A WAKE IN THE MINING DISTRICTS.A WAKE IN THE MINING DISTRICTS.J'moimer Ann."Has thee fowghten, Bill?"Bill."Nooah!"J'moimer Ann."Then get thee Fowghten, and coom wum. Daddy got his'n done by fower o'clock!"
J'moimer Ann."Has thee fowghten, Bill?"
Bill."Nooah!"
J'moimer Ann."Then get thee Fowghten, and coom wum. Daddy got his'n done by fower o'clock!"
The laudable custom adopted by agricultural societies of rewarding labourers for living and rearing families upon ten shillings a week, might be carried further out. Mutual improvement associations should be established among the rustics, for the purpose of cultivating abstinence by means of emulation. Country gentlemen would formerly encourage eating-matches among the peasantry: the reverse of this gross practice should be adopted now: and clodhopper should be pitted against clodhopper to do the greatest amount of work on the smallest quantity of bread and water in a given time. The clowns should also be stimulated to compete on holidays, particularly at those of Christmas, when the weather especially affords the requisite conditions, by trying which can continue longest sitting in the cold without any fire, and which can dispense to the greatest extent with clothes and bedding. By these wholesome exercises they will be trained to contentment with the very smallest possible participation in the fruits of that earth which they cultivate, so as to leave the larger share to the gentry who subsist by their industry, to be expended in all manner of comfort, pleasure, splendour, and magnificence. Thus, as happiness is attainable in either of two ways—one consisting in the satisfaction, the other in the conquest of our desires—they would make themselves happy by the former method, and their labourers by the latter.
Pantropheon!—What doesSoyermean by that?All-Nourisher—the Guide to Getting Fat—But in that Book of Cookery, I'll be bound,There's one receipt, at least, that won't be found—Debtor'sConsommé:—Take a bit of beef,Or mutton to make rations for a thief.Then boil, remove the liquor from the pot,Neat, pure, and simple—serve it cold or hot.On such good fare doth Winchester regaleThe debtor rotting in her model jail.
Pantropheon!—What doesSoyermean by that?All-Nourisher—the Guide to Getting Fat—But in that Book of Cookery, I'll be bound,There's one receipt, at least, that won't be found—Debtor'sConsommé:—Take a bit of beef,Or mutton to make rations for a thief.Then boil, remove the liquor from the pot,Neat, pure, and simple—serve it cold or hot.On such good fare doth Winchester regaleThe debtor rotting in her model jail.
Pantropheon!—What doesSoyermean by that?
All-Nourisher—the Guide to Getting Fat—
But in that Book of Cookery, I'll be bound,
There's one receipt, at least, that won't be found—
Debtor'sConsommé:—Take a bit of beef,
Or mutton to make rations for a thief.
Then boil, remove the liquor from the pot,
Neat, pure, and simple—serve it cold or hot.
On such good fare doth Winchester regale
The debtor rotting in her model jail.
Hunger, they say, is the best sauce; and this may account perhaps for the reason why hungry people are generally so impertinent.
Parson Rook! Why Rook? What has Parson to do with Rook? a child might ask, puzzled by that nursery collocation of bird and clerical gentleman. Both black? Then why not Chimney Sweep Rook?—Undertaker Rook? The explanation is too superficial to satisfy even the infant mind.
Now, when we consider that the Dean and Canons of St. Paul's have, as we are credibly informed, stopped the sevenpence a week—the penny a day—heretofore from time immemorial allowed the little chorister children for pocket-money, we are induced to pursue some interesting inquiries:—
Who took away the poor boys' stipends? Who has taken their lollipops out of their mouths? Who robbed them of their penny tarts? Who keeps cathedral stalls and ruins apple-stalls?—may be enumerated as some of those questions which we are disposed to propound.
But we also revert to the child's interrogation—why Parson Rook?—and we find we can answer it in a highly satisfactory manner.
Be it premised, that the reason assigned for this mulct of the acolytes is that by the proceeds thereof the washing of their surplices may be paid for. They are to wear fine linen, but not to fare sumptuously every day: that mode of life is reserved for the port-vinous appropriators of their cake money. Vainly has the tax been taken off soap, seeing that the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's are so ill off for it. But the article is an important one to close shavers. Therefore the choristers are docked of their allowance, and the loud-voiced anthem will blend with the secular strain, "I've no Money."
We now come to inquire what has happened to render the ecclesiastical corporation of St. Paul's unable any longer to stand soap. What has necessitated the demand for the sevenpences of the children to defray their surplice-washing?—whereof the ordinary cost would be fourpence by the tariff of our laundress.
This has happened: the relinquishment, on the part of that reverend society, of the twopences formerly taken at the doors of their church; which having been extorted from them by popular indignation, they now, we suppose, indemnify themselves by a sevenpenny confiscation at the expense of the little vocalists.
And thus we arrive at a perception of the connection between Parson and Rook; for these men are Parsons: and we discover that they possess an anatomical organ in common with that bird, and with other birds that consume the fruits of the earth. The existence of that organ is revealed by its symptoms of suffering. The Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's, in withdrawing the sevenpences, show that the loss of the twopencessticks in their Gizzards.
England little suspected the game that thePopehas been playing. It turns out to be billiards.
His Holiness no doubt has his cue given him by one of the astutest Members of the College of Cardinals.
His aim, no doubt, is the old traditional one—to put the globe into his pocket.
The Elizabethan age delighted in bear-baiting; and it seems not improbable that the reign ofVictoriawill witness a similar amusement. A formidable Russian bear has broken loose in the Danubian Principalities, and a large number of British bulldogs have been already collected to worry him, unless he speedily retreats into his den.
A Strike is generally supposed to be another name for a Bushel. It is, however, a Sack, which certain workmen are so infatuated as to give themselves.
ALL IS VANITYALL IS VANITY.Frederick."There, now, how very provoking! I've left the Prayer-Books at Home!"Maria."Well, dear, never mind; but do tell me,is my bonnet straight?"
Frederick."There, now, how very provoking! I've left the Prayer-Books at Home!"
Maria."Well, dear, never mind; but do tell me,is my bonnet straight?"
Farewell, my bright, my brisk, my Pale,I cannot say, my Sweet,For thou art Bitter, oh, my Ale!With Hops—I trust—replete.Henceforth thou art estranged from me;And dost thou ask me why?Thou wilt not suit my low degree,Since thou hast got so high.It was not wise to raise thee so,'Tis what thou wilt not bear:Better, hadst thou been brought more low,And made "not Pale but Fair."Go, travel o'er the Ocean brine,To grace some Nabob's cup;Thy figure will not do for mine,So I must give thee up.With chamomile the goblet fill,The cold infusion pour,I'll quaff the dose, the draught I'll swill,And sigh for thee no more!
Farewell, my bright, my brisk, my Pale,I cannot say, my Sweet,For thou art Bitter, oh, my Ale!With Hops—I trust—replete.
Farewell, my bright, my brisk, my Pale,
I cannot say, my Sweet,
For thou art Bitter, oh, my Ale!
With Hops—I trust—replete.
Henceforth thou art estranged from me;And dost thou ask me why?Thou wilt not suit my low degree,Since thou hast got so high.
Henceforth thou art estranged from me;
And dost thou ask me why?
Thou wilt not suit my low degree,
Since thou hast got so high.
It was not wise to raise thee so,'Tis what thou wilt not bear:Better, hadst thou been brought more low,And made "not Pale but Fair."
It was not wise to raise thee so,
'Tis what thou wilt not bear:
Better, hadst thou been brought more low,
And made "not Pale but Fair."
Go, travel o'er the Ocean brine,To grace some Nabob's cup;Thy figure will not do for mine,So I must give thee up.
Go, travel o'er the Ocean brine,
To grace some Nabob's cup;
Thy figure will not do for mine,
So I must give thee up.
With chamomile the goblet fill,The cold infusion pour,I'll quaff the dose, the draught I'll swill,And sigh for thee no more!
With chamomile the goblet fill,
The cold infusion pour,
I'll quaff the dose, the draught I'll swill,
And sigh for thee no more!
A book with the odd title of "A History of the Fountains of Europe" has recently appeared. The subject cannot possibly be a dry one, but (without wishing to throw cold water on the author) we are bound to say that we have no particular thirst for the knowledge he undertakes to impart. We fear that amid the fountains of Europe our own Metropolitan fountains must cut as sorry a figure in history as they do in Trafalgar Square. We feel some curiosity to know what an author can possibly say about the Charing Cross fountain, and whether he is satisfied with merely a glance at it—which is the case with every one who sees it—or whether he traces its biography from the cistern to the slop-basin, the cradle to the grave. The historian of the Fountains of Europe prefaces his work with an essay on raising the water, but we are inclined to think he would have a far more numerous body of readers if he could offer a few hints on the possibility of raising the wind.
We have tried every kind of shave at every variety of price, from the shilling operation of the West End to that most frightful of tortures, "an easy shave for a halfpenny," in the New Cut, Lambeth. We have been shaved by a drunkard, under whose "effacing fingers" we have felt our beard bristling up with fear, "like quills upon the fretful porcupine," and we have been shaved by an aged individual with the palsy, who has made sudden darts at us with the razor, and ultimately triumphed over the difficulties that stared him in the face—that is to say, in our own face—with a "bloodless victory." We have been shaved by a woman in Scotland; by an apprentice in Shoreditch; by a sailor on board ship in a storm; by ourselves in the dark; by a schoolfellow, for fun; and by young beginners, for practice. In fact, we have shown a sort of reckless audacity in getting rid of our beard, that would have justified our enemies in saying that we have evinced a wondrous amount of bold-faced effrontery. But, notwithstanding all these perils which flesh is heir to, in having the hair removed from the flesh, we should be afraid to patronise, or give our countenance to, a certain new invention which is described in the following newspaper paragraph:—
"Shaving by Machinery.—Mr. William Johnson, of North Shields, Joiner, has invented a shaving machine. This machine is of singular construction, and contains every qualification necessary for the process. In appearance it is not unlike an old-fashioned arm-chair. But the most unique feature in the whole affair is the arrangement of the razor blades, which are fixed longitudinally on cylinders, from three to six inches in length, four on each cylinder, at an angle of 60 degrees, with fine camel-hair brushes between; for you are lathered and shaved at one and the same time, the lather being slipped from the interior of the cylinders, which are hollow. The machine is put in motion by the weight of the patient, the seat gradually giving way beneath, and sinking with him until he reaches the ground, when the operation is completed. The seat, rising immediately it is released from his weight, is ready to commence again without any preparation. A musical-box, ofMr. Johnson'sconstruction, and capable of performing a great variety of airs, is appended to the machine, and can be attached or detached according to the pleasure of the person undergoing the operation, so that you may be shaved to any tune you please! Experiments (says theGateshead Observer) have been tried and found satisfactory."—Durham Advertiser.
"Shaving by Machinery.—Mr. William Johnson, of North Shields, Joiner, has invented a shaving machine. This machine is of singular construction, and contains every qualification necessary for the process. In appearance it is not unlike an old-fashioned arm-chair. But the most unique feature in the whole affair is the arrangement of the razor blades, which are fixed longitudinally on cylinders, from three to six inches in length, four on each cylinder, at an angle of 60 degrees, with fine camel-hair brushes between; for you are lathered and shaved at one and the same time, the lather being slipped from the interior of the cylinders, which are hollow. The machine is put in motion by the weight of the patient, the seat gradually giving way beneath, and sinking with him until he reaches the ground, when the operation is completed. The seat, rising immediately it is released from his weight, is ready to commence again without any preparation. A musical-box, ofMr. Johnson'sconstruction, and capable of performing a great variety of airs, is appended to the machine, and can be attached or detached according to the pleasure of the person undergoing the operation, so that you may be shaved to any tune you please! Experiments (says theGateshead Observer) have been tried and found satisfactory."—Durham Advertiser.
We must confess, that, however ingenious this machine may be, we should feel very much in the same situation as the gentleman who was deposited in the barrel of spikes before we took our seat amidst the cylinders, with our face among a lot of razors, "four on each cylinder." As the cylinders are "fixed," there can be no allowance for an extra amount of cheek, an exuberance of lip, or protuberance of nose; but when the "patient"—as he is very properly called—is once in for the operation, he must take his chance as to the relative position of his features and the fixed razors, nor must he think of being "nice to a shaving." When the "patient" takes his seat off goes the machine, set in motion by his weight, and stoppage seems to be out of the question until "he reaches the ground, when the operation is completed." No wonder that the patient should sink under an operation of such very alarming gravity, by the law of which he comes to the floor with a degree of force commensurate to the weight of his own body. The seat, having released itself from its burden by shooting the "patient" on to the floor, is ready for another victim.
We should hardly like to be operated upon by a single razor with our chair trembling beneath us; but to find ourselves amidst a "forest of blades"—four on each cylinder—with our seat giving way under us, would be a position so frightful that it is one we hardly venture to contemplate.
A shabby attempt appears to have been made to gloss over the more alarming features of this infernal shaving machine, or guillotine, by setting it to music. We hope the airs played by the box spoken of are appropriate; and we should suggest the March inBlue Beardas peculiarly fitted to a machine reminding one of beards and blood, of soap and scimitars.
Considering the tremendous sums we pay every year for drainage of the metropolis, we must say that it is a luxury for the enjoyment of which we have, in every sense, but smelling most especially, to pay largely through the nose.
Female being carried on the back of a bird
One noble heart the more hath Ocean stilled,A heart that throbbed with brave humanityAnd generous fortitude, which nothing chilledBut the grim water of the frozen sea:Down to the deep, in doing well, went he.No son of England—yet shall that be said,Such kindred with the Hero as we claim?—For we all mourn a Brother in the Dead,Although from France he drew his birth and name;Honour to France, increased byBellot'sfame.Shall that fame have no other monumentThan pile of toppling ice-crags for a tomb,A frostwork chantry, where, through cleft and rent,The north wind sings his dirge, and sunless gloomThe Northern Lights are cressets to illume?He died for England—so did one who mightLike him have perished, yet not so have died;And when his spirit wakened into light,Nelson, perhaps, was first that welcome cried,Remembering what like fate his youth defied.But had the floe ingulfed that fearless boyChasing the sea-bear on its faithless track;Our more thanHector—for he saved our Troy—It then had been our heavy doom to lack:And Valour, unrenowned, had gone to wrack.Not so with him in glorious fight who fell,For fellow-man, with elemental foes.They for their native land who die, die well;But better yet, more notably than those,Died he who sank amid the Arctic snows.His country was his kind—in noblest strife,Whose victors only suffer—did he fall;Thus did this gallant Tar lay down his life:Rest his brave soul with such good sailors all,Beneath the flag of theirHigh Admiral!
One noble heart the more hath Ocean stilled,A heart that throbbed with brave humanityAnd generous fortitude, which nothing chilledBut the grim water of the frozen sea:Down to the deep, in doing well, went he.
One noble heart the more hath Ocean stilled,
A heart that throbbed with brave humanity
And generous fortitude, which nothing chilled
But the grim water of the frozen sea:
Down to the deep, in doing well, went he.
No son of England—yet shall that be said,Such kindred with the Hero as we claim?—For we all mourn a Brother in the Dead,Although from France he drew his birth and name;Honour to France, increased byBellot'sfame.
No son of England—yet shall that be said,
Such kindred with the Hero as we claim?—
For we all mourn a Brother in the Dead,
Although from France he drew his birth and name;
Honour to France, increased byBellot'sfame.
Shall that fame have no other monumentThan pile of toppling ice-crags for a tomb,A frostwork chantry, where, through cleft and rent,The north wind sings his dirge, and sunless gloomThe Northern Lights are cressets to illume?
Shall that fame have no other monument
Than pile of toppling ice-crags for a tomb,
A frostwork chantry, where, through cleft and rent,
The north wind sings his dirge, and sunless gloom
The Northern Lights are cressets to illume?
He died for England—so did one who mightLike him have perished, yet not so have died;And when his spirit wakened into light,Nelson, perhaps, was first that welcome cried,Remembering what like fate his youth defied.
He died for England—so did one who might
Like him have perished, yet not so have died;
And when his spirit wakened into light,
Nelson, perhaps, was first that welcome cried,
Remembering what like fate his youth defied.
But had the floe ingulfed that fearless boyChasing the sea-bear on its faithless track;Our more thanHector—for he saved our Troy—It then had been our heavy doom to lack:And Valour, unrenowned, had gone to wrack.
But had the floe ingulfed that fearless boy
Chasing the sea-bear on its faithless track;
Our more thanHector—for he saved our Troy—
It then had been our heavy doom to lack:
And Valour, unrenowned, had gone to wrack.
Not so with him in glorious fight who fell,For fellow-man, with elemental foes.They for their native land who die, die well;But better yet, more notably than those,Died he who sank amid the Arctic snows.
Not so with him in glorious fight who fell,
For fellow-man, with elemental foes.
They for their native land who die, die well;
But better yet, more notably than those,
Died he who sank amid the Arctic snows.
His country was his kind—in noblest strife,Whose victors only suffer—did he fall;Thus did this gallant Tar lay down his life:Rest his brave soul with such good sailors all,Beneath the flag of theirHigh Admiral!
His country was his kind—in noblest strife,
Whose victors only suffer—did he fall;
Thus did this gallant Tar lay down his life:
Rest his brave soul with such good sailors all,
Beneath the flag of theirHigh Admiral!
"Education" (says theTimes) "is the half-way house to Temperance." But, judging from the ignorant way in which many of our rabid advocates of Teetotalism act and talk, we should say it was a house that very few of them ever stopped at.
Centralization.—The Commissioners of Sewers are decidedly in favour of this plan, for their drains are so admirably managed that every man's nose, merely by passing one, is immediately made the (s)centreof it.
ToHer Maist Gracious Majesty Victoria,by descent frae theStuarts,o' North Britain, England and Ireland,Queen,Defender of the Presbyterian Faith, &c.
ToHer Maist Gracious Majesty Victoria,by descent frae theStuarts,o' North Britain, England and Ireland,Queen,Defender of the Presbyterian Faith, &c.
The Humble Petition o' the Undersigned, Inhabitants o' the Principal Part o'Her Majesty'sDominions ca'd Scotland.
Humbly Sheweth,
That your Petitioners, leal subjecks o' YourMajesty, are muckle and sairly fasht and vexed wi' unco' grievances, o' whilk the maist considerable an' intolerable is the degradation, an' dislocation, an' deposition o' the Scottish Lion.
That forbye the wrang, an' scaith, an' indignity dune to the Scottish Lion, an' the ither indignities, an' scaiths, an' wrangs, whilk YourMajesty'sPetitioners hae set forth, an' enumerated, an' recited to YourMajesty'sMinisters, there are a wheen mair whilk they wad, wi' a' humility, skirl intill YourMajesty'slug.
That,imprimis, an' in the first place, the mither tongue o' Great Britain, YourMajesty'smither tongue, is erroneously, an' mistakenly, an' vernacularly, an' vulgarly misca'd theQueen'sEnglish; whereas the English tongue is just a brogue, an' a corruption, an' apatois, an' a dialeck o' the Scotch. And, as YourMajestykens, the hail biggin o' YourMajesty'slanguage was the wark o'Lindley Murray, o' wham the varra name, ilka gowk can tell, belangs to Scotland.
Your Petitioners, therefore, beseech YourMajestythat the language o' Scotland, an' the provinces thereuntill united under the sceptre o' YourMajesty, whilk has heretofore been, as aforesaid, misca'd YourMajesty'sEnglish, may henceforth be rightly, an' truly, an' correckly denominate theQueen'sScotch. An' furthermair, that YourMajestywill be graciously pleased to direck that the orthography an' etymology o' a' Britain be just adapted, an' accommodated, an' reconciled to Scottish institutions an' laws o' grammar; whilk dunna convene wi' thae o' England, let alane just Suntax an' Prosody.
YourMajesty'sPetitioners do also pray that YourMaist Gracious Majestywill be graciously pleased to command, an' decree, an' ordain that the term Anglo-Saxon race shall nae langer be applied to the population o' these Islands, mair especially not to emigrants from Great Britain to ither kintras, the maist o' wham are Scotch, that gang awa' and dinna come bock again. And that YourMajestywill, by virtue o' your Royal prerogative, settle and determine that the tribe an' race, until the noo entitled Anglo-Saxon, shall from this time forth be specified an' distinguished by the title o' Scoto-Saxon instead.
Likewise your Petitioners do entreat YourMajestythat the communications o' YourMajesty'sdouce and honest liege subjecks shall nae mair be denoted by the appellation o' Plain English, but shall, wi' fit an' due regard to justice an' propriety o' diction, be designated as Braid Scotch.
Your Petitioners lastly humbly request YourMajestythat, gin YourMajestyshall be mindit to hae a decimal coinage, ye wad be sae gude as to order an' provide that there shall be ane braw bright glitterm bit chinkie amang the coppers to be ca'd a bawbee.
And your Petitioners as in duty bound will ever bray, &c.
And your Petitioners as in duty bound will ever bray, &c.
Our eyes are again edified by the announcement so familiar to us at this season—"A Goose Club held here." We really should like to have a set of the rules of one or more of these Clubs, for we are puzzled to think what amount of goosedom can be a qualification for membership. Surely the Peace Society people must be honorary members for life of every Goose-Club in the kingdom, if merit has its reward, and admittance to a Goose-Club is to be obtained by personal gooseishness, or a corresponding amount of quackery. We have heard that the manager of a certain highly patronised theatre has consulted his solicitor upon the advertisement of a Goose-Club near Oxford Street, with the view of ascertaining whether the word goose is meant to apply to himself in a libellous manner. The legal sage not being prepared, the Goose question is in abeyance.
The review of a young girl's life is frequently like any other review—a quantity of smoke, and noise, with here and there a red coat seen through it.
Although we have lost the Hero of a Hundred Fights we are promised a Sovereign of a thousandmils.
A Paper War.—Some monarchs fight for gold; but theCzarand theSultanare at war about notes.
A Paper War.—Some monarchs fight for gold; but theCzarand theSultanare at war about notes.
Mr. William Taylor,of Her Majesty's Bomb, the Thunder,toMrs. William Taylorof Wapping Wall.
VVELL, u see, Polly, ve wos a getting sicker and sicker of lyin' in Besicker Bay, wen ve got our sailin' horders, an cum here has fast has we could drive to help the Muzzlehims. And a rummer lot than them Muzzlehims, hi never set hies on. For has soon has hever we cum'd to a hanker, a feller called a Capstan Bashy, wich is all as one as our Port hadmiral, cums on bord to pay his respex to our capting. And, hinstead of sayin 'How air yer, old Boy?' or 'Tip us yer daddles my buck,' as a gentleman would, he makes a bob and stix his great beerd out, and he sez, sez he 'Sally may lick 'em.' Vell, in coorse you'll think he got mast-edded for his himperence, but no, he warn't, for our capting were perwented by resins of state, like the tiger has couldn't get his por thro the bars of his cage to curry the monkey's hide; so the captin honely looked sivvil and sez, quite cheerful like, 'Lick' em Sally' wich wos taint a mouse with tellin the Turk to lick 'em hisself. An then wun can't be hangry with the poor hignorant fellers as nose no better than to call their hone hemperor a Paddyshaw, when he haint a Hirishman, nor his name haintShaw. And their primeer, who is wunWretched Pashur, they calls a Grand Wheezy, and all their chief hossifers they calls Agurs, so you see they've grate rume for himprovement in the names they gives peepul. Howsumever their hall werry hot for fitin just now, and goes about braggin theyr has brave hasRoostum, who was a grate cock of the walk in these parts formerly. Their reglar harmy they calls Nishan, wich I spose is the short for hammunishan, as I hear their werry strong in the hartillery line. But they puts most faith in a lot of hold women called High Ma'ams, which is their parsons, and a parcel of yung fellers called Softers, wich ansers to hour Hoxfora coves, and hever so many of these High Ma'ams and Softers air goin to jine the army, and fite for their profit, as they sez, from wich I conclude they gets good pay. And if theyr honely harf as plucky as our Chaplin, they may purtect the Golden Horne, as they calls this place, werry well. But has for us, our fear is that if they thrashes the Rooshans, the Rooshans wont come here, an thenweshant get no fitin. Howsumdever we kepes up our spirits, and opes for the best, so no more at present from your luvin husband,
VELL, u see, Polly, ve wos a getting sicker and sicker of lyin' in Besicker Bay, wen ve got our sailin' horders, an cum here has fast has we could drive to help the Muzzlehims. And a rummer lot than them Muzzlehims, hi never set hies on. For has soon has hever we cum'd to a hanker, a feller called a Capstan Bashy, wich is all as one as our Port hadmiral, cums on bord to pay his respex to our capting. And, hinstead of sayin 'How air yer, old Boy?' or 'Tip us yer daddles my buck,' as a gentleman would, he makes a bob and stix his great beerd out, and he sez, sez he 'Sally may lick 'em.' Vell, in coorse you'll think he got mast-edded for his himperence, but no, he warn't, for our capting were perwented by resins of state, like the tiger has couldn't get his por thro the bars of his cage to curry the monkey's hide; so the captin honely looked sivvil and sez, quite cheerful like, 'Lick' em Sally' wich wos taint a mouse with tellin the Turk to lick 'em hisself. An then wun can't be hangry with the poor hignorant fellers as nose no better than to call their hone hemperor a Paddyshaw, when he haint a Hirishman, nor his name haintShaw. And their primeer, who is wunWretched Pashur, they calls a Grand Wheezy, and all their chief hossifers they calls Agurs, so you see they've grate rume for himprovement in the names they gives peepul. Howsumever their hall werry hot for fitin just now, and goes about braggin theyr has brave hasRoostum, who was a grate cock of the walk in these parts formerly. Their reglar harmy they calls Nishan, wich I spose is the short for hammunishan, as I hear their werry strong in the hartillery line. But they puts most faith in a lot of hold women called High Ma'ams, which is their parsons, and a parcel of yung fellers called Softers, wich ansers to hour Hoxfora coves, and hever so many of these High Ma'ams and Softers air goin to jine the army, and fite for their profit, as they sez, from wich I conclude they gets good pay. And if theyr honely harf as plucky as our Chaplin, they may purtect the Golden Horne, as they calls this place, werry well. But has for us, our fear is that if they thrashes the Rooshans, the Rooshans wont come here, an thenweshant get no fitin. Howsumdever we kepes up our spirits, and opes for the best, so no more at present from your luvin husband,
"B. Taylor."
What theEdinburgh Review—in a highly superior article on "Church Parties"—calls the "Prophetic Press," is now in a state of violent eruption. The volcano in labour, however, brings forth only the bottle of smoke. You can hardly take up your morning paper without being invited, in the advertising columns, by some half-dozen several expositors, to take so many new walks into futurity. The Overthrow of the Papacy, the Destruction of the Ottoman Empire, the Battle of Armageddon, the Millennium, demand your attention together with the last novel, andSoyer'sPantropheon, and the Propriety of Legalising Marriage with a Wife's Sister. It is a remarkable circumstance that the gentlemen who announce these awful things, so calculated to wean the soul from all earthly solicitudes, do not omit to affix prices to their productions. Like common Gipsies, these reverend Romany require their hands to be crossed with silver. This shows that whilst they direct the attention of others to future certainties, they give no small share of their own to the main chance. On that account we hesitate to compare them toMother Shipton, who was an old woman, or toNixon, who was an idiot. Otherwise we should regard them as common asses, pretending to rank with the ass ofBalaam.
French, Italian, German, without a Master, are studies not very generally successful; and the language of prophecy must be rather more difficult, independently of proper direction. Those who are inclined to entertain the idea thatMr. StigginsandMr. Chadbandare illuminated expositors ofDanieland the Apocalypse had better pay a visit toMr. Wyld'sGreat Globe, to acquire, if possible, some enlargement of the views of the world and the destinies of the human race. The patrons of the "Prophetic Press" will find it best to await that explanation of prophecy which is afforded by its fulfilment; but they will have to wait a long time for any such thing in reference to the commentaries ofChadbandandStiggins.
To infer the future from the past, however, is to prophesy with some security. At all crises of the world's history haveChadbandsandStigginsesapplied their prophetic wisdom to the question of the day. At all those times they have made money—and mistakes. On all similar occasions in future will they, in precisely the same manner, succeed, and—fail.
Ye citizens of London, who some filial pity feelFor all her noble monuments, give ear to our appeal:Leave meaner things, the strife of kings, ofSultanand ofCzar,And think of perils nearer home—the fate of Temple Bar.Mad lev'llers shake their axes o'er our venerable gate—The City's porch, where monarchs proud are told that they must wait:To make more space for dingy dray, for omnibus and car,The revolutionary cry is "Down with Temple Bar!"Utilitarians, stern and cold, who argue, like the goose,That ev'ry thing is useless which is not of any use,Bethink you what our plight will be in times of civil jar:—Where shall we stick our rebels' heads if we've no Temple Bar?And if our relics, one by one, are thus to disappear,What shall we have but narrow lanes to tempt a visit here?How blank and pale will be their cheek, when pilgrims from afarShall pace Fleet Street, with pious feet, and see no Temple Bar!The doom of Smithfield market's sealed;—gone is its ancient fair;And soon the pomp ofLord Mayor's show may vanish into air;Blackfriar's Bridge, pure Puddle Dock, the Monument, and, ah!Ev'nGogandMagogare not safe—then save poor Temple Bar.
Ye citizens of London, who some filial pity feelFor all her noble monuments, give ear to our appeal:Leave meaner things, the strife of kings, ofSultanand ofCzar,And think of perils nearer home—the fate of Temple Bar.
Ye citizens of London, who some filial pity feel
For all her noble monuments, give ear to our appeal:
Leave meaner things, the strife of kings, ofSultanand ofCzar,
And think of perils nearer home—the fate of Temple Bar.
Mad lev'llers shake their axes o'er our venerable gate—The City's porch, where monarchs proud are told that they must wait:To make more space for dingy dray, for omnibus and car,The revolutionary cry is "Down with Temple Bar!"
Mad lev'llers shake their axes o'er our venerable gate—
The City's porch, where monarchs proud are told that they must wait:
To make more space for dingy dray, for omnibus and car,
The revolutionary cry is "Down with Temple Bar!"
Utilitarians, stern and cold, who argue, like the goose,That ev'ry thing is useless which is not of any use,Bethink you what our plight will be in times of civil jar:—Where shall we stick our rebels' heads if we've no Temple Bar?
Utilitarians, stern and cold, who argue, like the goose,
That ev'ry thing is useless which is not of any use,
Bethink you what our plight will be in times of civil jar:—
Where shall we stick our rebels' heads if we've no Temple Bar?
And if our relics, one by one, are thus to disappear,What shall we have but narrow lanes to tempt a visit here?How blank and pale will be their cheek, when pilgrims from afarShall pace Fleet Street, with pious feet, and see no Temple Bar!
And if our relics, one by one, are thus to disappear,
What shall we have but narrow lanes to tempt a visit here?
How blank and pale will be their cheek, when pilgrims from afar
Shall pace Fleet Street, with pious feet, and see no Temple Bar!
The doom of Smithfield market's sealed;—gone is its ancient fair;And soon the pomp ofLord Mayor's show may vanish into air;Blackfriar's Bridge, pure Puddle Dock, the Monument, and, ah!Ev'nGogandMagogare not safe—then save poor Temple Bar.
The doom of Smithfield market's sealed;—gone is its ancient fair;
And soon the pomp ofLord Mayor's show may vanish into air;
Blackfriar's Bridge, pure Puddle Dock, the Monument, and, ah!
Ev'nGogandMagogare not safe—then save poor Temple Bar.
A Guildford and guileless solicitor "and a Member of the Peace Society," denounces all war as un-Christian. War atnoprice! He says, the soldier disobeys the law of Christianity by killing a man. How about the attorney? Does he obey the Christian law by helping to lock a man up? As Christians, should we not be of charity and forgiveness all compact? Does the solicitor make out his bill of costs according to the behest of the Prince of Peace? Would our solicitor act in a cause of action for unprovoked and brutal assault? Hardly, if he denounces "the soldier's bloody calling" on every occasion. What is war but an action?—Nicholasv.Abdul-Medjid.The Cossack attacks the Turk, and the Turk, whipping out his scimetar, shaves off the Cossack's head. What is this but an action—the Cossack, for the first assault, paying righteous costs?
Now, if the enemy were to march to Guildford, would "A Solicitor and a Member of the Peace Society" open his door to the intruders, saying—"Enter ye, who are heavy laden with ball-cartridge?"
Does our Solicitor give advice gratis against going to law; even as benevolent doctors give advice against disease?
Messrs. Bass and Co., the teetotallers will be glad to hear, have published a circular in the name of the Burton Pale Ale Brewers, announcing the intention of raising the price of their beer by 6s. per cask. This concert among the Brewers, with a Bass for leader, exhibits some novelties in harmony. The Bass rises instead of descending in the scale of price, and by thus increasing in height, will, strange to say, reach up to Double Bass. One more step will raise it to Treble Bass; but that will be a contradiction in terms, and absolutely ridiculous.
A Soporific.—Why is the practice of praising children like opium?—Because it's Laudanum.
A Soporific.—Why is the practice of praising children like opium?—Because it's Laudanum.
THE BEARD AND MOUSTACHE MOVEMENTTHE BEARD AND MOUSTACHE MOVEMENT.Railway Guard."Now, Ma'am, is this your Luggage?"Old Lady (who concludes she is attacked by Brigands)."Oh yes! Gentlemen, it's mine. Take it—take all I have; but spare, oh spare our lives!!"
Railway Guard."Now, Ma'am, is this your Luggage?"
Old Lady (who concludes she is attacked by Brigands)."Oh yes! Gentlemen, it's mine. Take it—take all I have; but spare, oh spare our lives!!"
Dr. Cantwell—by appointment of thePope,Lord Bishop of Meath—has written a letter toMr. Pollard Urquhart, M.P., to inquire how far he, the saidDr. Cantwell, is liable to the Income-Tax, inasmuch as he appears to be prohibited, by the Ecclesiastical Titles' Act, from returning himself under Schedule D as the recipient of any income by the title ofBishop of Meath.Mr. Urquhart, who seems to be theMawwormto theCantwell, answers, that he is rejoiced at any incident that has tended to make more manifest the absurdity of the Ecclesiastical Titles' Act; but that he is "unable to propound any solution of the difficulty, and, indeed, thinks it would require a very wise man to do so." In that opinion he may be correct; nevertheless the problem is very obviously soluble toPunch.
All thatDr. Cantwell—who declares himself "unwilling even to appear to resist any law, however unjust and oppressive"—all that titularBishop Cantwellhas to do—is simply to return himself as being in the receipt of an income in this country derived from an office which he holds under a foreign power. What may be the denomination of that office he need not state, unless he would wish to contribute toHer Majesty'sExchequer the fine of a hundred pounds, in addition to the lesser penalty of sevenpence in the pound.
It is not everybody thatPunchwould take the trouble of teaching how to place himself under Schedule D; but reallyDr. Cantwellappears so very anxious to pay his Income-Tax conscientiously, thatMr. Punchcannot deny himself the pleasure of assisting the right reverend gentleman in the discharge of that agreeable duty.
The opinions of a certain eminent member of the Peace Society respecting the British Lion are calculated to render the phrase "Honour Bright," equivalent in popular estimation to "Hookey Walker."
The Kentucky Legislature have resolved—
"That the keeper of the Penitentiary shall procure a suitable chymical dye, such as will stain the skin perfectly black, so that it cannot be removed, until time shall wear it away, and Nature furnish a new cuticle or surface."
"That the keeper of the Penitentiary shall procure a suitable chymical dye, such as will stain the skin perfectly black, so that it cannot be removed, until time shall wear it away, and Nature furnish a new cuticle or surface."
When the dye is obtained, the nose of each male convict is to be painted thoroughly black; the paint to be renewed until about to be restored to the world, when the convict shall be restored to society with a clean nose. We hardly perceive the moral and social use of this nose-dyeing; it may also be difficult to obtain the dye of sufficient blackness. In which casePunchadvises Kentucky to apply toMrs. Stowefor the use of her ink-bottle: for that lady has dyed not only the noses, but the whole faces of theLegreeswith such well-merited blackness, that Nature must find them not only new skins, but new hearts, ere they can show even tolerably white again.
The foreign correspondent of theTimesannounces that the Porte has issued an address, "calling on those troops whose courage may fail them to avow the fact without hesitation, so that they may be employed at a distance from the scene of combat." For our own parts, having more of the civil than the military in our composition, we should expect the invitation to be rather generally responded to, as the scenery of a combat is of that kind with reference to which "distance lends enchantment to the view." If the majority of the troops of the Porte should make a "candid avowal" of their desire to remain at a respectful distance from the scene of action, the whole affair might become "void for remoteness"—as the lawyers expressively have it.
An Arch Impostor.—Temple Bar.
An Arch Impostor.—Temple Bar.
A CAUTION TO IMPERIAL BIRDS OF PREYA CAUTION TO IMPERIAL BIRDS OF PREY.Mr. Bull (to his French Friend)."THERE, I DON'T THINK HE'LL WORRY THE TURKEYS ANY MORE."
Mr. Bull (to his French Friend)."THERE, I DON'T THINK HE'LL WORRY THE TURKEYS ANY MORE."
(A slight liberty taken with the "Bride of Abydos".)
(A slight liberty taken with the "Bride of Abydos".)
cartoon
Know ye the Inn where the laurel and myrtleWell emblem the green who are done 'neath its sign?Where they serve you on plate which is mock as their turtle,Now fleecing the tourist, now maddening theTimes?Know ye the shams of that ill-managed house,Where the host ever bows, and the bills ever chouse;Where the "wax-lights" that don't half illumine your roomGive a muttonish rather than waxy perfume;Where, although you don't see half a waiter all day,For "attendance" as much as a lawyer's you pay,And find even then there's an extra for "Boots:"Nor the porters in asking for liquids are mutes;Where your "bottle of Sherry" (Cape, under disguise,)Scarce equals the vinegar-cruet in size,And analysation completely defies;Where the sofas are soft as yourself if you dineAt eight shillings a head—perchance even nine,With the heaviest price for the lightest of wine?—'Tis the English Hotel: and 'tis twenty to oneThat, where'er you may enter it, brown you'll be done.For more than e'enPunchin a volume could tell,Are the shams they serve there, and the victims they sell.
Know ye the Inn where the laurel and myrtleWell emblem the green who are done 'neath its sign?Where they serve you on plate which is mock as their turtle,Now fleecing the tourist, now maddening theTimes?Know ye the shams of that ill-managed house,Where the host ever bows, and the bills ever chouse;Where the "wax-lights" that don't half illumine your roomGive a muttonish rather than waxy perfume;Where, although you don't see half a waiter all day,For "attendance" as much as a lawyer's you pay,And find even then there's an extra for "Boots:"Nor the porters in asking for liquids are mutes;Where your "bottle of Sherry" (Cape, under disguise,)Scarce equals the vinegar-cruet in size,And analysation completely defies;Where the sofas are soft as yourself if you dineAt eight shillings a head—perchance even nine,With the heaviest price for the lightest of wine?—'Tis the English Hotel: and 'tis twenty to oneThat, where'er you may enter it, brown you'll be done.For more than e'enPunchin a volume could tell,Are the shams they serve there, and the victims they sell.
Know ye the Inn where the laurel and myrtle
Well emblem the green who are done 'neath its sign?
Where they serve you on plate which is mock as their turtle,
Now fleecing the tourist, now maddening theTimes?
Know ye the shams of that ill-managed house,
Where the host ever bows, and the bills ever chouse;
Where the "wax-lights" that don't half illumine your room
Give a muttonish rather than waxy perfume;
Where, although you don't see half a waiter all day,
For "attendance" as much as a lawyer's you pay,
And find even then there's an extra for "Boots:"
Nor the porters in asking for liquids are mutes;
Where your "bottle of Sherry" (Cape, under disguise,)
Scarce equals the vinegar-cruet in size,
And analysation completely defies;
Where the sofas are soft as yourself if you dine
At eight shillings a head—perchance even nine,
With the heaviest price for the lightest of wine?—
'Tis the English Hotel: and 'tis twenty to one
That, where'er you may enter it, brown you'll be done.
For more than e'enPunchin a volume could tell,
Are the shams they serve there, and the victims they sell.
If there is a point upon which an Englishman can dwell with pride, it is the high character of the English press. He will never be more impressed with this than when he turns over the French journals and examines the matter of which they are made up. A little foreign politics, Paris scandal, theatrical criticism, and a chapter of a vile novel. Fancy taking up theTimesand finding, instead of three solid leading articles, a portion ofJack Sheppard, orThe Mysteries of the Court of St. James, the debates cut down to an analysis, and no home or foreign correspondence! The change would hardly be made agreeable to him by the fact that the milk-and-water or poisonous contributions that did appear were guaranteed by the name of the author of each, and that its only polemics were waxed by some individualSmitheo nomine, against some individualBrownof another paper. Yet this prosecution against libel is recommended by a public person (I was nearly saying a statesman), who is "by way of being" a patriot, but wants to have a monopoly of influence and vituperation in his own hands. However, it is happily not of the least consequence what that disinterested politician wants, for he certainly will not get it, as we cannot afford to part with our Fourth Estate just yet, and suspect the motives of any one who advises us to do so.
The Tourist makes these reflections with a little bitterness as he sits in acaféwaiting for breakfast. A beautiful lady, with a ravishing little cap on the back of her head, is sitting at the receipt of custom. Two or three smart waiters with long clean aprons are bustling about in attendance on an elderly benevolent looking gentleman, with an impediment in his French, who has ultimately succeeded in ordering achop de muttonandune bottel de Stout de Dublin, solacing himself meanwhile withGalignani's Messenger. Through a door is seen another saloon, where bearded men are drinkingeau sucréandliqueurs.
The sage waiting for his chocolate turns again to the journals, and gratifies himself by picking out the places whereThéophileorAlphonseorEugènepitches into the English. What a useful thing it is to see ourselves as others see us! We find out so much that we were ignorant of. Your Tourist candidly confesses that he had no notion of the wickedness and absurdity of his countrymen, or even of their manners and customs, or the very localities of the country, until he read them, detailed, in the pleasing pages of French feuilletonists. Until he readM. Méry'sEnglish sketches, he was ignorant, and he boldly affirms that many others are ignorant too, of such common facts as that English gentlemen hire post-captains in the Royal Navy to sail their yachts; that Greenwich hospital is a retreat for old soldiers; and that the lateDuke of Wellington, whenColonel Wellesley, was Governor-General of India. He has selected onefeuilleton, entitled "Sir John Bullà Paris," for its masterly exposure of British foibles. It will be sent to you, translated by his little brother atDr. Swisham's, Turnhambrown, who has made great progress in French, and is sure to do it justice.Dr. S.says the boy's English is remarkably pure and idiomatic. The author is the well-knownHippolyte Canard, whosebon motsare so successful, and who wrote the noble apology for the massacres of February, which gave such umbrage to the present despicable Government.
"I walk myself on the Boulevart. All the world regards me in smiling. And for what? It is true that I have the insular air, at one time respectable and ferocious. I carry the longredingote, the scarlet waistcoat, the pantaloon of nankeen, and the umbrella, peculiar to the sons of Albion.John, my jockey, follows me clad in the traditional costume which recalls the courses of Derby and Newmarket. With one hand he holds 'the Times,' this journal so powerful with which the 'gentlemens' voyage everywhere. With the other he retains mybouledog, charming little beast, who testifies a lively desire to eat the calves of the passengers. By what it seems, he recognises his hereditary enemies.
"A sun of spring gilds with his young rays the boughs of the noble trees that like a scarf of green velvet border this so delicious promenade. These good Parisians, veritable children of light and heat, sit at tables outside the Coffee of Paris and the Coffee of the Cardinal, and, refreshed by floods of sugar-and-water, play the national game of dominoes. Cigars, fabricated of a tobacco denied to our sterile soil, regale the nostrils with their astonishing perfume. Young and beautiful ladies, dressed with an extreme elegance, attract upon themselves admiring regards. Crowds of nurses lead children with heads of angel, and hear all in blushing the compliments of soldiers in a red pantaloon. In effect there is not but the braves who merit the belles.
"All respires gaiety, and however I feel my heart moved by a profound sadness. Rhum and gin drunk at long draughts in the English manner fail of their effect and inspire me with but a lugubrious gaiety. I am exiled from all I love. I remember my youth spent among the solitary thickets of Brompton and of Bethnal, and the savage mountains of Middlesex. I miss the sport, the box, the chase with guns, the combats of dogs and cocks. I long for my native land, its porter-beer, its rosbif, its eternal mists, and its polismens. I have gained the spleen.
"Fatal and mysterious malady, which on the banks of the Thames produces effects so desolating! It is to thee that we owe those numerous suicides of which the frightful details encumber our journals, a veritable black page in the history of England. I hear on all sides a confused mixture of strange voices, and the bizarre accents of the French tongue. It is an affair of Babel. I am struck with a vertigo.
"WhenJules de Prémaray, writer of the first force, visited Albion, he was oppressed by a similar melancholy. He sighed for something of French, a word even. Suddenly an ass began to bray, 'A la bonne heure,' exclaimed he with joy, 'en voilà un qui parle Français.' He knew his brother and was glad. It is not long before I receive an equal consolation.
"I meetLord Jones, who comes from selling Miladi according to the usage a little severe of the Englishnoblesse, and has the air of being pleased to find himself again a boy. With him is his sonSir Jones, simple baronet, who has completed his studies at the ancient college of Cambridge. I know them amidst the crowd by their stiffness, their whiskers, their enormous white cravats, their hats with narrow borders, reposed on the backs of their heads. It must be confessed our compatriots have not the eleganttournureand mien full of distinction carried by the grand nation.
As I make my compliments to Milord, a movement of the crowd denotes something of interest. We advance, followed always by the faithfulJohn. I see a sight which recalls the innocent games of my country. Two cocks combatted with indomitable fury. Their eyes sparkled like ardent coals. They leaped by force of wings and tore themselves with beak and claw. It was a spectacle to make fear, a strife to death! At length one fell. The other, victor but bleeding, mounted on the corpse and chaunted his hymn of triumph. My eyes wet themselves with tears.
"Wagram, Marengo, Austerlitz," said, withbrusquerie, a soldier who observed my emotion.
"'Waterloo,' I proudly answered.
"'Blucher,Sir Lowe,' rejoined he, with dignity.
"I bite my lips."
Every one admits that Westminster Bridge is tumbling to pieces, and yet, strange to say, the evil report of the structure is scarcely to be credited, for there is the weakest possible foundation to go upon.