CURIOSITIES OF THE CATTLE SHOW.

I wandered in a rosy dream,Where Danube's waters pour;And there I saw the Crescent gleamUpon the farther shore.When lo! it seemed to pale and wane,And through the sky go down;Athwart the flood I leaped amain,And clutched a Turkish Crown.Oh! trust not visions, when, to Ill,Ambition they incline;That Crescent bright its horns will fill,Whilst I shall draw in mine!

I wandered in a rosy dream,Where Danube's waters pour;And there I saw the Crescent gleamUpon the farther shore.

I wandered in a rosy dream,

Where Danube's waters pour;

And there I saw the Crescent gleam

Upon the farther shore.

When lo! it seemed to pale and wane,And through the sky go down;Athwart the flood I leaped amain,And clutched a Turkish Crown.

When lo! it seemed to pale and wane,

And through the sky go down;

Athwart the flood I leaped amain,

And clutched a Turkish Crown.

Oh! trust not visions, when, to Ill,Ambition they incline;That Crescent bright its horns will fill,Whilst I shall draw in mine!

Oh! trust not visions, when, to Ill,

Ambition they incline;

That Crescent bright its horns will fill,

Whilst I shall draw in mine!

The annual aggregation of "fatty deposits," at the Bazaar in Baker Street, has just taken place as usual. It is, perhaps, as well that the exhibition should be of brief duration; for, in these days of "nuisance removal," we are not sure that the overfed beasts might not have been regarded as so many accumulations of offensive matter, and ordered to be got rid of accordingly.

The yearly gathering of agriculturists is, of course, the signal for the circulation of all sorts of puffing hand-bills setting forth the virtues of some new inventions for puzzling the weak agricultural mind, and making a demand on the agricultural pocket. We fancy we see a little turn for irony in one of the announcements put into our hand, which invited our "particular attention" to an article called the "Farmer's Friend," which has proved "an efficacious cure of fret and cholic." If the farmers have not yet left off fretting, here is a friend indeed; and it is to be had as low as 1s.8d.a bottle. We should suspect that the proposed antidote to "fret and cholic" among the farmers would be found, if analysed, to contain a good share of alcohol. Among the "drinks for cattle" advertised at the Bazaar, we find one of a rather startling description, which is recommended "for the disease called Hoven Blown Blasted Fog sickness"—a malady which we hope neither man nor beast is likely to be afflicted with.

We cultivate sacred music; but until recently, from a remote period of antiquity, we have had no sacred dancing. A gentleman, however, has just brought out an "Evangeline Waltz," which he advertises in conjunction with a "Flirtation Polka." The gentleman probably conceives himself to have a "mission" to diffuse the Evangel ofCupidby the instrumentality of capers.

Use and Abuse.—The Cab and the Driver.

WHAT A SHAMEWHAT A SHAME!Young Lady (inclining to Embonpoint)."I shall want him again this afternoon—from Two to Four."

Young Lady (inclining to Embonpoint)."I shall want him again this afternoon—from Two to Four."

Two gallant officers, a Lieutenant and a Captain of the Fusileers, have lately been running a flat race and a hurdle race against each other. The amusement was manly enough, and quite unobjectionable; though there is something at the first glance rather odd in the idea of two British officers competing which can run the fastest, when we recollect that never to run is the usual practice of our soldiers. We are quite sure that the competitors on this occasion will never use their running powers in the field of action, except in pursuit of an enemy. The races were well contested; the flat race being won by the Lieutenant, who "beat his opponent by three feet," which seems rather unfair, as no man ought to be allowed more than two feet to compete in a running match. In the hurdle race the Lieutenant commenced well against the Captain, but was unable to run him through—having unfortunately slipped in taking the fifth hurdle. The incident is suggestive of a little parody on the favourite military song of

Jump, jump! Captain and Subaltern,Why my lads, do you not tighten your girdles?Jump, jump! make a fair start of it;There goes the Subaltern over the hurdles!Comrades shall many a day tell of the horrid way—(E'en the bare thought makes the life-blood to curdle)How the poor Subaltern—as his luck took a turn—Pitched on his head ere he reached the fifth hurdle.Jump, jump, &c. &c.

Jump, jump! Captain and Subaltern,

Why my lads, do you not tighten your girdles?

Jump, jump! make a fair start of it;

There goes the Subaltern over the hurdles!

Comrades shall many a day tell of the horrid way—

(E'en the bare thought makes the life-blood to curdle)

How the poor Subaltern—as his luck took a turn—

Pitched on his head ere he reached the fifth hurdle.

Jump, jump, &c. &c.

Some persons have such a taking way with them that "if you give them an inch, they will take an ell." Now we should say the Russians had this same grasping manner about them, and if the Turks had yielded to them a single inch, by this time they would have taken the Dardan-elles.

The Great Reformer of the Age—To-morrow.

We think we have at last found a key to the flunkeyism of those citizens who are desirous of getting up anAlbertTestimonial. The recurrence of the Smithfield Club Cattle Show has presented the Prince Consort again before us in the character of a prizeholder by virtue of a wonderful pen of pigs, which proves His Royal Highness's continued devotion to porcine development. We all know the effect of a fellow feeling, and we are satisfied that the "greasy citizens" must entertain a natural sympathy with those precious feats of princely care which excite so much admiration in Baker Street. The Aldermanic mind would easily find an excuse for gratitude, in the fact thatPrince Albertseeks to give importance to the pig; and they would infer that he who would aggrandise the ordinary pig would not desire to make little of the London Alderman. For our own parts, without wishing to draw a nice distinction, we can appreciate the views of His Royal Highness, and though he may continue to fatten pigs for many years to come, we should not attribute to him any desire to see the London Corporation fattening on the spoils it has so long been allowed to appropriate.

In the course of a speech delivered the other day at Southampton, theBishop of Oxfordis reported to have remarked that

"There should be Bishops over the Clergy who would weep when they wept, and rejoice when they were glad."

Under existing circumstances that would be a difficult arrangement. What with poor curates weeping on their £70 or £80 annual pittances, and rich pluralists rejoicing at the same time in their several thousands a year, a Bishop, in order to sympathize with both, would have to weep with one side of his face and smile with the other.

Adamhad one great advantage over all other married couples—an advantage which has been lost to us with Paradise—he had no Mother-in-Law!!!

ABERDEEN SMOKING THE PIPE OF PEACEABERDEEN SMOKING THE PIPE OF PEACE.

TTHIS kind of mind struts about in fanciful costumes. It flaunts in vagaries, and is always masquerading its betters. It is a mind of colours, but colours without any union, or harmonious combination—giving one the notion of an Irish rainbow, in which all the hues had quarrelled, and resolved to live apart. Nothing is too broad for it, like a Palais Royal farce. Its legs are scored like a leg of pork—only the scoring is fearful in length, so that nothing can wipe it out, like the debts a young man runs up at college. It is lined all over like a zebra, and as the zebra is the animal that is next to the donkey, the description may be said to fit it like a second skin. There is about such a mind the emptiness of vanity coupled with all its noise—not unlike the noise which coppers make when they jingle in an empty pocket. Everything about it is brassy and loud—in fact it is a perfect ophieleide of loudness that is always in full blow. It gives you the headache to look at the owner of such a mind. Better to be right in the middle of the orchestra than sit next to such a mind at the theatre: the one is the soft murmur of Midsummer silence compared to the Cochin-China cock-crowing of the other. It never whispers, but bawls, like the waiter at a cook-shop. The mind bellows, like the poor fellows outsideRichardson'sshow—and the greater the bellowing the poorer the entertainment, generally, within. Its presence is a continual jar—a jar of sour and offensive things, like one ofGoldner'spreserves. How it swaggers! One would imagine the whole street belonged to it. It cannot sneeze like other people, but makes ten times more noise than any sneeze demands. It coughs to give notice of its arrival at any place—it bangs the door to give notice of its departure. Its insolence insists upon the best of everything—the seat nearest the fire, the best bedroom, the best cuts at dinner, and the best attention from everybody. It always takes the wall—it never gives way to anybody, not even to a lady. If she wants more room, let her go into the mud! It keeps its hat on in the presence of its superiors; but this is done more from ignorance than bravado, for it never suspects for a moment that it has any superiors. It stops contentedly in the middle of the room, arranges its two locks of japanned hair, that descend like two pitcher-handles on each side of its stony face; opens its legs, and admires its trousers with an air of the most supreme satisfaction. The Trouser Mind rarely looks upward. The head is to it a matter of very secondary importance, excepting as being a block that carries so much hair. Its thoughts are all downward; and if a person is introduced to it, the first survey is always to his boots and trousers. It measures mankind by its nether garments. The other half of the body is quite superfluous. In fact, the human body would, in the opinion of the Trouser Mind, be greatly improved, if it could be so contrived as to wear two pairs of trousers—one above and one below—and each pair to be totally different. In the upper regions, a thunderstorm of a pattern—in the lower, an earthquake.

THIS kind of mind struts about in fanciful costumes. It flaunts in vagaries, and is always masquerading its betters. It is a mind of colours, but colours without any union, or harmonious combination—giving one the notion of an Irish rainbow, in which all the hues had quarrelled, and resolved to live apart. Nothing is too broad for it, like a Palais Royal farce. Its legs are scored like a leg of pork—only the scoring is fearful in length, so that nothing can wipe it out, like the debts a young man runs up at college. It is lined all over like a zebra, and as the zebra is the animal that is next to the donkey, the description may be said to fit it like a second skin. There is about such a mind the emptiness of vanity coupled with all its noise—not unlike the noise which coppers make when they jingle in an empty pocket. Everything about it is brassy and loud—in fact it is a perfect ophieleide of loudness that is always in full blow. It gives you the headache to look at the owner of such a mind. Better to be right in the middle of the orchestra than sit next to such a mind at the theatre: the one is the soft murmur of Midsummer silence compared to the Cochin-China cock-crowing of the other. It never whispers, but bawls, like the waiter at a cook-shop. The mind bellows, like the poor fellows outsideRichardson'sshow—and the greater the bellowing the poorer the entertainment, generally, within. Its presence is a continual jar—a jar of sour and offensive things, like one ofGoldner'spreserves. How it swaggers! One would imagine the whole street belonged to it. It cannot sneeze like other people, but makes ten times more noise than any sneeze demands. It coughs to give notice of its arrival at any place—it bangs the door to give notice of its departure. Its insolence insists upon the best of everything—the seat nearest the fire, the best bedroom, the best cuts at dinner, and the best attention from everybody. It always takes the wall—it never gives way to anybody, not even to a lady. If she wants more room, let her go into the mud! It keeps its hat on in the presence of its superiors; but this is done more from ignorance than bravado, for it never suspects for a moment that it has any superiors. It stops contentedly in the middle of the room, arranges its two locks of japanned hair, that descend like two pitcher-handles on each side of its stony face; opens its legs, and admires its trousers with an air of the most supreme satisfaction. The Trouser Mind rarely looks upward. The head is to it a matter of very secondary importance, excepting as being a block that carries so much hair. Its thoughts are all downward; and if a person is introduced to it, the first survey is always to his boots and trousers. It measures mankind by its nether garments. The other half of the body is quite superfluous. In fact, the human body would, in the opinion of the Trouser Mind, be greatly improved, if it could be so contrived as to wear two pairs of trousers—one above and one below—and each pair to be totally different. In the upper regions, a thunderstorm of a pattern—in the lower, an earthquake.

DidNicholasmean, say, ye schoolmen so clever,To entreat he might not be confounded for ever;Or, did he intend, with presumption unbounded,To prefer a request to be never confounded?The former supposed to have been his petition,There is hope for him yet in unfeigned contrition;The latter's past praying for—merely delusion:OldNickhas already been put to confusion.

DidNicholasmean, say, ye schoolmen so clever,

To entreat he might not be confounded for ever;

Or, did he intend, with presumption unbounded,

To prefer a request to be never confounded?

The former supposed to have been his petition,

There is hope for him yet in unfeigned contrition;

The latter's past praying for—merely delusion:

OldNickhas already been put to confusion.

(To be imbibed whilst eating Turtle.)"Spare the Birch(in Cornhill), and you'll spoil the Alderman."

The March of Intellect.—Everybody walking into everybody else!

It has long been felt that all the old arts of puffing have been exhausted, and the consequence is that some of the most renowned masters of the arts formerly in vogue have retired from a field in which nothing more can be gathered. The poet has departed from the Mart ofMoses, and the Muses that once hung round the brilliant jet ofWarrenhave deserted those extensive premises in the Strand where every blacking-bottle used to be, as it were, a jet of the Fount of Castaly.

The harp that once inWarren'sMartThe soul of Music shed,Now mutely lies inWarren'scart,Or underWarren'sbed.So sleeps the source ofMoses'lays,SoRowlands' puffs are o'er;And heads once wreathed in poets' baysAre thumped for rhymes no more.No more by stanzas, songs, and odes,Warrenhis blacking sells;The van alone the carman loads,The name ofWarrentells.ThusMoses' muse so seldom wakes;The only sign she givesIs when some silly rhymes she makes,To show that still she lives.

The harp that once inWarren'sMart

The soul of Music shed,

Now mutely lies inWarren'scart,

Or underWarren'sbed.

So sleeps the source ofMoses'lays,

SoRowlands' puffs are o'er;

And heads once wreathed in poets' bays

Are thumped for rhymes no more.

No more by stanzas, songs, and odes,Warrenhis blacking sells;The van alone the carman loads,The name ofWarrentells.ThusMoses' muse so seldom wakes;The only sign she givesIs when some silly rhymes she makes,To show that still she lives.

No more by stanzas, songs, and odes,

Warrenhis blacking sells;

The van alone the carman loads,

The name ofWarrentells.

ThusMoses' muse so seldom wakes;

The only sign she gives

Is when some silly rhymes she makes,

To show that still she lives.

Poetic puffing having been blown to its utmost extent until the over-inflated windbag has burst and collapsed, the oratorical style of puffing having departed with the late lamentedGeorge Robins, and the narrative or anecdotal order of puffing having been abandoned byRowland and Son, of scented memory, nothing remains but to invent a novelty. Acknowledging, as we do, that "there is nothing new under the sun," we sit down on a day when there is no sun to be seen, and on a misty morning in December we ask ourselves whether something new under a fog may not be perceptible. From the huge cauldron of pea-soup, which is emblemed in the London atmosphere, we fancy we discern something, and a new art of puffing is revealed to us in the shape of a Proposal to combine the Commercial with the Comic, and to establish on the ruins ofWarren'sfitful lyre andMoses' muse's measures a system of comic puffing, containing a joke in every announcement. In order to show how the thing may be done, we give—gratis—a few specimens. We will begin with a few jokes for Royal Tradesmen.

1st. TheQueen'sshoemaker may advertise himself as "purveyor of shoes to the whole ofHer Majesty'sfoot," and he may also add that "the good footing on which Royalty stands with the people in this country is entirely due to &c. &c., who makes theQueen'sshoes, and who sells highlows, &c. &c. &c."

2nd. TheQueen'sglover may announce that "the affection entertained by the whole nation for the Royal Kids is entirely due to the fact thatHer Majestybuys all her gloves of &c. &c."

3rd. TheQueen'sperfumer may ask conundrumically: "Why is Royalty in such excellent odour in England? Because all the scents used in the palace are purchased at &c. &c."

4th. TheQueen'shairdresser may—with a disregard to orthography which is allowable in a perruquier and a punster—hazard the remark "that the true secret of the grace and beauty which adorn the hair to the throne is to be found in the fact thatHer Majesty'shair owes its attractiveness to the hand of Nature and the pomade sold only by &c. &c. &c."

We could multiply instances over and over again. But as our object is to suggest a new mine of wealth to those literary men of our day who look to the art of puffing as a mode of obtaining an occasional blow out, we shall not proceed to forestall them in their labours, and take out of their mouths one morsel of that bread which, to the utter consternation of the poet, is now selling at elevenpence the quartern.

The scheme of theArchbishop of Parisfor instituting afêteunder the name ofFête des Ecoles, to promote learning in connexion with faith, is a happy one. Everybody will agree in the sentiment expressed in his pastoral, that "Religion and Science are the two lamps which enlighten the world." And if by religion he means Popery, it may be permitted to congratulate him that, happily for the human race, one of the lights which he alludes to has put out the other's burning.

An Improvement.—The Russian army boasts of aPrince Stirbey. We think it would be an improvement, and only a just compliment to the aggressive spirit of the Russians, to call himPrince Disturbey.

WWhenSusan, maid-of-all-work in the regular and respectable family ofMr. Potts—small Cityman, with ambition under his waistcoat to be some day considerably bigger—when the aforesaid illiterate and superstitiousSusan, wishing to better herself—(a vanity that is unconsciously shared with her even byMr.andMrs. Pottsthemselves)—gives ready ear toEglantine Prigduck, gypsey from Barnes or Norwood—Eglantinedealing in husbands of every variety and at the shortest notice—and, giving ear to the prophetic gypsey, gives her at the same time an opportunity to draw into her Maelstrom pocket or wallet certain silver spoons, afterwards identified byMr. Potts—his own initials lovingly intertwining with the initials ofMrs. Potts, with the family crest of a rampant lion licking his tongue at posterity indubitably marking them as his property—

WhenSusan, maid-of-all-work in the regular and respectable family ofMr. Potts—small Cityman, with ambition under his waistcoat to be some day considerably bigger—when the aforesaid illiterate and superstitiousSusan, wishing to better herself—(a vanity that is unconsciously shared with her even byMr.andMrs. Pottsthemselves)—gives ready ear toEglantine Prigduck, gypsey from Barnes or Norwood—Eglantinedealing in husbands of every variety and at the shortest notice—and, giving ear to the prophetic gypsey, gives her at the same time an opportunity to draw into her Maelstrom pocket or wallet certain silver spoons, afterwards identified byMr. Potts—his own initials lovingly intertwining with the initials ofMrs. Potts, with the family crest of a rampant lion licking his tongue at posterity indubitably marking them as his property—

When, we say,Susanweeps and knocks her knees together, in a paroxysm of terror before the worthy and respectedMr. Sixmunce—and the indomitableEglantinelooks callously innocent, calling all the stars to witness that "the gal giv her the spoons as her own goods and nobody's else's—"

WhenSusanis confronted with this alleged fact—the respectable part of society of whichMr.andMrs. Pottsare such very distinguished members, shakes its head, and wonders how ignorance at eight pounds a year, tea and sugar included, can be such a fool as to believe in a gypsey! However, the benevolentMr. SixmuncecommitsEglantineto Tothill-Fields, and—with one of those paternal remonstrances that have won for him the proud designation of the Father of the Bench—dismisses the gratefulSusanto her kitchen,Mr.andMrs. Potts, with a sudden benevolence, which causes them some after astonishment and self-congratulation on their goodness, consenting to give the creature another trial.

Now at the very time thatSusanwas opening her homely hand, that gypseyEglantinemight read in its hard page the marriage lines of the hopeful maiden (who is to give sixpence at most for the glad tidings; the spoons being purely an after-thought of the gypsey's own)—at the very timeMrs. Pottsin her parlour is readingRaphael's Prophetic Messenger; for the which she—the educated, finishedMrs. Potts; for was she not beautifully finished at Athens House, Wandsworth?—for the which she has, in the best faith and best current silver, disbursed two-and-sixpence! Ignorance crieth out in the streets, and everybody gives ear to her. OurMessengerhas, to be sure, a more winning introduction than even the smiles and musical cajolery ofEglantine Prigduck. For it has a beautiful picture in which the events of 1854 are brought out in bold red, and blue, and orange-tawney.Louis Naploleonis engaged chatting withBritannia—(who is asking him to run across and take a cup of tea in London, the British Lion at her side manifesting no objection whatever)—the while a very hairy savage has a dagger upraised at theEmperor'sback, and is evidently screwing himself up to "the sticking place." There are mourning-coaches going to "take up" at Windsor Castle, with other graphic amenities significant of what must happen in the year 1854. And for this the enlightenedMrs. Potts(that gypsey is still withSusanin the kitchen) has given two-and-sixpence; and that too with the mighty resolution of getting her good half-crown's worth out of it. Well,Mrs. Pottsbegins with January, turning very pale as she learns this fact:—

"The square ofVenusandSaturndenotes severe affliction to a lady of the highest rank. The tranquillity of France is disturbed; much excitement reigns in Paris, Lyons, Toulouse, and Rome. Turkey and the regions of the Tigris and Euphrates are sorely afflicted."

This lady—whoever she may be—has very sore afflictions throughout twelvemonth; but thenRaphaelmust earn his half-crown's worth.

In February,Mrs. Pottsis informed—(and thinks with a shiver of littleWilhelminawho has not yet had the scarlet fever)—in February:

"Marsretrogrades to the opposition of the Moon in the radix of thePrincess Alice, and indicates a liability to feverish complaint or accident."

Mrs. Pottshas conjugal fears for the health ofPotts, and resolves to insist upon gutta percha soles. In March—

"The retrogradation ofMarsinVirgoin opposition toVenus, alsoretrogade inPisces,will stir up civil broils in Portugal; treachery and conspiracies amongst the priesthood are directed against theQueenand Government of that country."

Already, the poorQueen of Portugalsleeps in the tomb of theBraganzas; but evenRaphaelcannot be always infallible; not even for half-a-crown!

April is big with events; or rather with one event that must swallow up every other.Mrs. Pottsis a playgoer, and with the sensibility of her sex, would "ten to one rather see theCorsican BrothersthanHamlet." Therefore she reads the subjoined with corresponding perturbation.

"Scandal or death awaits one renowned in the theatrical world."

This is in April! Perhaps on the first of April? It cannot beBarry, the deathless Clown, who shall be snatched from us? If, then, it should be the—the—the "renowned"—but no! we will not, wecannotthink of it! Ha! ha! ha!Sardanapalusis himself again!

Mayis full of danger as of hawthorn. Whatcanthe loyalMrs. Pottsthink of this?

"Marshastens,as it were, to apply the torch to the train of evil he has previously laid.The highest power in the land is grievously afflicted.It is the earnest prayer ofRaphael, that the direful influence ofSaturnon the ascending degree and radical place of the luminaries in our beloved Sovereign's horoscope may be averted."

But this is nothing. "The highest power" is continually threatened; a prediction that, in the days ofQueen Bess, would—we doubt not—have helpedRaphaelto the highest gibbet. AgainRaphaelturns the penny upon "our beloved Sovereign." In June, he says—

"I dare notfully enter intoALLthe important significations of these positions and configurations.I sincerely pray that the health of our beloved Sovereignmay be preserved, in which I am assured her subjects will universally join."

(Do we not beholdRaphaelon his bended knees, "sincerely praying," with the half-crown in his mouth?) In July, however, our prophet makes merchandize of theQueen'schildren.

"Saturn transits the place of the Sun in the nativity of thePrincess Helena, producing a tendencyto disease in the chest, &c., at the end of June and beginning of July. The 7th and 8thare evil daysfor thePrince of Wales, and the 19th for thePrince Arthur.Their attendants should carefully avoid accident."

These would have made very "evil days" for our prophet; evil as pillory and cart-whip could have shaped them. But we live in liberal times, and the Astrologer may turn his half-crown upon the probable diseased chest of the littlePrincess Helena, and the threatened dangers ofPrinces AlbertandArthur!

Mrs. Pottsreads in August that "theKing of Naplesshould beware of female intrigue, poison, or the assassin;" and—controlling her emotion—turns over to September, where she learns among other not impossible events that "great cruelty is displayed towardssome femaleabout the 27th."Mrs. Pottsthinks October a little slow. "Public writers and scientific men are unsuccessful:" and what of that? "The fine arts prosper!" Bother the fine arts: and straightwayMrs. Pottspasses to November,when

"Much excitement reigns throughout the land; the long talked of invading army may, under these influences, make its appearance, and ere many months 'the wolf will come.'"

With the intuitive calculation of woman,Mrs. Pottswonders where on earth she andPottsare to sleep, if the Russians—which, of course, is meant by the wolf—is quartered upon 'em?

But this is nothing to what is threatened in December.Mrs. Pottscontinues to read with—very naturally—increasing fear and amazement. Fear forHer MajestytheQueen, and amazement at things in general! "Heaven preserve!"—cries the prophet in ominous tones—"Heaven preserve the health of our Sovereign, and also of her people!"—ending with the new version of a Dead March, set after this fashion:—

"Dark and gloomy clouds hover over us; and I regret to add that during the year 1855 the significations are still fearfully evil. I cannot at present discover one ray of hope."

What? Not for half-a-crown? Suppose, then, we make it three-and-sixpence!

Now, whilst thePottsescontinue to read theProphetic Raphael—(it is the vagabond's "thirty-fourth year")—inthe parlour—should they wonder at, should they punish poorSusanwith the gypsey in the kitchen?

Take care—oh, ye masters and mistresses!—of the half-crowns, and in good time the spoons will take care of themselves.

cartoon--Mr. Punch

"If anything could increase my extreme horror of Blue-Stockings, it would be the terrible suspicion I cannot divest myself of that every Blue-Stocking drinks. I fancy that the only person she pays her devoirs to—and those only in secret—isOld Tom; and that it is as much as she can do to keep her lips away from him. The suspicion is a very ungallant one, but I cannot help imagining that when two Blue-Stockings get together, they do love a good soaking. In fact, who was the goddess who first gave her countenance to Gin?Pallas, to be sure; and her very origin was the result of a drunken frolic, for are we not told that she came into the world during one ofJove'ssplitting headaches? NowPallasis the confessed patroness of all Blue-Stockings; and as a public-house is to this day called, in honour of her, a "Gin Pallas", it is not very unreasonable to suppose that herprotégéesare addicted to the same terrible practice! It is sad, indeed, to think—and I only hope it is not true—that the Tree of Knowledge should, with elderly ladies, be a Juniper Tree."—Anon.

TTHE Philharmonic Concerts are tolerably good; those of the Sacred Harmonic Society are pretty fair, but there is a musical entertainment now going on which, if it realises the object it aims at, must beat every other quite out of the field. A lady,Mrs. Hamilton, under the title of "Practical Phrenologist," professes, by advertisement, to give public performances, described by her as "Phrenology illustrated by Music." The shallow punster will of course remark that he imagined that the only organs susceptible of musical expression were those of the sort invented bySt. Cecilia, and not such as were discovered byGallandSpurzheim; except that the phrenological organ of tune might, perhaps, sing for itself. However,Handelmay be considered to have illustrated the organ of Veneration in his Oratorios;Weberthat of Marvellousness in hisDer FreischützandOberon;Beethoventhat of Ideality and the organs of the other sentiments proper to man, in combination with those of the reflective faculties, in his symphonies and sonatas;BelliniandDonizettithe organs of Adhesiveness and Amativeness.Rossinimight also be adduced as an illustrator of Gaiety or Mirthfulness, and Imitation, or the dramatic organ. ButMrs. Hamilton'smusic, which is to illustrate Phrenology at large, and consequently all the organs, must, if it accomplishes as much as it attempts, be equal toHandel's,Beethoven's,Weber's,Rossini's,Bellini's,Donizetti's; indeed to the music of all the great composers put together. She must be a sort of musicalShakspere—than whom nobody else ever succeeded in giving illustrations of Phrenology, or the philosophy of human nature, at large.

THE Philharmonic Concerts are tolerably good; those of the Sacred Harmonic Society are pretty fair, but there is a musical entertainment now going on which, if it realises the object it aims at, must beat every other quite out of the field. A lady,Mrs. Hamilton, under the title of "Practical Phrenologist," professes, by advertisement, to give public performances, described by her as "Phrenology illustrated by Music." The shallow punster will of course remark that he imagined that the only organs susceptible of musical expression were those of the sort invented bySt. Cecilia, and not such as were discovered byGallandSpurzheim; except that the phrenological organ of tune might, perhaps, sing for itself. However,Handelmay be considered to have illustrated the organ of Veneration in his Oratorios;Weberthat of Marvellousness in hisDer FreischützandOberon;Beethoventhat of Ideality and the organs of the other sentiments proper to man, in combination with those of the reflective faculties, in his symphonies and sonatas;BelliniandDonizettithe organs of Adhesiveness and Amativeness.Rossinimight also be adduced as an illustrator of Gaiety or Mirthfulness, and Imitation, or the dramatic organ. ButMrs. Hamilton'smusic, which is to illustrate Phrenology at large, and consequently all the organs, must, if it accomplishes as much as it attempts, be equal toHandel's,Beethoven's,Weber's,Rossini's,Bellini's,Donizetti's; indeed to the music of all the great composers put together. She must be a sort of musicalShakspere—than whom nobody else ever succeeded in giving illustrations of Phrenology, or the philosophy of human nature, at large.

To illustrate the whole of Phrenology by Music in one evening must be impossible. The shortest way to do it would be by means of a symphony, consisting of no less than thirty-five movements, if we are to consider the "Love of Life" and "Alimentiveness" as established organs. The latter of these might he elucidated, musically, by the introduction of "The Roast Beef of Old England;" for the former, just now, the best notion would, perhaps, be the Russian National Anthem turned into a fugue, to signifyPrince Gortschakoff'stroops saving themselves as fast as possible fromOmar Pacha. But a series of performances would be required by the extensive nature of the subject; for any one organ, taken in all its combinations, might be played upon for a whole evening. Some of the organs are susceptible enough of musical treatment: "Philoprogenitiveness," or the instinct of paternal and maternal affection, but more especially of the latter, has its melody in the music of nature, as heard in the nursery, or issuing therefrom, mellowed by distance—the mellower from that cause the better. The effect in questionMrs. Hamilton(who appears to be a Scottish lady) might produce by the judicious employment—it would have to be judicious—of the bagpipes. "Acquisitiveness" rejoices in the jingling of money, which might be expressed by means of the triangles, introducing the appropriated air of "Still so gently o'er me stealing." "Self-esteem" would blow its own trumpet, of course; the want of it being expressed by transition to a minor key. "Destructiveness" could be disposed of by a crash. "Combativeness" might come out in the drums and fifes. "Firmness" might persist in a violoncello accompaniment. "Cautiousness," slow and sure, would speak in a gentleadagio. A livelyallegrettowould represent "Wit." The music of Masonry would supply some hints for "Constructiveness." There are organs, however, which may rather puzzle a composer. No harmonious measures that one can well imagine would give any idea of "Form" or "Size," and "Locality" would seem to be quite out of the musical way.

Mrs. Hamiltoninforms the public, that she will lecture on living heads from the audience, assisted by the celebratedMrs. Carter, "theJenny Lindof Scotland." Hence, it seems that the music will be, partly at least, vocal. It may be surmised thatMrs. Hamilton'slecture consists principally of recitative, which would be more suitable than anaria, abravura, acanzonet, or a part in a duet, to the statement of anatomical and physiological facts.Mrs. Carter, we are told, will sing Scotch, English, and Irish songs. There is an Irish song called "Donnybrook Fair," which alludes strongly to the shillelagh, and may therefore be conceived to be very pertinent to bumps. England, doubtless, has ballads adapted to various organs besides the grinding; and in addition to "John Andersen my Jo," and many other songs of the affective faculties, there is a particular Scotch song that might be very useful to a lecturer on Phrenology.Mrs. Hamilton, in lecturing on living heads, may be obliged to describe the upper story of some gentleman as being similar in its build to that of the lateMr. Rush. Any unpleasant feeling, or objection on his part to such a statement, might be quelled byMrs. Carterimmediately striking up, "A man's a man for a' that."

Whether Phrenology is made any clearer or not byMrs. Hamilton'smusical illustrations of it, we dare say that those illustrations are anyhow very well worth hearing.

It appears that the Sheriffs of London are fined from £500 to £600, in the guise of a subscription to theLord Mayor'sDinner. Now this is a tolerable fork-out, for any one who can stand it, even if destined to the promotion of a high object, but considering what kind of purpose it is actually squandered on, we must call it a knife-and-fork-out that is quite intolerable.

TheEmperor of Russiahas drawn his money out of the Bank of England, which he seems to identify with that of the Danube, whereon a handsome check was presented to him by the Turks.

Pretty Little Thought.—The Squirrel jumps from branch to branch, the Flirt from beau to beau.

A Real Scottish Grievance.—Lord Aberdeen.

Knowledge.—The Offspring of Thought, but much oftener an Adopted Child.

A BURST WITH THE HARRIERS IN THE WEST"A BURST WITH THE HARRIERS IN THE WEST.""I ax yer pardon for stopping of ye, Sir, but could ye lend me a Girth? Mine's a broken."

"I ax yer pardon for stopping of ye, Sir, but could ye lend me a Girth? Mine's a broken."

"Yeast Lane, Grinnidge, Haithedesemburhatingfiftethre.

"Honnurd Mistur Punch,

"Heerin from them as nose u, that u wos allus a stikler for wimmins rites, i use no serrymony in a dressin of u wuns more, on beharf of my seks, as may well be called a fare seks to distinguish hit from yurn, as is allus tretin ourn so unfarely. For Surr, feemul flesh an blud cante abear no longer the way in wich husbans is a goin on, not that I speke ofJon, wich is a good cretur, tho in respek of bein a man, he cante help aggrawatin sumtimes, but have never liff his hand upon me, an nose better than to try it on agin wun as can scrub ten flores a day, or git up a wekes wosh for a large famly in fore an twenty hours. But sum of my naybors as air not blesst with a good sperrit and constant maniwal heksersise, do get put upon terribul, an hime sure if u could see the pore creeturs a shoin of eche huther their oonds an brooses, for hall the world like hold soldiers after a battel, an here wun on em sain, 'My man give me this here gashly oond on my cheke bone with a smoothin hiren, last Wensday wos a weke;' an hanuther, tellin ow herJimtake an run a bradorle into her sholder, an swore hede skru her to the wall; an a thurd hexplainin ow her husban cum home drunk wen she wos aslepe, an tride to pitch her out of winder (wich she live up three pair o stares) an sed hede thro her litel wuns a top of her, and ood a done it too, honely her naybors cum in an purwented him, just as she wos amost spent with screechin an prayin, an hangin on by her highlids;—if u cood see an here all this an more too, as I sees an heres hevery day ude fele ure blud a bilin in ure wanes, fit to bleech ure werry skin. An then wots our remmydie? 'Lor,' I sez toNancy Jones, the huther day, wen I see her cummin doun the lain with a blak hi, and her gownd tore, an hever so much of her bak hare torn hout by the rutes, wich herBillhad held hisself on by it, wile he punched her ed, 'Lor' I sez 'Nancy, ifJonpull my hare so, od rabbit it, hide polecee him.' 'Donte tell,' sez she 'wot's the gude of poleecin of im? Poleece wood get him siks moneths an ard labor, an hoos to purwide for me an litelJak, anRose Juleener, anHagones, anSofier, wile hese enjoying of hisself in prizzen? He do kepe us now, and wede better liv and be bete, than keep hole bones an git no bred.'

"An she do speke no more than the plane truthe, Surr. Poleecin of a husban punishes the wife and not im. Prizzen gives im a warmer rufe over his ed than he ad afore; prizzen fare cums more reglar than his hone, an cante be no planer nor harder nor scantier than wot he ave leff; prizzen reggulashuns kepes im clener an elthier an cumfurtabeller than he cood be in hour corts an hallies, an if prizzen labour wos from siks in the mornin till siks in the hevenin, its honely wot hese bin hused to. But the wife of his buzzum, as ave bin harf murdered by him, have to slave and drive to kepe bred in the mouths ofhischildren (an sayNancy Jones, 'if it wosn't for the children, Ide ave give im back his ring at the werry fust nok he giv me'), an must wurk arder than hanyHuncle Tomas ever wos, or go to the workus, wich few peepul can abide, an hall this she must do in the hexpektashun of seein of im out agin, an of the preshus hidin she'll git at their next appy meetin. An so many a pore creetur nevver peeches on the man as is a killin of her, lest she shood bring herself to dounrite starvashun. But, Surr, if husbands wos to get as good as they gave, an have a preshus good hidin with a catoninetales hevery time they bete their wives, praps the smart of their own flesh wood teche em not to make huther peepul suffer, and if they wos flogged nere their one homes, the other brutes as node em, and as is naterally kowherdly, would kepe their hands off their wives wen they sede wot theid get by betin of em. An so I ope ule try to bring about corpral's punishment for such offences, wich i suppose it is so called becos the corprals does the floggin in the harmy, and hoblidge your

"Humbel chareoman,

"Jane Gimlet."

After the very conspicuous manner in which the City Corporation has been busying itself in the matter ofPrince Albert'sStatue, the Livery of the City of London should be immediately altered to that which is usually worn at Court. As the Aldermen and others do not mind appearing before the public as flunkeys ofPrince Albert, the least they can do is to wear His Royal Highness's livery.

Three Things Modern Young Men Cultivate.—The acquaintance of a young lady with plenty of money—shirt collars as high as a garden wall—and a moustache.

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