SAINT CABBIE!

Cartoon-Horse smoking cigarette.

The French have theirSaint Fiacre, who must be the patron saint of hackney coaches; why shouldn't the English calendar boast, in the like manner, of its "Saint Cabbie?" The sufferings of that much injured creature have been more than sufficient lately to elevate him to the honours of canonisation; and the weakness, the uncomplaining resignation, with which he has borne those sufferings, surely entitle him to some public mark of our gratitude? Has he fallen from his high elevation of eightpence—or, rather, a shilling—down to sixpence, fallen almost without a murmur—and is no popular testimonial to be given him by way of ointment to that fall? Has he not endured the taunts of vulgar minds without a retort? Has he not sat quietly under the sarcasms of little boys, and never once used his whip to drive them away? Has he not been hunted from stand to stand, worse than a wild beast, by the policemen? And has he not been compelled, which was adding insult to injury, to carry himself and cab to the station-house (without being paid, mind you, for the additional distance,) as often as the vindictive object was to fine him? These are broad daylight truths which we require no turning on of the gas to recognise—these are trials and triumphs of temper which are so many proofs of martyrdom, scarcely to be surpassed by any you will find in "Fox's Book Of Martyrs." We propose, therefore, that some statue be erected in honour ofSaint Cabbie; and we think Scotland Yard, which has been the scene where he has been made to bleed so often for his injured cause, would be the fittest spot for the erection. Designs for the statue should be thrown open to public competition and sent in, for selection, to the Police Commissioners. For ourselves, we are anxious to contribute our small mite to the worthy object, and beg, therefore, to suggest the following appropriate design:—

Let a wild horse—the wildest that can be found on the Green Yard—be harnessed to the craziest cab that can be picked off a nocturnal cab stand, and on the top of that cab let poor Cabbie be fastenedà la Mazeppa. An aureol, made of dirty straw, should shine round his head; his whip should be lying by his side, broken in two, and suspended round his neck should be his badge of suffering, on which should be marked the fatal word "6d." On the box should be seated a Member of Parliament (the conventional long ears of an M.P. might be left out on this occasion), with the New Cab Act in his hand, driving the poor Cabman to desperation. The motto on the panel might be "For Wheel and Woe."

The above design, we are sure, would work up into a very magnificent statue.

In the meantime we hopeCardinal Wisemanwill exercise all his influence with thePope, or whoever may be the great almanac-maker; at Rome, to haveSaint Cabbieintroduced by the side ofSaint Fiacrein the Romish Calendar.

His Holiness—says theJournal de Bruxelles—has sent to the young bridegroom, theDuke of Brabant, "a fragment of the wood of the manger which formed the cradle of our Saviour." ThePopehas a constant supply of relics on hand to be bestowed on fitting persons and fitting occasions. Enthrone Liberty in the Capitol, and thePope, no doubt, would sendhera relic; nothing less than "the Kiss ofJudas?"

The fiddles are once more at him. Again isShakspeareto be bow-strung.Verdi—we learn from thePost—is puttingKing LearandHamletto cat gut. It is, moreover, whispered thatHamletis destined for the Princess's;Hamletto be sung byMr. Charles Kean, who is expected to make a great hit in the solo of "To be or not to be," in which he will accompany himself on the Jews'-harp.

A grand review of the Medical Staff of the Metropolis was held yesterday bySurgeon-GeneralPunch; the officers and men of the various parishes presenting themselves in professional rank and file.

The colours of the corps have become rather faded in consequence of exposure to foul air and exhalations. They are red, blue, and green, in correspondence with night-lamps and shop-window bottles; and are emblazoned with the names of various localities in which the force, performing services of danger, has triumphed over cholera, typhus, and other foes; as "Fig Tree Court," "Puddle Dock," "Twister's Alley," "Paradise Row," "Mount Pleasant," "Slumson's Rents," "Grimes's Mews," &c.

The troops went through the exercise of prescribing, compounding, mixing, and the other evolutions of a sham fight with disease; executing their operations with great rapidity and precision. The mortar practice was much admired.

The appearance of the officers and men was better than could have been expected, considering the generally small amount of their pay.

JOHN CHINAMAN WEEPING OVER HIS TAILJOHN CHINAMAN WEEPING OVER HIS TAIL.

TheMorning Heraldhas a beautiful leader upon theQueen'svisit to Dublin; a very beautiful bit of work, indeed. TheHeraldpraises with manly devotion the name of woman, and the name of mother.But—

"But when to both these there is added the title of ourQueen! she may not only as in the days ofRaleigh, step on our cloaks, but our—-What do you think? Guess. Breasts? No. Guess again. Hearts? Oh dear no—"but ourcoats!"

"But when to both these there is added the title of ourQueen! she may not only as in the days ofRaleigh, step on our cloaks, but our—-

What do you think? Guess. Breasts? No. Guess again. Hearts? Oh dear no—

"but ourcoats!"

If the loyalty of theHeraldcontinues—regardless of expense—to rise in this manner, the next climax may be thus—

"Not only on our coats,butourWAISTCOATS!"

There, we trust, the loyalty of theHeraldwill, if only for the sake of appearances, stop.

Scotland—it is said by Scotch patriots—is shamefully snubbed and slighted by sister England. There are two Dukes to be made Knights of the Thistle: and theEdinburgh Evening Postvery pertinently asks, Why should they not be created at Holyrood, on the soil whereto the thistle is indigenous? Why not? HonestSanchosays, "Let every tub stand on its own bottom." And in like manner, why not every Scotch knight sit on his own Thistle?

Cartoon

Now that Parliament stands prorogued, and the game of all parties consists of partridges and grouse, the journals naturally supply the place of political news with wonderful shots, and other marvellous items of sporting intelligence: as, for instance, the following paragraph which theMorning Postquotes from theNorth British Daily Mail:—

"New Mode of Catching Wild Duck.—A farmer in Bute, some time ago, having sown his crop, set up a couple of harrows in a field to dry, back to back,i.e.with the iron spikes outward. On making a round of his field shortly afterwards, to his astonishment he found a wild duck spitted on one of his harrows. Whether the creature in its flight in the dark had encountered the spike of the harrow, or been dashed against it by a gust of wind, no one can tell; but the truth of the story may be relied upon, as our informant, the farmer himself, is a most respectable man, and an elder of the Church."

Both respectable men and elders of the Church are capable now and then of indulging in a little toxophilite recreation; archery: shooting with the old English weapon ofRobin Hood. The elder sometimes comes, or becomes, the ancient of the Church militant or old soldier, over us. The above narrative may, perhaps, be regarded as a shaft of waggery aimed at the bull's eye of faith. A correspondent, however, who is farther North than even theNorth British Daily Mail, assures us that it tells the truth, though not the whole truth. That a bird was spitted on one of the harrows in the manner described, is a positive fact. But the additional circumstance should have been mentioned, that a couch-fire having been made between the harrows, for the twofold purpose of burning the weeds, and drying the implements the more effectually, the creature was found not only spitted but roasted. It further remains to be stated, that the bird which was so silly as to spit itself, or get spitted, in its blundering flight, was not a duck, but a goose; which thus became its own cook. Last of all the coincidence deserves to be recorded, that the feathered simpleton, which, previously to the stupid act, had just been feeding, probably in an adjoining garden, was discovered, with some presentiment of its destiny, to have stuffed itself with sage and onions.

BY A TEETOTALLER.

Hence away, loathed Melancholy!Friends around again we see:Banish care, and let's be jolly,Eating muffins, drinking tea.Round the social board we'll cluster,(That which names from tea I mean),And wash down the festive "buster"With deep draughts of Black and Green.What care we for Beer-kings' prices?Or the bitters of the vat?Adam'spale ale never rises,There's no strychnine, boys, inthat!What to us the size of bottles?Pint or quart, who cares a jot?While we to tea confine our throttles,Ours will always be a Pot.(Only mind lest "Fine Young Hyson"Be a synonyme for "sloe:"And beware the aqueous poisonWhich from filthy Thames doth flow.)Jovial boys, come pass the SallyLunn, nor let the crumpet stand:Round the jocund kettle rally,And silence for its song demand.Water from its dumpy levelShall elevate each thirsty soul:And if dull care approach our revel,We'll drown it in the sugar bowl.Thus we'll pass each festive season,From all indigestion free:And enjoy the feast of reason,Coupled with the flow of tea.

Hence away, loathed Melancholy!Friends around again we see:Banish care, and let's be jolly,Eating muffins, drinking tea.

Hence away, loathed Melancholy!

Friends around again we see:

Banish care, and let's be jolly,

Eating muffins, drinking tea.

Round the social board we'll cluster,(That which names from tea I mean),And wash down the festive "buster"With deep draughts of Black and Green.

Round the social board we'll cluster,

(That which names from tea I mean),

And wash down the festive "buster"

With deep draughts of Black and Green.

What care we for Beer-kings' prices?Or the bitters of the vat?Adam'spale ale never rises,There's no strychnine, boys, inthat!

What care we for Beer-kings' prices?

Or the bitters of the vat?

Adam'spale ale never rises,

There's no strychnine, boys, inthat!

What to us the size of bottles?Pint or quart, who cares a jot?While we to tea confine our throttles,Ours will always be a Pot.

What to us the size of bottles?

Pint or quart, who cares a jot?

While we to tea confine our throttles,

Ours will always be a Pot.

(Only mind lest "Fine Young Hyson"Be a synonyme for "sloe:"And beware the aqueous poisonWhich from filthy Thames doth flow.)

(Only mind lest "Fine Young Hyson"

Be a synonyme for "sloe:"

And beware the aqueous poison

Which from filthy Thames doth flow.)

Jovial boys, come pass the SallyLunn, nor let the crumpet stand:Round the jocund kettle rally,And silence for its song demand.

Jovial boys, come pass the Sally

Lunn, nor let the crumpet stand:

Round the jocund kettle rally,

And silence for its song demand.

Water from its dumpy levelShall elevate each thirsty soul:And if dull care approach our revel,We'll drown it in the sugar bowl.

Water from its dumpy level

Shall elevate each thirsty soul:

And if dull care approach our revel,

We'll drown it in the sugar bowl.

Thus we'll pass each festive season,From all indigestion free:And enjoy the feast of reason,Coupled with the flow of tea.

Thus we'll pass each festive season,

From all indigestion free:

And enjoy the feast of reason,

Coupled with the flow of tea.

Women—they so like matches of any sort—have taken to walking-matches. AMrs. Dunn, of Hartshill, is walking 1,000 miles in 1,000 hours. Another lady, oneMiss Mew, of Cateaton Street, has also offered to do the same distance in the same time with this additional difficulty—she offers to walk in walnut-shells. Friends who know her best back her at long odds.

Lighting accidentally on an Australian paper, we were struck by an advertisement of a steamer for sale at Sydney, which really seems worth attention. It professes to be so complete in every department that, if it should happen to go to pieces, there are ample arrangements on board for building another vessel as a substitute. There is "a double set of machinery;" and, in fact, there appears to be everything in duplicate, so that, if the vessel should unhappily go down, there is a counterpart on board to supply the defect.

We do not quite understand the mode by which this desirable state of things has been effected, but we have long ceased to be surprised at anything, and should not be astonished if we were to see the announcement of a ship with a double set of officers, and even a double supply of passengers, so that if anything happened to either there would be sufficient substitutes at hand. Considering that the announcement comes from a land in which the gold mania is at its height, we cannot wonder at the duplicity of the speculation, since double-dealing is thought nothing remarkable where all are thinking of nothing but getting gold.

"Dear Mr. Punch,—The Chinese language will no doubt be added to the already long list of acquirements necessary to a governess. The advertisements are even now frightful to read. When, and how am I to learn such words as will soon be expected of me? How am I to afford a journey to China in order to get the right pronunciation? I am told everything is to be taught through the medium of the Chinese: our only chance seems to be to get the Pekin twang as fast as possible.

"Yours truly,

Julia."

We wish we were on visiting terms with the family, the heads of which have put into a Manchester contemporary the subjoined advertisement:—

TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS.—WANTED, in a family, a respectable YOUNG PERSON, as Seamstress and Upper Nurse, and to make herself useful. It is expected that a comfortable home, and the opportunity of improvement, will be considered equivalent to her services for the first twelve months.—Address, M., 27, at the Printers'.

Were we in the habit of friendly intercourse with these nice people, they would sometimes—often, we should hope—ask us to dinner. And what a dinner it would be! Moreover, if we stopped to sleep, what luxurious accommodation would be provided for us in a house where the comforts of home are considered equivalent to the services of a Seamstress or Upper Nurse! O the turtle! O the venison! O the superior descriptions of French and Rhine wine! O the profundity of bliss in sinking to slumber in an abyss of down! But O the victuals! O the dinner!—in the first place—if dinner can be depended upon in an establishment wherein the cook most likely gets no wages.

OneJ. J. Daw—alias, we presume,Jack Jack-daw—has been up at Guildhall to profess himself a convert to the Jewish faith. "He is not insane," says the medical authority; "but is a vegetarian." The truth is, the cause of the poor man's conversion is simply this: he has lived upon roots only, and they have got into his head and taking great interest there, have become Hebrew ones.

(From our own Correspondent.)

TTHE Chinese Revolution progresses in a peculiar manner. Heads are not falling, as was the case in France, but tails are with marvellous rapidity in this Celestial Reign of Terror, theRobespierresof which are sending mandarins by thousands to the scaffold, to be deprived of those appendages. The execution of one of these dignitaries took place yesterday, in conformity with the following sentence:—

THE Chinese Revolution progresses in a peculiar manner. Heads are not falling, as was the case in France, but tails are with marvellous rapidity in this Celestial Reign of Terror, theRobespierresof which are sending mandarins by thousands to the scaffold, to be deprived of those appendages. The execution of one of these dignitaries took place yesterday, in conformity with the following sentence:—

"Ding Dong, Brother of the Moon, and Chief Justice to the Planets, having sat in judgment with great patience for the greater part of an hour uponKu Long, accused of narrow-mindedness and villainous detestable obstinacy, in adhering pertinaciously to obsolete usages and fashions, considers the said charge against the prisoner fully established, and hereby pronounces him to stand convicted of rascality, perversity, and pig-tailed obstructiveness, which are evil principles, proceeding from the suggestions of demons and imps; seeing that these bad dispositions form the source whence the pigtail springs, and whereby that horrible and ugly excrescence is nourished, it would be desirable to eradicate them, in order that the absurd and ludicrous tail might fall off in consequence. But as there are some objects which are not possible, in the nature of things, and this is one of them, it is best not to attempt to do what would prove impracticable; and therefore the case requires the decree to be different.

For which reason, the sentence uponKu Longis declared to be that he shall, with as much expedition as the necessary preparations admit of, be conducted by the officers of justice to a scaffold, and having been placed thereon in a convenient chair, shall have his pigtail severed from his head, both as a punishment to himself, and a warning to others, to intimidate and deter them from making hogs of themselves by wearing tails, like those of swine, but not in the manner the pig wears his tail in, but the reverse—which makes it more preposterous. Respect this; and chopKu Long'stail off as soon as you can."

Some of our contemporaries appear to be labouring under a political jaundice, by which distemper they are caused to see everything through a blue or buff medium. TheStandardsupplies a case in point, out of theYorkshire Gazette; in the subjoined portion of an account of some local festivities:—

... "Before late in the day not less than 1500 had congregated together, and were engaged in all kinds of sports and games, and many were the waltzes and polkas, &c., which were gracefully performed by the lovers of the dance.The Earl and Countess of Mulgrave, with their children and theHonourable E. Phipps, the rejected candidate of Whitby, joined the party."We would advise our Conservative friends to watch the influence acquired by this new mode of treating."

"We would advise our Conservative friends to watch the influence acquired by this new mode of treating."

This is the way in which one party looks at another, that other being a simple merrymaking! Motley is the only wear for a writer whose ideas are so party-coloured. Cannot the superior classes cultivate kindly feelings with their neighbours without being accused of inferior motives? Such mean imputations ought not to emanate from the forces who march under the banner ofColonel Sibthorp, but with whom the Member for Lincoln will be ashamed to march through Coventry, or at least, through thick and thin of this kind. TheColonel, who insists on the right of treating his constituents jovially, would repudiate with scorn the charge of corruption, brought against him for dancing amongst them around a Maypole; he would be highly indignant at being suspected of trying to turn voters round by spinning their daughters in a waltz; of insidious designs in tripping down the middle and up again, and, in doing hands across, of an underhand manœuvre: he would be disgusted to find himself thought capable of any trick below the double shuffle.

The "new mode of treating" might, indeed, be advantageously "watched by our Conservative friends"—and imitated. To treat the people, by mixing with them in courteous intercourse, would be wise of the aristocracy. But sorrily will the great folks be encouraged to relax their exclusiveness, either socially, or as proprietors of parks and picture galleries, by representing them as doing so merely in a spirit of baseness.

Did you ever hear of a clericalSergeant Kite? Here you have apparently that non-commissioned officer—no offence to the probably Tractarian author of the advertisement following, taken from that highly religious paper,The Guardian:—

CURATE WANTED, for a small country village in the diocese of Lichfield. Incumbent resident; daily prayers; weekly Communion; day, night, and Sunday schools; plenty of work of all kinds. Salary £90, with a house and garden. The Curate must be a sound Churchman, with his heart in his work, and willing to obey orders. He must have good health, be able to conduct a choral service, and to preach (if necessary) three or four times a week. Direct P., under cover toMr. Masters, 33, Aldersgate Street, London.

This is a roll on the modern drum ecclesiastic—Sergeant Kitebeating up for recruits in the noble army of martyrs. For the services above enumerated, many and arduous as they are, appear to be services of danger, rather. The heart which the Curate is expected to have in the work would be soon worn out in it. It is to be feared that the good health he is required to enjoy would not endure very long. In an extremely brief space of time he would pray, preach, teach, and chant himself to death. At least the sound Churchman would speedily get out of condition; grow as phthisical and hectic as any hero of a "religious" novel. With a salary of £90 a year, it may be anticipated that he would go fast to the dogs, and make such an end as a Curate might have made underNero.

The Incumbent, however, in want of a Curate, may perhaps be also in want of bread, or so poorly off in that respect, as to be unable to offer the assistant for whom he advertises more than a share of his crust. But then he ought to have mentioned this circumstance, that broken meat might have been sent to him, and that steps might have been taken to enable him to participate in the bounty of the Society for Supplying Clergymen with Old Clothes.

FANCY PORTRAIT OF THE EARL OF STIRLING AND CANADA.FANCY PORTRAIT OF THE EARL OF STIRLING AND CANADA.

FANCY PORTRAIT OF THE EARL OF STIRLING AND CANADA.

WWITHIN the sound of the pleasant bells of St. Barnabas, and within stone's throw of—Punchdoes not know how many—churches, chapels, literary and scientific lecture-rooms, schools, and other institutions, mainly intended for the exorcising of ignorance, a Ghost has just dared to show itself, and hundreds of fools have attended its levee.

WITHIN the sound of the pleasant bells of St. Barnabas, and within stone's throw of—Punchdoes not know how many—churches, chapels, literary and scientific lecture-rooms, schools, and other institutions, mainly intended for the exorcising of ignorance, a Ghost has just dared to show itself, and hundreds of fools have attended its levee.

Pond Street is the locality—the name is suggestive of stagnation and greenness—and here has been seen a terrible apparition, "A Tall Man with a Deathlike Face and Snowy Garments Reaching to his Feet." Allowing for the poetry which broke out in snow, the description serves wonderfully for an Irish labourer who, having been desperately beaten in one of the religious ceremonies of his nation, gets out of bed in the night-gown lent him by the hospital. But we will believe the Ghost to be veritable, and to have a mission. Let us see what it is.

First, a sturdy young "excavator" goes up-stairs into the ghostly chamber, and being in his cups, is the easier victim to the saucer eyes, which flame on him so hideously that he falls down in a fit.

Secondly, another "excavator" (if these poor spade men have been disturbing the Ghost's earthly tenement in its grave, justice would have sent the remonstrating spectre to the surveyor's office, or the contractor's counting-house) goes up-stairs, only to fall down in a fit like his predecessor.

Thirdly, an older labourer comes home, and being informed of the affair, proceeds to enquire into it. Stricken down in horror, his fits last for hours.

The neighbourhood, now clustered in agitation round the haunted house, clamours for the Police. Three gallant and well-grown officers, uniformed, and belted, and braceleted, and bludgeoned, march fearlessly into the house, prepared to say "Come, cut it," or "Be off out of that," to the grimmest phantom on the walk. In a few minutes the lettered heroes rush out of the dwelling, their horror untold; but a policeman, paid a guinea a week (less deductions), must have seen something remarkable when he declares, that "untold gold" should not induce him to stay in the place. And these legal authorities actually counsel the householders to leave the dreadful house as soon as possible.

The mission, you see, for which a supernatural visitor is sent from the world of spirits, prospers. Three labourers go into fits, and three policemen are frightened out of their duty. Then doors bang all night, and groans are heard, and a mob blocks up the street until five in the morning. AndMr. Punch, who, as may often be seen in the streets, is ready to tackle any ghost with that unhesitating club of his, goes the next afternoon to Pond Street, and finds the assembly again in full force, but not very reverent, and discussing the ghost's nature with that freedom of epithet characteristic of street conversationists.Mr. Punchwas very much shocked to hear the roar of laughter which greeted a proposition, made by a gentleman in his shirt-sleeves and with a short pipe, to the effect that if any one would "stand" (Mr. Punchbelieves he reports the right word) a vessel of malt liquor, he would go into the house (which appears to have resembled that ofSaul), and inflict upon the Ghost—as to whose future destiny the speaker's expressions showed that he had made up his mind—a species of castigation which certainly should be reserved for extreme cases. AndMr. Punchfurther reports that all along the King's Road, and near the Hospital, and even towards theatrical Brompton, many of whose inhabitants have rejoiced to see "the Ghost walk," the popular invitation was "Come on; let's go and see that blessed Ghost." Clearly, therefore, the supernatural visitor is fulfilling the important mission for which only can we suppose he has been sent from another world.

When the clergy of the neighbourhood heard of the affair, they were greatly moved. One of them, a young Barnabasian, threw down the sweetest handful of charming artificial flowers, with which he was making an altar-wreath for Sunday, rushed into the crowd, and affectionately, but earnestly, reproved his humbler brethren for putting faith in such vulgar and impious folly. He entered the haunted house, walked all over it, and throwing up every window in turn, addressed a few words of gentle ridicule from each: and he ended by leading away the whole assembly to his church, where he gave them some sound, shrewd counsel, which will probably spoil a Ghost's market in that quarter for some time. Others of the clergy, roused by the spectacle in Pond Street, have been equally active; and perhaps after all, this was the Ghost's real mission. In this case "it is an honest ghost, that letPunchtell ye."

The Roman Catholic priests of the vicinity, however, look at the matter in another light, and regard the "Deathlike face" as the editor of theTabletdoes the Salette miracle, where the Virgin astonished the weak mind of the pig-boy and girl, and sent a very proper message to the French people not to swear. They say that the Ghost is that of somebody who, not having paid up the priest's "dues," will haunt the neighbourhood until somebody else pays them for him. The landlord of the house, who seems to have most reason to complain of the apparition, intends to pay these "dues," and charge them in the rent, unless the next tenant likes to take the Ghost with the fixtures.

This is,Punchjoyfully admits, an enlightened age, but its lights will, sometimes, burn blue.

Doctors, diplomatic doctors, mixers of the paper-pill.Fuming, fussing, drafts discussing, o'er a dying nation,Protocol-prescription-mongers, slow to cure, but strong to kill,Spreading words, like blister-ointment, to allay an irritation.Clarendon, M.D., prescribeth sedatives and cooling potion;Le DocteurDrouyn de L'Huysto stimulants inclineth;HofartztBruckofvis naturæ medicatrixhath a notion;MedicusAupick, looking wise, doth nothing, but defineth.Wrangle, jangle, argol-bargol, still the Doctors diplomaticBut differ to agree again, and but agree to differ,While the poor old Turk, their patient, groweth more and more asthmatic,And his eye gets dim and dimmer, and his limbs wax stiff and stiffer.While behind the patient's curtain, with cautious step, yet certain,TheAzraelwho that poor old Turk hath threatened many a year—A Calmuc skull, with vulture claw, and waist like spider girt in—To choke death's rattle, and do battle for the body, doth appear.The Doctors argue with him, and he patiently doth listen;He treateth them to reasons, and they treat him to replies;But the old Turk's eyeballs glaze, and the Calmuc eyeholes glisten;—And while the Doctors differ the presumptuous patient dies!

Doctors, diplomatic doctors, mixers of the paper-pill.

Fuming, fussing, drafts discussing, o'er a dying nation,

Protocol-prescription-mongers, slow to cure, but strong to kill,

Spreading words, like blister-ointment, to allay an irritation.

Clarendon, M.D., prescribeth sedatives and cooling potion;Le DocteurDrouyn de L'Huysto stimulants inclineth;HofartztBruckofvis naturæ medicatrixhath a notion;MedicusAupick, looking wise, doth nothing, but defineth.

Clarendon, M.D., prescribeth sedatives and cooling potion;

Le DocteurDrouyn de L'Huysto stimulants inclineth;

HofartztBruckofvis naturæ medicatrixhath a notion;

MedicusAupick, looking wise, doth nothing, but defineth.

Wrangle, jangle, argol-bargol, still the Doctors diplomaticBut differ to agree again, and but agree to differ,While the poor old Turk, their patient, groweth more and more asthmatic,And his eye gets dim and dimmer, and his limbs wax stiff and stiffer.

Wrangle, jangle, argol-bargol, still the Doctors diplomatic

But differ to agree again, and but agree to differ,

While the poor old Turk, their patient, groweth more and more asthmatic,

And his eye gets dim and dimmer, and his limbs wax stiff and stiffer.

While behind the patient's curtain, with cautious step, yet certain,TheAzraelwho that poor old Turk hath threatened many a year—A Calmuc skull, with vulture claw, and waist like spider girt in—To choke death's rattle, and do battle for the body, doth appear.

While behind the patient's curtain, with cautious step, yet certain,

TheAzraelwho that poor old Turk hath threatened many a year—

A Calmuc skull, with vulture claw, and waist like spider girt in—

To choke death's rattle, and do battle for the body, doth appear.

The Doctors argue with him, and he patiently doth listen;He treateth them to reasons, and they treat him to replies;But the old Turk's eyeballs glaze, and the Calmuc eyeholes glisten;—And while the Doctors differ the presumptuous patient dies!

The Doctors argue with him, and he patiently doth listen;

He treateth them to reasons, and they treat him to replies;

But the old Turk's eyeballs glaze, and the Calmuc eyeholes glisten;—

And while the Doctors differ the presumptuous patient dies!

It is said that "the authorities" are making extensive preparations for the reception ofLouis Napoleonat Boulogne. As this is not his first visit, and as it is usual on occasions of great public ceremonials, to refer to "precedents," we may expect to find the "authorities" searching their annals in order to discover howLouis Napoleonwas formerly received. It is not necessary to go very far back in making the inquiry, as it is as recent as 1840 thatLouis Napoleonwas "received" by the authorities of the place. On that occasion he was met by the National Guard, who, with great valour, fired a salute of loaded muskets on the present Emperor and his handful of almost defenceless friends. No other carriage being in readiness, a bathing-machine was provided for the reception of the Prince, who was conveyed, amid a detachment of soldiers, to the prison in the upper town. The Imperial eagle, instead of being displayed on banners, was present in person, and was removed by the "authorities" to theabattoir.

Having reached this result of an inquiry into precedents, we wait patiently for the official programme of thefêteswhich will take place in honour of the Emperor's visit to Boulogne. It is quite clear from the events of the last four years that the watering place alluded to was, in 1840, wholly unacquainted with the real sentiments of the French nation. We must suppose that, in 1853, it comes much nearer the mark.

Man selling fish to lady"Fresh, Marm!!! Why Trouts feeds on Insex, and the very flies fancies they're alive. See how they hovers about 'em, just as if they was now a-swimming in the River." [Verdict—Rayther Stale.]

"Fresh, Marm!!! Why Trouts feeds on Insex, and the very flies fancies they're alive. See how they hovers about 'em, just as if they was now a-swimming in the River." [Verdict—Rayther Stale.]

As the Autumn advances, certain promotions always take place, which we never notice at any other period of the year. We beg to record the following amongst those which have recently occurred:—

Mr. Jones, the veteran ballad-singer between the acts at the Pavilion Theatre, promoted intoSignor Jonesi, "the celebrated tenor fromHer Majesty'sTheatre," who is now delighting the gayhabituésof the different Libraries at Ramsgate, Margate, &c.

Miss Rowe, whose favourite song of "Will you buy my Oysters, Sir?" has been sung no less than 300 times at the Grecian Saloon, promoted into "Madlle. Roewe, the celebratedcantatrice, from the Nobilities' Concerts," who is nightly encored tumultuously at the different "Fairy Scenes" that at this time of the year generally enliven Gravesend about tea-time, and make of it quite a Fairy Home.

Mr. O'Mulligan, the celebrated Owl inDer Freischütz, at the Surrey, intoHerr Meulin, "the popular Shakspearian Clown from Astley's," who is now tumbling his way through the provinces to the especial Shakspearian delight of the visitors ofMr. Flick's"unrivalled troupe, and quadruple equestrian company."

Mr. Rodgers, the forty-third pupil ofMrs. Searle, and principal waterer of the stage at Covent Garden, promoted at Brighton into "Monsieur Roger, the admired teacher of dancing and calisthenics atAlmacks'."

Mr. Niggers, acknowledged to be the greatest villain that ever appeared at the City of London andQueen'sTheatres, promoted, for a six months' engagement at Leamington, into "Mr. Stanley Smith, the leading light comedian of the Lyceum Theatre, under the tasteful management ofMadame Vestris."

Mr. Brown, the rich grocer of Finsbury Square, promoted, for the short time he is travelling in France and Italy, intoMilorBrown.

Ensign Harrison, who has just received his commission in the "Bucks Invincibles," promoted, during his stay at Baden-Baden, to the Captaincy of a crack regiment inHer Majesty'sline.

Mrs. Sutherland, the stock-broker's wife, of Dalston, who is at present stopping at Ems with her seven unmarried daughters, promoted by the landlord and waiters of the Hotel, where she is stopping, intoLady Sutherland, and the promotion gazetted accordingly in all theJournauxandZeitungenof the place. N.B. The promotion is not in the least denied byMrs. Sutherland, until she is presented with 'the small amount' of Her Ladyship's bill, when she is very indignant "at the idea of being taken for a Lady."

There are several other promotions that generally take place during the Autumn by persons who are travelling. Shopmen aspire to the rank of gentlemen; young gentlemen give themselves the air and pretensions of noblemen; and ladies do not mind to what high rank they may be promoted, knowing well enough they must sink down again to the plain Mrs., the moment they return to Baker Street. But it is otherwise with the gentlemen, who, it is notorious, are more easily led away by the vanities of this world than the ladies; thus, you will meet with swarms ofRentiersin the shape of young gentlemen who have scarcely got sufficient to pay the expenses of their journey home; with innumerableHommes de Lettres, who have never had anything to do with them, beyond writing a letter occasionally, signed "A Father of a Family," or "A Constant Reader," to the Editor of theTimes; with railways-full ofartistes, who, if the truth were known, are only hair-cutters, or else the drawing-masters of some suburban girl's-school; and with no small quantity ofBanquiers, whom, if you could see them only in their counting-houses at home, you would find, probably, behind the trellis-work of a suspicious Betting-Shop, or else secreted in a dark back-parlour, with some six otherBanquiers, at the head of a "Mutual Loan and Investment Office"—for the benefit, of course, of the "Poor Man" and not at all of themselves.

Beware, especially at the sea-side, and on your travels, of allAutumnal Promotions.

"Mon cher Hip.,—I have been reading the account of your glorious reception at Paris. Don't you allow your simple head to be turned by the homage you have been receiving. Look at me, and profit by the ridiculous lesson.

"But a short time ago I was as great a favourite as you now are. I was run after worse than a Nepaulese Ambassador—though what little lustre there was about me was all my own—not a single diamond shone in my ears! and my nose (at present so snubbed) was unconscious of the smallest precious stone! No valuable Cachemire was coiled round my head, that, in a moment of admiration, I could unroll and lay at the feet of my fair worshippers. What little merit I possessed consisted in my native ugliness; and though I flatter myself I am as ugly now as I was then, still no one runs after me now.

"As it was with me so it will be with you. My word for it, your nose will be similarly put out of joint byM. Dupin, or some other monstrosity. I was the rage, the fashionable lion of the day. Thousands of ladies tore their dresses, and fought with their parasols, to get a passing peep at me. They called me 'dear,' 'duck,' 'pet,' and other fond terms of female endearment; and much they care about me at present! Casts were made of me in sponge-cake, and adorned the pastrycooks' windows. You saw my portrait in the frontispiece of every polka. No periodical was complete without my biography, whilst my bulky proportions were multiplied in a thousand different shapes, either in snuff-boxes, ink-stands, salt-cellars, butter-boats, or else figured on ladies' brooches. And where, I ask, am I now? I hide myself in the mud of my bath, with shame and indignation, when I think of the base ingratitude of the public.

"I cannot believe you are any uglier than I was. I will not pay you so egregious a compliment. I will say you possess the same bountiful share of recommendations. In that case I beseech you,mon cheranimal, not to allow your brain to be affected by the popular incense that at present is being burnt under your admired nostrils. It is ever the fickle taste of Fashion to forget to-morrow the idols it is worshipping to-day. Believe me, and I speak as one who is both a hippopotamus and a brother, you will be as little run after, as little cared about this time next year, as I now am. At present you areun charmant hippopotame, thefêtedcuriosity of the moment; wait another twelvemonth, and they will say of you, as they do of me, that you are nothing better than a great pig, or, worse still, they will call you probably, in their insulting vernacular, 'un gros cochon'. Ponder, be wise, and don't grow too conceited.

"Such is the affectionate advice of

"Mon cher Hip, your oldcamarade du Nil,

The Hippopotamus(of the Zoological Gardens).

"P.S. Will you believe it, the fashionable world is now running, 'like mad,' after two little monkeys they callAztecs? The ladies actually kiss them! It makes one sick merely to think of it."

TheTimes, in describing the late accident on the Great Northern Railway, assures us, first, that theLord Mayorescaped with a trifling injury, but on the next day informs us that his Lordship continues "to swallow with difficulty." As his Lordship was on his way to the Cutlers' Feast, and as his Lordship's tenure of office ceases on the 9th November,Punchdoes not see how theTimescan reconcile its first with its second statement.

SSince eachgobe-moucheis speaking of Nanking or Peking,And as each critic, wit, or professional diner,Explains that you can't choose but see that the MantchewsMust soon be entirely driven from China,And that a high price on our Pekoe and HysonMust be the infallible end of the clatter,Mr. Punch, who's a stronggoûtfor Souchong and Congou,Determines to go and see what is the matter,It boots not to sayhowhe goes; for to-dayYoung and old, grave and gay, so affect locomotion,That the press every hour produces a shower,Of "Rough Notes of a Slide on the Great Frozen Ocean,"Or "A Midsummer's Ramble from Stamford to Stambol;"Or "The Steppes of the Cossacks, by one who has walked in 'em;"And I'm sure that whate'erMr. Punch'splans were,Ifthesetourists could prosper,hewouldn't be baulked in 'em.Like the witches, perchance, he might choose to advance,And so order his coachman to bring out his brougham;Or ask Phœbus to lead forth that spirited steed,Which is furnished, in turn, by each Muse, with a groom;But, however, we'll fancy him safely in Quansi,Or Quantong, where, taking his place 'mid the great, he,Like any philandering son of a mandarin,Sits enjoying his opiumcum dignitate.Rich and stately pagodas he finds on the road, asHe goes through the land, for the most part erected,When the smallest house-tax on Gaul, Briton, or Saxon,Would have stood not the least chance of being collected.Wide canals, dykes, and sluices he sees, too, whose usesWere applied both to traffic, to drainage, and tillage,When a hard rain had undone both Paris and London,To the mud they were made of restoring each village.And they show him the pages of China's first sages,Which were printed for sale in the towns of the Tartar;When, with us, scarce a spark of wit gleamed in one clerk,AndDe Montfort"his mark" set to our Magna Charta.They declare, too, that banking quite flourished in Nanking,And that printed bank-notes were in vogue at the hourWhen our yeomen and reeves exchanged bannocks for beeves,And seldom bought less than a sheep'sworth of flour.And he learns their silk factories furnished phylacteries,Robes, handkerchiefs, tapestry too, in the jolly daysWhen our sires wore a quaint but light coat of blue paint,With a few streaks of red upon high days and holidays;And that long, long 'ereBaconandBungaywere takenUnawares by the sudden blow up of their crucible,Each Chinese fire-eater had found "vile saltpetre"To the purpose of killing "tall fellows" reducible.Then the more he enquires concerning their sires,The greater the reason he sees to anticipateThat much of the mystery shrouding the historyOf Europe, the records of China will dissipate;For as oldHoang Tibuilt the wall, strong and high,To check the fierce Huns as it now checks the Tartars,Not long after oldHannibalconquered at Cannæ,And then wasted his time in his snug winter quarters;And as if China's sons had not driven those HunsInto Europe by many a subsequent battle, aLonger respite, I ween, for old Rome there had been,Nor Europe so early had bowed to anAttila.It is clear that a stranger and far greater dangerThreatened Rome when on Carthage her wrath she was wreaking;And that Cato the Censor had shown greater sense, orDiscernment, by crying "Delenda estPeking!"But alas! all these stories of China's old glories,Mr. Punchplainly sees it is vain to recall,Since the course of the nation in civilisationHas for ages been typified best by its wall.No more, like his sires, the Chinese aspiresIn science and art to be making some new step;But the national skill, like a soldier on drill,Keeps performing a kind of perpetual goose-step.For the vast population, thehandcultivationOf the still fertile country no longer suffices;Though to drain swamps they toil, and to carry up soilTo the rocky hill sides, no unfrequent device is.And, on seeing their dainties, poorPunchfit to faint is,As he cries, "Nought but famine gives such things a price!""Rats and mice, and suchsmalldeer," snakes and puppies are all dear.As helping to eke out their pittance of rice.Now whilst thus his quick wit is on their antiquitiesBusy as that of aLayardorBonomi;Or, like that ofM'Culloch, of pig, sheep, and bullock,Rice and tea, is discussing the social economy,There springs up a great riot near, and the patriotArmy comes marching along in its pride;Crying out as they go, "We are hostile to Fô!"They fling down the josses on every side,And smash, in their scrimmages, all Buddha's images,Whilst a new-fangled creed by their chiefs is propounded,Which they call Christianity; though, whenPunchcomes to scan it, heFinds it is butConfuciushis creed "worse confounded."Now in hamlet or city, all quarter or pityTo their long hated rulers the natives refuse;"Peacock's plumes" and "Red buttons" are nought but lost muttons.Whilst impatient his badges of serfdom to lose,Each Chinese without fail parts his head from his tail,And henceforth minds histoupéesinstead of hisqueues.Mr. Punch—whilst applauding their courage, and laudingTheir natural wish to recover their freedom—Still thinks that society may with proprietyExpect him a brief "screed o' doctrine" to read 'em.So he summons their leader, and says, "You indeed err,If you think that this triumph your labour will terminate;When the Mantchews have vanished, there still must be banishedMany faults which for ages you've suffered to germinate.Your own gross inhumanity, cunning, and vanity,Which still are so great that I cannot ignore 'em,Helped the Mantchews, who knew you right well, to subdue you,As the Mongols and Khalkas had oft done before 'em.You have broken your chains of to-day with small pains;But hereafter, if courage and honesty you lack, youWill be conquered once more—like your fathers of yore,By the might of some yet to comeKublaiorHulakhu;For the hordes of the North are still ripe to burst forth.As oft in their tents the rude minstrel or rhymerTunes his harp in the praise of those glorious days,When their sires fought bravely forGengisorTimur.To conclude. If you'd thrive, you must earnestly striveTo rub out of men's minds the stern dictum ofTennyson,That 'in Europe one day beats a year in Cathay,'And theretoPunchheartily gives you his benison."

SSince eachgobe-moucheis speaking of Nanking or Peking,

Since eachgobe-moucheis speaking of Nanking or Peking,

And as each critic, wit, or professional diner,

Explains that you can't choose but see that the Mantchews

Must soon be entirely driven from China,

And that a high price on our Pekoe and Hyson

Must be the infallible end of the clatter,

Mr. Punch, who's a stronggoûtfor Souchong and Congou,

Determines to go and see what is the matter,

It boots not to sayhowhe goes; for to-day

Young and old, grave and gay, so affect locomotion,

That the press every hour produces a shower,

Of "Rough Notes of a Slide on the Great Frozen Ocean,"

Or "A Midsummer's Ramble from Stamford to Stambol;"

Or "The Steppes of the Cossacks, by one who has walked in 'em;"

And I'm sure that whate'erMr. Punch'splans were,

Ifthesetourists could prosper,hewouldn't be baulked in 'em.

Like the witches, perchance, he might choose to advance,

And so order his coachman to bring out his brougham;

Or ask Phœbus to lead forth that spirited steed,

Which is furnished, in turn, by each Muse, with a groom;

But, however, we'll fancy him safely in Quansi,

Or Quantong, where, taking his place 'mid the great, he,

Like any philandering son of a mandarin,

Sits enjoying his opiumcum dignitate.

Rich and stately pagodas he finds on the road, as

He goes through the land, for the most part erected,

When the smallest house-tax on Gaul, Briton, or Saxon,

Would have stood not the least chance of being collected.

Wide canals, dykes, and sluices he sees, too, whose uses

Were applied both to traffic, to drainage, and tillage,

When a hard rain had undone both Paris and London,

To the mud they were made of restoring each village.

And they show him the pages of China's first sages,

Which were printed for sale in the towns of the Tartar;

When, with us, scarce a spark of wit gleamed in one clerk,

AndDe Montfort"his mark" set to our Magna Charta.

They declare, too, that banking quite flourished in Nanking,

And that printed bank-notes were in vogue at the hour

When our yeomen and reeves exchanged bannocks for beeves,

And seldom bought less than a sheep'sworth of flour.

And he learns their silk factories furnished phylacteries,

Robes, handkerchiefs, tapestry too, in the jolly days

When our sires wore a quaint but light coat of blue paint,

With a few streaks of red upon high days and holidays;

And that long, long 'ereBaconandBungaywere taken

Unawares by the sudden blow up of their crucible,

Each Chinese fire-eater had found "vile saltpetre"

To the purpose of killing "tall fellows" reducible.

Then the more he enquires concerning their sires,

The greater the reason he sees to anticipate

That much of the mystery shrouding the history

Of Europe, the records of China will dissipate;

For as oldHoang Tibuilt the wall, strong and high,

To check the fierce Huns as it now checks the Tartars,

Not long after oldHannibalconquered at Cannæ,

And then wasted his time in his snug winter quarters;

And as if China's sons had not driven those Huns

Into Europe by many a subsequent battle, a

Longer respite, I ween, for old Rome there had been,

Nor Europe so early had bowed to anAttila.

It is clear that a stranger and far greater danger

Threatened Rome when on Carthage her wrath she was wreaking;

And that Cato the Censor had shown greater sense, or

Discernment, by crying "Delenda estPeking!"

But alas! all these stories of China's old glories,

Mr. Punchplainly sees it is vain to recall,

Since the course of the nation in civilisation

Has for ages been typified best by its wall.

No more, like his sires, the Chinese aspires

In science and art to be making some new step;

But the national skill, like a soldier on drill,

Keeps performing a kind of perpetual goose-step.

For the vast population, thehandcultivation

Of the still fertile country no longer suffices;

Though to drain swamps they toil, and to carry up soil

To the rocky hill sides, no unfrequent device is.

And, on seeing their dainties, poorPunchfit to faint is,

As he cries, "Nought but famine gives such things a price!"

"Rats and mice, and suchsmalldeer," snakes and puppies are all dear.

As helping to eke out their pittance of rice.

Now whilst thus his quick wit is on their antiquities

Busy as that of aLayardorBonomi;

Or, like that ofM'Culloch, of pig, sheep, and bullock,

Rice and tea, is discussing the social economy,

There springs up a great riot near, and the patriot

Army comes marching along in its pride;

Crying out as they go, "We are hostile to Fô!"

They fling down the josses on every side,

And smash, in their scrimmages, all Buddha's images,

Whilst a new-fangled creed by their chiefs is propounded,

Which they call Christianity; though, whenPunchcomes to scan it, he

Finds it is butConfuciushis creed "worse confounded."

Now in hamlet or city, all quarter or pity

To their long hated rulers the natives refuse;

"Peacock's plumes" and "Red buttons" are nought but lost muttons.

Whilst impatient his badges of serfdom to lose,

Each Chinese without fail parts his head from his tail,

And henceforth minds histoupéesinstead of hisqueues.

Mr. Punch—whilst applauding their courage, and lauding

Their natural wish to recover their freedom—

Still thinks that society may with propriety

Expect him a brief "screed o' doctrine" to read 'em.

So he summons their leader, and says, "You indeed err,

If you think that this triumph your labour will terminate;

When the Mantchews have vanished, there still must be banished

Many faults which for ages you've suffered to germinate.

Your own gross inhumanity, cunning, and vanity,

Which still are so great that I cannot ignore 'em,

Helped the Mantchews, who knew you right well, to subdue you,

As the Mongols and Khalkas had oft done before 'em.

You have broken your chains of to-day with small pains;

But hereafter, if courage and honesty you lack, you

Will be conquered once more—like your fathers of yore,

By the might of some yet to comeKublaiorHulakhu;

For the hordes of the North are still ripe to burst forth.

As oft in their tents the rude minstrel or rhymer

Tunes his harp in the praise of those glorious days,

When their sires fought bravely forGengisorTimur.

To conclude. If you'd thrive, you must earnestly strive

To rub out of men's minds the stern dictum ofTennyson,

That 'in Europe one day beats a year in Cathay,'

And theretoPunchheartily gives you his benison."

There is a certain arrangement which Railway Directors would do well to adopt in the construction of their time-tables. It is one very generally prevalent among that class of tradesmen whom Railway Companies, for the most part, resemble, generally, in their manner of doing business, considered with reference to fairness and honesty. At present, the hours of arrival and departure are given in the tables—together with a simple disclaimer of the obligation to keep them. This is like giving an I.O.U., under protest of non-liability for the amount; a coarse and clumsy mode of shirking responsibility, and, what is worse, an ineffectual one, being impracticable in law. A far preferable device would be that of printing the hours in large letters with the qualification of "somewhere about" prefixed in very small. By this expedient the appearance of contradicting an engagement would be presented without the reality, and the comfort of security would attend the advantage of swindling.

We hear a great deal about the merits of some rival reaping-machines, but we know of nothing that can equal in the force of rivalry those wonderful reaping-machines—a barrister's tongue, and a physician's finger and thumb; which are the means used by both in reaping their tremendous harvests.

We believe there is a species of long broom, called "a Turk's Head." Now we should say, that theEmperor of Russiawould soon make a clean sweep of the Mohammedan Church, Empire and all, if the Sultan would but only put the "Turk's Head" in his hands.

Back to Index Next