, and there were chambermaids and waiters at the door, and they were breaking it open, when I came enough to myself to prevent it!

"It's all right, Ma'am," saidJosephine. "Master's safe: not a whit the worse, depend on't."

"Safe! Are you sure?"—

"Certain, Ma'am. 'Cause the landlord has given information to the constables, and no doubt on it, he says, they'll all be in custody afore they can shoot one another."

"Shoot!" Well—- for the moment—I did hate the creature as she spoke the word; speaking it with all the coolness in life—death, Imightsay.

I hastily slipped something on: went into our room. Had up the landlord, the landlady; and it really was wonderful—gave me for the time quite a shock at human nature—to see how little they were moved—in fact not moved at all—by my wretchedness, my downright misery. "Oh," I thought, every other minute, "if I once get him home again!" And then the next moment, some horrid sight would come before me—and no one, no one to help or advise me. Yes. The landlady counselled me to have a cup of tea, and the landlord advised me to make myself comfortable. "Things o' the sort"—he said—"never come to nothing, now-a-days. Besides, he'd given the word to the constables—and I might make myself easy they'd all be locked up in a jiffy."

"Could he tell me"—I asked—"the most likely road to take?"

"Why, no," he said, "some folks took one, some another. Some liked the cliffs, some the Devil's Dyke; but as he'd sent all ways, why, again he assured me, I had nothing to do but to make myself comfortable."

And even as the horrid man said this, his more dreadful wife—not but what the woman meant well; only I couldn't abide her for her composure at such a time—the woman came to me stirring a cup of tea with, as she said, just a spoonful of brandy in it to settle my spirits.

What a thought! I to take tea with brandy in it, andFrederickperhaps at that moment—

Josephine—I'll do the girl so much justice at last—was running to and fro, upstairs and downstairs—and putting the house, from one end to the other, in a ferment. At last the landlady desired her to be quiet, and not go about making noise enough to tear people out of their beds. If all the world was gone out to be shot, that was no reason why their house should be ruined!

Well, I won't attempt to describe the two hours I suffered! How, sometimes, I thought I'd have a horse and go galloping anywhere, everywhere.

"It's all over, Ma'am!"—criedJosephine, running in.

"Over!" and I saw death in the girl's face.

"Over, Ma'am. They fired two shots, Ma'am—two a-piece—they say, and"—

"Yes—yes"—

"And master"—

"Killed!"—I screamed.

"No, Ma'am! Quite the reverse!"—

(How I thanked the girl for the words, though wherecouldshe have picked 'em up?)

"He has not killed his—I mean the—other gentleman?"—

"No, Ma'am, totally the contrary. Nobody's hit—not so much as winged, though what that means I can't say—only I heard one of the men say as much. But all of 'em in custody."

"What now? Why, what for?—"

"Why, Ma'am, as I hear, for every one of the gentlemen to be bound over to keep his peace for the rest of his born days! And la! bless me—how ill you turn, Ma'am, and when it's all over?"

"Not at all,Josephine. I'm very well, now: very well, indeed,"and then rose my determination. Yes, I'd go home that very day. "Josephine, pack up as much as you can. Your master shall go home, I'll take care ofthatdirectly."

"That's right, Ma'am. Now you've got him safe and sound once more, you couldn't do better, Ma'am. And forMr. Truepenny"—

Well, his very name set me in a flame. "Mr. Truepenny! He never crossesmythreshold! A very pretty friend indeed, to come and lure a man—a newly-married man"—

"Not married a month yet, quite, Ma'am," saidJosephine, "which makes it hard."—

"And take him out, I may say, in cold blood"—

"Which makes it ten times wickeder," saidJosephine.

"And butcher him like a lamb," said I.

"Exactly like a lamb, Ma'am," cried the girl. "Only there is this difference, Ma'am: you know master isn't a bit hurt."

"That has nothing to do with it. He might have been killed, and what wouldMr. Truepennyhave cared? No! I might have been left a wretched widow!"

"And muchMr. Truepennywould have helped you then, Ma'am," said the good girl.

"No, he never crosses theFlitch—never: and that I shall tell your master. The foolish, dear fellow! How I will scold him."

"Do, Ma'am; he deserves it all. To go fighting and—and after all, do you know for a certainty what he went fighting about?"—

"Folly, madness, of course," said I. "Jealous of"—

"Well, I thought so!" criedJosephine, with a strange knowing look. "I thought as much. Jealous, and of you, too, above all folks! And in your Honeymoon, too. Well, I'm sure; as if there wasn't time enough for that!"

"I don't mean to say jealous; not of me—of course not. But the fact is, he fired up at a rudeness, a liberty that"—

"You don't say so, Ma'am!" cried the girl. "La, and if you please, how was that?"

"Why, it was all folly—all nonsense—and he ought to have known better; but—there was a little flower-girl on the beach. What's the matter,Josephine?" for I saw the creature look suddenly confused.

"Nothing, Ma'am—only I—I once saw that girl—a gipsey-girl, Ma'am—with flowers, Ma'am; yes, to be sure."

"Then you know her?" I asked.

"Can't say I know. Because one should hardly lower oneself to know a creature of that sort. Only once, and perhaps twice, I've had a nosegay of her."

"Well, shewouldgive a nosegay to me," said I.

"Just like 'em, Ma'am," repliedJosephine.

"Yes. She ran to me, and put a nosegay in my hand. And in that nosegay, what,Josephine—(and I watched her narrowly as I further questioned)—what do you think there was?"

"Law! Who can answer for the gipsies," criedJosephine.

"Well, then, there was a letter—a love-letter; and that letter finding its way to your master's hand"—

"Oh, Ma'am!Doforgive me! Pray forgive me! I couldn't help it; but I see it all now. The gentlemanwouldwrite—that letter was not for you!"—

"No? For whom then?"—

"If you please, Ma'am, and you'll not be angry, that letter"—said the bold creature—"that letter was for me!"—

"Foryou! And here has nearly been murder done—here has your master"—

But at the momentFredran into the room, and I was in his arms.

UNCOMFORTABLE POSITION OF MR. JONESUNCOMFORTABLE POSITION OF MR. JONES DURING A TABLE-TURNING EXPERIMENT.N.B.Mr. Jones'sskin is extremely sensitive; he must not remove his hands from the Table, and for 35 agonising minutes a wretched fly makes a promenade of his face.

N.B.Mr. Jones'sskin is extremely sensitive; he must not remove his hands from the Table, and for 35 agonising minutes a wretched fly makes a promenade of his face.

How to find fit work for convicts—work that shall at the same time be serviceable to the Public, and shall not take the bread out of the mouths of honest men—is a question that nobody has yet answered. Profound philosophers have sometimes got very near to the discovery of the quadrature of the circle, perpetual motion, the transmutation of metals, the elixir of life, the crystallisation of carbon, the longitude. They have almost succeeded; all but solved the problem; when, just on the verge of the accomplishment of the great work, they find all their profound calculations upset by some petty, superficial obstacle which they had overlooked. Precisely thus had we nearly attained to the invention of a proper employment for convicted thieves: just so were we confounded on the brink of success by a stumbling-block, which has tripped us up and flung us back again heels over head, alighting, however, on the former, as we always do.

A communication in theCivil Service Gazettestates the case of a letter-carrier, in the Derby district, who has to walk above 20 miles a day, and deliver letters at eleven villages. This amount of walking exercise, allowing 15 minutes for delivery at each village, and 25 minutes for refreshment, the writer calculates to be 8 miles an hour for 2½ hours. It reads like an achievement of running a fabulous distance and picking up an incredible number of stones with the mouth. That a man might match himself to attempt such a feat of pedestrianism for a limited period and high stakes is conceivable: but this one does it daily for 11s. Of course he has sent in his resignation; no free agent could continue to do such work on such terms. Only eleven shillings for all this hard labour!

Hard labour. These two words are brilliantly suggestive—seem to flash upon us the settlement of the convict employment question. Hard labour—occupation toilsome and unremunerative; at the same time useful: just the proper occupation for criminals. Rig out all our rogues and thieves in blue and scarlet, turn them into postmen, and give them six months, or upwards, of 8 miles an hour for several hours daily letter-carrying.Mercuryin Windsor uniform; messenger and thief in one: on the turnpike treadmill—'tis a pretty idea, too, into the bargain.

But here up starts the difficulty. It is peculiarly necessary that a postman should, before all things, be honest. By this trifling obstacle is the magnificently specious scheme of substituting Post Office employment for the treadmill frustrated. The mounted police, and other constabulary, might prevent the fellows from escaping, and keep them in their routes; but could hardly hinder them from secreting money and notes in stumps of trees, old walls, and other nooks and corners, for concealment therein till the expiration of their sentences. Whilst, however, there exists this objection to the employment of rogues as postmen, there is nothing whatever to forbid them from employing themselves in that capacity. Hence the frequent abstraction of half-sovereigns from letters; taxing the detective acumen ofMr. Sculthorpe.

We see that a bumpkin of a Post Office messenger was tried the other day at the assizes for making away with letters. He was an ignorant clown: and he destroyed them simply that he might not have the trouble of delivering them. Alas for our economy! Unfortunately we can't give inadequate wages without being in danger of getting either a knave for our servant or a fool.

So we didn't quite set the Thames on fire; it won't do to make letter-carriers of convicts: and as to the nuisance of having knaves and fools amongst our postmen, there is evidently no help for that but to raise the postmen's salaries.

Mr. Lucas, the other evening, made a reasonable speech in the House. He complained that the principle of religious equality, in English prisons, was not sufficiently observed with regard to Roman Catholic prisoners. A fair ground of complaint! By all means let every Romanist convict enjoy his own conviction.

TTHIS question is, at last, effectively answered. We are glad to announce thatConstantinople has just been taken byMessers. GrieveandTelbin, who, dead to the influence of Russian gold, refuse to surrender it, upon any terms, into the hands of theEmperor Nicholas. They intend to hold out as long as they possibly can; but all English subjects will be admitted to view its numerous beauties by applying at the Gallery of Illustration, in Regent Street.

THIS question is, at last, effectively answered. We are glad to announce thatConstantinople has just been taken byMessers. GrieveandTelbin, who, dead to the influence of Russian gold, refuse to surrender it, upon any terms, into the hands of theEmperor Nicholas. They intend to hold out as long as they possibly can; but all English subjects will be admitted to view its numerous beauties by applying at the Gallery of Illustration, in Regent Street.

No Russians need apply.

A complaint against damp houses has been recently made by a letter-writer in theTimes, who says he has suffered severely from wet walls. We are happy in suggesting an efficient remedy by recommending that the walls of new houses should be papered with Parliamentary speeches, the usual dryness of which would, we are convinced, render any little dampness impossible.

There was a talk of passports being issued with photographic portraits. Men may not object to this plan, as they do not care so much for a little disfigurement, but we doubt strongly if ladies will ever give their countenances to it. It is well known that photographic portraits do not improve the beauty of any one. They give the features of the "human face divine," but without the slightest touch of flattery. Worse than this, if there should be any little defect, the cruel metal does not trouble itself in the least to conceal it, but has the vulgarity to render it in all its staring obliquity or deformity. We have our fears, therefore, that this very unfashionable system of portrait painting will never suit the ladies. It goes upon the Antipodean theory of making the pretty faces appear ugly, and the ugly ones still uglier. We are confident that no lady who has any respect for herself, or her husband, will face such an ordeal. Some other plan must be invented by the police, or else there will be an end to all travelling on the part of our ladies.

Where is the woman who would care about going abroad, when she was liable to be stopped at every minute, and forced to produce, for the amusement of some coarse gensd'arme, an ugly photographic portrait of herself? We propose, therefore, that the following system be adopted:—LetM. Baugniet, or some other artist as clever in taking portraits, be constantly in attendance at the passport office. He would strike off a likeness in a very short time—such a likeness as, delicately flattered, the lady herself would take a positive pleasure in producing every time she was asked for it. It would be an elegant work of art; which the lady would like, probably, to preserve by her, and the possession of which would also materially enhance the pleasures of travelling. All the expenses to be paid, of course, by the State—for it would be a most ungracious action to ask a lady to pay for her own portrait—or else to be defrayed by the railways, or steam-packets, of the country which the fair traveller intended to visit. The companies would be amply repaid by the influx of passengers, besides having the enviable privilege of claiming copies of all their female visitors. An ample profit, even, might be realized by selling the lithographs, for a lady might be allowed to claim as many copies of her likeness as she pleased, upon the understanding that all copies, beyond the one which wasgivento her for the necessary police purposes of travelling, were to be paid for. A large revenue might be derived from this branch of the passport system, for what lady would hesitate to take a hundred copies of herself, if she was made extremely handsome?

The Vegetarians have been consuming a quantity of green stuff in public at the Town Hall of Salford. We shall expect soon to hear of a variety of Extraordinary Feats performed by geniuses of the Vegetarian class, such as swallowing turnips whole, demolishing spinach by the sieve, onions by the rope, and cabbages by the cartload. We perceive that the Vegetarians have set themselves in opposition to everything like compromise; and a poor unfortunate who endeavoured to meet the Vegetarians half way by living on tapioca, was recently hooted down, and warned of the frightful consequences to be apprehended from the starch in the tapioca, which might lead to stiffness of the joints, and a thousand other maladies.

OfCochraneand the Court,Sing the glorious day's renown,When to Spithead did resortAll that London could send downWhere they lodged the night before, is unknown—Room to sit, or sleep, or stand,Fancy prices did command:With the houseless, street and strandThick were strewn.Many a cockney was afloat,Unaccustomed to the brine;But no wind to speak of blew,And the day was bright and fine;It was ten of Thursday morn by the chime,And no ripple curled in wrath,As they steamed upon their path,And sniffed oldNeptune'sbreath.Oh, 'twas prime!Old penny boats, new-brushed,Till they looked quite smart and clean,Their bows plebeian pushedMore nobby craft between."Give 'em coke!" the captains cried; and each oneCharged his furnace to the lips,Till steamers, yachts, and ships,The funnel's clouds eclipse—Dark and dun!In vain! in vain! in vain!All attempts to keep 'em back;—With a turn-a-head, againThey were right across the track—Underneath some first-rate's bows, or frigate's boom—Spite of angry captain's hail,And passengers grown pale,When did Thames' steamers fail,To find room?The well-bred yachting menMuch better did behave,With six pounders and e'en tenTheir salute they duly gave,And their burgees to the breeze did smartly fling—While Solent's shores repeatThe thunders of the fleet,ThatHer Majestyto greet,Loudly ring!Till to the great reliefOf eyes and ears and nose,At a signal from the chiefThe salutes came to a close,And we thought the firing over for the day;WhileCobdenand friendBrightAsked themselves "if such a sightOf powder we'd a rightTo fire away?"When sudden through the haze,The foemen heave in sight,And again those broadsides blazeIn the mimicry of fight—But yet, from out the cannon's harmless roar,Speaks a warning true and deep,Of the floating powers that sleep,The curse of war to keepFrom our shore!The friends of peace may chide,But not the less 'tis true,There's a time our strength to hide,And a time to show it, too;'Tis not always true economy to save—Then wherever ocean rolls,From the equator to the Poles,May our hearts of oak bear sail,True and brave!

OfCochraneand the Court,

Sing the glorious day's renown,

When to Spithead did resort

All that London could send down

Where they lodged the night before, is unknown—

Room to sit, or sleep, or stand,

Fancy prices did command:

With the houseless, street and strand

Thick were strewn.

Many a cockney was afloat,Unaccustomed to the brine;But no wind to speak of blew,And the day was bright and fine;It was ten of Thursday morn by the chime,And no ripple curled in wrath,As they steamed upon their path,And sniffed oldNeptune'sbreath.Oh, 'twas prime!

Many a cockney was afloat,

Unaccustomed to the brine;

But no wind to speak of blew,

And the day was bright and fine;

It was ten of Thursday morn by the chime,

And no ripple curled in wrath,

As they steamed upon their path,

And sniffed oldNeptune'sbreath.

Oh, 'twas prime!

Old penny boats, new-brushed,Till they looked quite smart and clean,Their bows plebeian pushedMore nobby craft between."Give 'em coke!" the captains cried; and each oneCharged his furnace to the lips,Till steamers, yachts, and ships,The funnel's clouds eclipse—Dark and dun!

Old penny boats, new-brushed,

Till they looked quite smart and clean,

Their bows plebeian pushed

More nobby craft between.

"Give 'em coke!" the captains cried; and each one

Charged his furnace to the lips,

Till steamers, yachts, and ships,

The funnel's clouds eclipse—

Dark and dun!

In vain! in vain! in vain!All attempts to keep 'em back;—With a turn-a-head, againThey were right across the track—Underneath some first-rate's bows, or frigate's boom—Spite of angry captain's hail,And passengers grown pale,When did Thames' steamers fail,To find room?

In vain! in vain! in vain!

All attempts to keep 'em back;—

With a turn-a-head, again

They were right across the track—

Underneath some first-rate's bows, or frigate's boom—

Spite of angry captain's hail,

And passengers grown pale,

When did Thames' steamers fail,

To find room?

The well-bred yachting menMuch better did behave,With six pounders and e'en tenTheir salute they duly gave,And their burgees to the breeze did smartly fling—While Solent's shores repeatThe thunders of the fleet,ThatHer Majestyto greet,Loudly ring!

The well-bred yachting men

Much better did behave,

With six pounders and e'en ten

Their salute they duly gave,

And their burgees to the breeze did smartly fling—

While Solent's shores repeat

The thunders of the fleet,

ThatHer Majestyto greet,

Loudly ring!

Till to the great reliefOf eyes and ears and nose,At a signal from the chiefThe salutes came to a close,And we thought the firing over for the day;WhileCobdenand friendBrightAsked themselves "if such a sightOf powder we'd a rightTo fire away?"

Till to the great relief

Of eyes and ears and nose,

At a signal from the chief

The salutes came to a close,

And we thought the firing over for the day;

WhileCobdenand friendBright

Asked themselves "if such a sight

Of powder we'd a right

To fire away?"

When sudden through the haze,The foemen heave in sight,And again those broadsides blazeIn the mimicry of fight—But yet, from out the cannon's harmless roar,Speaks a warning true and deep,Of the floating powers that sleep,The curse of war to keepFrom our shore!

When sudden through the haze,

The foemen heave in sight,

And again those broadsides blaze

In the mimicry of fight—

But yet, from out the cannon's harmless roar,

Speaks a warning true and deep,

Of the floating powers that sleep,

The curse of war to keep

From our shore!

The friends of peace may chide,But not the less 'tis true,There's a time our strength to hide,And a time to show it, too;'Tis not always true economy to save—Then wherever ocean rolls,From the equator to the Poles,May our hearts of oak bear sail,True and brave!

The friends of peace may chide,

But not the less 'tis true,

There's a time our strength to hide,

And a time to show it, too;

'Tis not always true economy to save—

Then wherever ocean rolls,

From the equator to the Poles,

May our hearts of oak bear sail,

True and brave!

An Obtuse Angle?—Attempting to catch a perch with a hook, but no bait.

CAUTION TO TRAVELLERS DURING THE HOT WEATHERCAUTION TO TRAVELLERS DURING THE HOT WEATHER.Never go to Sleep while you are having your Hair cut in Paris, or, it may be cut in the first style of Fashion.

Never go to Sleep while you are having your Hair cut in Paris, or, it may be cut in the first style of Fashion.

(By a Distinct Observer.)

I had the advantage of inspecting the Review of the Fleet from a peculiar point of view. Before me was an enormous volume of smoke, which completely prevented me from seeing the vessels; it was, however, a volume in which I think I read something to the purpose.

There is, perhaps, hardly any mind wherein the tremendous roar of 1,076 guns, the smallest of which are 32 pounders, and the largest throw 68 lb. shot and 84 lb. shells, would not excite some degree of emotion of some sort.

The boom of each Brobdignagian piece of ordnance inspired me with a sum in mental arithmetic, which the immediate thunder of another explosion prevented me from carrying out with strict accuracy. The problem, however, was simple enough. So much noise, so much gunpowder, so much money. So much money; so much taxation. The scene—of smoke chiefly—was too sublime; the noise was too overwhelming; perhaps I had also drunk too much brandy and water: to admit of myCockeringmyself in exact calculation; but I ciphered roughly in a mental soliloquy, thus:—

Bang! There goes the Income Tax. Bang! That's the Succession Duty. Bang! Bang! That's the Stamp and Paper Duties. Bang! Bang! Bang! There's the Assessed Taxes. Bom! the Malt Tax. Pop! the Wine Duties. Pop-pop-pop! The rest of the Taxes on Consumption.

All this money gone in fire and smoke? Not so—the greater part of it, doubtless in national defence and Peace Assurance; but is it not just possible that a rather enthusiastic nation may get a little too fond—as it has been ere now—of gunpowder and artillery; a little too prone, if it does not take care—no disparagement to Chobham Camps and Spithead Reviews—to amuse itself by playing at soldiers and sailors.

Of course it is necessary, to a certain extent, to discharge small arms and to fire broadsides at nothing. But yet, "amid the joy and the uproar" of these imposing high jinks, it may be a useful exercise for the mind of the spectator, if not too much clouded by powder smoke, or other fumes, to count the cost of the cartridges, and compute the dimensions of the hole which they blow in our pocket.

It is useless to affect any further disguise with respect to the condition of an Illustrious Body; or to the human certainty, almost, of that melancholy event which nothing but some unlooked for occurrence, or inconceivable change in the Constitution, can now protract above a few days. The following Bulletin was issued this morning:—

"St. Stephen's, August 18, 1853.

"Parliament has passed a very unfavourable night; for the most part in a state of extreme prostration: dozing heavily at intervals, but now and then exhibiting symptoms of restlessness. The distinguished patient is happily free from pain, and so completely in possession of the mental faculties as to express a wish for Grouse: but the difficulty of performing the vital functions increases; and the mind of the nation must be prepared for the inevitable result.

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We cannot be expected to express much sorrow at the approaching departure of the Imperial sufferer from the present Session of existence, already protracted beyond the usual span; and, in fact, will not pretend to say that we shall not consider it a very happy release.

The Review at Spithead.—It is wonderful that this affair was not a sad mistake; for there is no doubt that the Reviewers were all at sea.

SHAM FIGHT AT SPITHEADSHAM FIGHT AT SPITHEAD.Boarder."AH! IT'S ALL WERRY WELL; BUT O, JACK—IF YOU HAD BEEN A ROOSHIAN!"

Boarder."AH! IT'S ALL WERRY WELL; BUT O, JACK—IF YOU HAD BEEN A ROOSHIAN!"

PTHERE is a question we would ask the reader: Did ever he meet with a person who had sent any "conscience-money" to theChancellor of the Exchequer? We have met with many curious people in our lifetime, but we must say we never came in contact with an eccentric individual, who indulged in any peculiarity half so strange as the above. We do not believe such an individual exists. If ever there was a myth, we should say that individual is fairly entitled to call himself one. He must be the myth of all myths; unless perchance it is theChancellor of the Exchequerhimself, who sends all these conscience-moneys. We have long had a suspicion of this nature; firstly, because we never see any return of these numerous sums of money entered in the Quarter's Revenue; and, secondly, because we believe he does it to decoy others to do the same. If you notice, these conscientious offerings are generally made in favour of the income-tax. Now, theChancellor of the Exchequerknows very well that this tax is not a popular one. He also knows that, on account of its unpopularity, there is a very large class ofHer Majesty'ssubjects who particularly dislike paying it. Give them but a chance of evading the payment, and they do not in the least scruple availing themselves of it. We do not say whether the practice, so pursued, is honest or not, but such is the fact! TheChancellor of the Exchequer, therefore, hits every now and then upon the "conscience-money" expedient in order to reproach every man who has been a defaulter with the fact of his non-payment. It is only another way of saying to him, "Why don't you follow his example? Look at A. B.; what a noble-minded fellow he is! By some accident he has neglected to pay £50 for his share of the Income-Tax, and here, by Jove, he has sent it! Now, ifyouhave any conscience, you will immediately do the same."

THERE is a question we would ask the reader: Did ever he meet with a person who had sent any "conscience-money" to theChancellor of the Exchequer? We have met with many curious people in our lifetime, but we must say we never came in contact with an eccentric individual, who indulged in any peculiarity half so strange as the above. We do not believe such an individual exists. If ever there was a myth, we should say that individual is fairly entitled to call himself one. He must be the myth of all myths; unless perchance it is theChancellor of the Exchequerhimself, who sends all these conscience-moneys. We have long had a suspicion of this nature; firstly, because we never see any return of these numerous sums of money entered in the Quarter's Revenue; and, secondly, because we believe he does it to decoy others to do the same. If you notice, these conscientious offerings are generally made in favour of the income-tax. Now, theChancellor of the Exchequerknows very well that this tax is not a popular one. He also knows that, on account of its unpopularity, there is a very large class ofHer Majesty'ssubjects who particularly dislike paying it. Give them but a chance of evading the payment, and they do not in the least scruple availing themselves of it. We do not say whether the practice, so pursued, is honest or not, but such is the fact! TheChancellor of the Exchequer, therefore, hits every now and then upon the "conscience-money" expedient in order to reproach every man who has been a defaulter with the fact of his non-payment. It is only another way of saying to him, "Why don't you follow his example? Look at A. B.; what a noble-minded fellow he is! By some accident he has neglected to pay £50 for his share of the Income-Tax, and here, by Jove, he has sent it! Now, ifyouhave any conscience, you will immediately do the same."

We cannot say whether any one does send anything. A few pounds may drop in occasionally, but we suspect that the majority of the sums, sent in the name of A. B., or X. Y. Z., and the other popular initials of the alphabet, are forwarded by theChancellor of the Exchequerhimself. It is a financial dodge for inducing reluctant tax-payers to do that as a matter of "conscience," which they will not do as a pleasure.

Among the many novel systems of medicine for which the present day is remarkable, there is one distinguished by a name that, at least, seems very appropriate. It is called Coffinism. This is candid. The term, however, is so comprehensive, that it might, with great correctness, be applied to all manner of therapeutical schemes which deviate from true medical science. There is one right method of treating diseases, and there are many wrong ones; to all whereof the denomination of Coffinism is justly applicable; since it indicates, with exactness, the tendency of each of them; every improper way of attempting to cure people being a path which leads to the "bourne from which no traveller returns:" in short, which terminates in the elm box.

We hope we have heard the last of theEmperor of Russia'sUltimatums, or Ultimata, just as you like to call it. We trust theEmperorwill bear in mind the old Latin injunction of "Ne sutor ultra crepidam", which, for his own particular Imperial use, we beg to alter into "Ne sutor ultra Ultimatum."

Cure for a Cut.—Buy a new suit of clothes.

No. 2.—THE SONG OF THE DISTRESSED WEAVER.

Wearily spins the web of life;Dismally London's streets I tread:I've got at home a consumptive wife,And two small children lying dead.(Aside.) I must indulge a quiet grin—I shall feel better when I've laughed;My wife's at home consuming gin,While the children sleep with an opium draught.If my wife and children you could see,I'm sure you'd help me, good Christians all;Believe my wretched tale, and on meIn halfpence let your compassion fall.(Aside.) If my wife and children you wish to meetAs soon as she's sober, you'll mayhapFind her in the adjoining street,With the well-drugg'd infants on her lap.A Weaver I've always been by trade,From the time when I was eight years old;But I've been unfit for labour made,By hunger, over-work, and cold.(Aside.) Yes, I am a Weaver, I'll stick to that;And my skill will often myself surprise,When I think what precious yarns I spin,And what wondrous webs I weave—of lies.To beg I'm forbidden by the Act;But Providence will your charity bless,If you'll purchase a small religious tractFrom a pious Weaver in distress.(Aside.) Hallo! how's this? I'm fairly caught;A religious tract, I think I said;I've left them at home, and by Jove, I've broughtMy stock of flash song-books out instead.

Wearily spins the web of life;

Dismally London's streets I tread:

I've got at home a consumptive wife,

And two small children lying dead.

(Aside.) I must indulge a quiet grin—

I shall feel better when I've laughed;

My wife's at home consuming gin,

While the children sleep with an opium draught.

If my wife and children you could see,I'm sure you'd help me, good Christians all;Believe my wretched tale, and on meIn halfpence let your compassion fall.(Aside.) If my wife and children you wish to meetAs soon as she's sober, you'll mayhapFind her in the adjoining street,With the well-drugg'd infants on her lap.

If my wife and children you could see,

I'm sure you'd help me, good Christians all;

Believe my wretched tale, and on me

In halfpence let your compassion fall.

(Aside.) If my wife and children you wish to meet

As soon as she's sober, you'll mayhap

Find her in the adjoining street,

With the well-drugg'd infants on her lap.

A Weaver I've always been by trade,From the time when I was eight years old;But I've been unfit for labour made,By hunger, over-work, and cold.(Aside.) Yes, I am a Weaver, I'll stick to that;And my skill will often myself surprise,When I think what precious yarns I spin,And what wondrous webs I weave—of lies.

A Weaver I've always been by trade,

From the time when I was eight years old;

But I've been unfit for labour made,

By hunger, over-work, and cold.

(Aside.) Yes, I am a Weaver, I'll stick to that;

And my skill will often myself surprise,

When I think what precious yarns I spin,

And what wondrous webs I weave—of lies.

To beg I'm forbidden by the Act;But Providence will your charity bless,If you'll purchase a small religious tractFrom a pious Weaver in distress.(Aside.) Hallo! how's this? I'm fairly caught;A religious tract, I think I said;I've left them at home, and by Jove, I've broughtMy stock of flash song-books out instead.

To beg I'm forbidden by the Act;

But Providence will your charity bless,

If you'll purchase a small religious tract

From a pious Weaver in distress.

(Aside.) Hallo! how's this? I'm fairly caught;

A religious tract, I think I said;

I've left them at home, and by Jove, I've brought

My stock of flash song-books out instead.

LETTER II.

"Dear Mr. Punch,

"In my last letter to you, I mentioned a few of theStatutum estsof 'Tit.XIV.' of the Oxford Statutes; and I now come to consider 'Tit.XV.' of the same amusing work, premising that I shall confine my remarks to thisTit., as it would be a task of insufferable weariness—and one, I suppose, which like the discovery of the source of the Nile, no philanthropist would ever live to carry out—to attempt to explore the twenty-oneTits., which, with theirappendicesbranches, run through that immense tract of paper intended for the use of the academic youth (in usum juventutis academicaæ). But I may remark,en passant, as our 'lively neighbours' say—(I don't know French,Mr. Punch, but I like to quote it occasionally, as it shows refinement and education, and that you read theMorning Post, and all that sort of thing)—I may remark, that for the Vice-Chancellor to drive twenty-one of theseTits.in hand, and keep them well together, must be no ordinary act ofJehu-ism; and I think it would have added greatly to the effect of the late Commemoration, if they had put out illustrated posters, that the new Chancellor, 'acknowledged by the Press to be the premier jockey of the day, and without a Peer in the Westminster Circle,' would make his 'first public entrance into Oxford, drivingTWENTY-ONE TITS IN HAND!' after which would, of course, follow 'the performances in the Theatre,' with 'the drolleries of the Caucasian Clown,' and 'the laughable farce ofThe Phenomenon in a Doctor's gown.'I think something might have been made of that; but the hint may perhaps be taken against the next opportunity.

"Tit.XV. treats 'De moribus conformandis;" and it first orders that all juniors should pay due respect to their seniors—their seniors that is, in academical rank, for age doesnotcome before dignity in Oxford—the undergraduates to the B.A.'s, the B.A.'s to the M.A.'s, the M.A.'s to the D.C.L.'s, and so on, according to the standing of the 'Man of letters;' (a phrase which evidently refers to those mysterious decimations of the alphabet, which some people delight to put after their names). And the 'due respect' is to be shown, firstly, by yielding up the best seats, (locum potiorem cedendo) which, they tell me, was done in the theatre at the late Commemoration, by putting the undergraduates in the gallery, the M.A.'s in the pit, and reserving the boxes and dress circle for the 'Dons' and the ladies; and secondly, by giving the wall, and by capping, or, as the Statute more expressivelysays, 'by uncovering the head at a proper distance,' (ad justum intervallum caput aperiendo) though what this proper distance may be, appears to be left to the taste of the capper, the rank of the cappee, the force of the wind, the length of the arm, or any other directing influence. Probably the distance is measured by the relative dignity of the wearers of the cap, so that an undergraduate would have to uncover himself as soon as the Vice-Chancellor came in sight; and, in the event of a dispute as to the proper distance, the matter would probably be settled as they arrange similar differences of opinion under the new Cab Act, and would be brought before the Vice-Chancellor's Court, who would, doubtless, order the distance to be measured. At any rate, it appears that my sonPeterloowill have to learn to keep his distance, and this inclines me to think favourably of this Statute; for I have always been of opinion (since I made money by it) that there is nothing like being 'umble' to your superiors, and showing them all that respect which they desire, even if they don't deserve. But I am glad that the Oxford authorities enforce this Statute by wisely ordaining that those who neglect the proper marks of respect, shall be punished with impositions, loss of terms, and the setting down of their names in the Proctor's Black Book, (in Libro Nigro Procuratorum), which I have no doubt is the Bogy with which the nurses of Alma Mater terrify and awe her refractory children. But moreover, if they should still contumaciously persist in their conduct, (si contumaces perstiterint), they shall be fined in addition, not more than five pounds for each offence. It does not say what is done with the money, but it probably goes towards purchasing a plaister for wounded dignity. Now,Mr. Punch, as touching this healthy Statute, I am rather curious to know how many undergraduates, B.A.'s, or M.A.'s, were, during the late Commemoration, castigated by the Proctors (Procuratoribus castigentur), or fined this five pounds, or had their names put down in that terrible Black Book, or done anything else to, for not capping at a proper distance, or yielding the wall toDr. Samuel Warren, D.C.L., F.R.S., &c. &c., when they met that talented author ofThe Lily and the Bee, (thatsweet, thoughtfulpoem, asMrs. Browncalls it,) when he promenaded the High Street in all the scarlet glories of his new D.C.L.-ship? For, if the Proctors' Black Book be innocent of names branded therein for the dire offences mentioned, of course there would not be such a Statute for matriculating members to swear to obey.

No one shall Loiter about the StreetsNo one shall Loiter about the Streets or the Public Market-Place.

"It is next ordered that nobody should wander idly about the city or its suburbs, or be seen loitering about the streets, or the public market-place; (neque in Plateis, aut publico Foro, stantes aut commorantes conspiciantur,) just as though Oxford was always in a state of insurrection, and it was feared that if groups of students lounged in the streets, the Riot Act would have to be read, and the military called out. But, on the whole, I admire this rule also; for I know that when young men hang about in front of attractive shop-windows, the natural result is the running up of bills; and my son,Peterloo, has rather a pretty taste for jewellery and pictures. I am glad to think, therefore, that the authorities put a stop to these expensive lounges, and even punish them 'pro arbitrio Vice-Cancellarii, vel Procuratorum.' But I cannot help thinking,Mr. Punch, how greatly painters must draw on their own imaginations, when they represent the High Street of Oxford as always enlivened by several of these condemned groups: clearly an artistic license, as the authorities would have immediately dispersed them, in accordance with their Statute.

Nobody shall frequent where the Herb Nicotiana is soldNobody shall frequent where the Herb Nicotiana is sold.

"The next Statute that says nobody must frequent the houses of the townspeople and the workshops of artificers, without reasonable cause, I pass over with the simple remark, that it would have been better to have avoided the gratuitous insult that places respectable houses in the same clause with others that are both shameless and nameless; and I come to the next Statute, which says that Nobody shall frequent the taverns, wine-shops, or places within the city and University precincts, where wine, or any other liquor, or the herb Nicotiana or 'Tobacco,' is commonly sold. ('Cauponis, Ænopoliis ac domibus* * *in quibus vinum, aut quivis alius potus, aut herba Nicotiana siveTobacco,ordinarie venditur, abstineant), and that the townspeople who admit the students to such houses shall be heavily fined, or punished with loss of custom for a certain time.

"Bless me,Mr. Punch! to think that I have smoked tobacco all my life, and called it by its wrong name! But, asSam Slickobserves of the Frenchman, 'Blow'd if he didn't call a hat a shappo! This comes of his not speaking English!' so, I suppose, I fell into the mistake of calling the herb Nicotiana by its vulgar name of Tobacco, from not having had the advantage of an Oxford education. The Statute speaks for itself. It entirely sets at rest those absurd reports that we hear and read of the great consumption in Oxford of wines and spirituous liquors, pale ale, and the herb Nicotiana; and when my neighbour's son,Bellingham Grey, of Christchurch, has the politeness to offer me a 'weed' (he does not call it a 'herb,' I observe, so I suppose the plant has degenerated,) which he says he purchased atCastle's, or some other great stronghold for Oxford smokers; and when he further entertains me with accounts of snug little undergraduate dinners at the Star, or Mitre, and how from the effects of an injudicious mixture of liquors the waiter's face came to be artistically corked and otherwise taken liberties with; and when he narrates other anecdotes of a like pleasant nature, I must suppose that he takes me for a Marine, and tells his tales accordingly. For it is very evident to all sensible persons, that when the authorities require the students to swearnotto do these things, and to receive certain punishments if they do them, that they would be strict in enforcing the Statute, and would not tamely suffer either thoughtless undergraduates to break their oaths, or the unfortunate tavern and shop-keepers, and vendors of the herb Nicotiana, to run a risk of fines and loss of custom. Would they,Mr. Punch? I should rayther think not, says

"Your Constant Reader,

Peterloo Brown."

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