SAPPHICS OF THE CABSTAND.

lady at mirror

City.—The deportation of such large numbers of shirt hands, to which we have before alluded, has caused an unparallelled rise in wages, amounting, we are assured, in some cases, to as much as a farthing per dozen on "gents' dress." It is rumoured that the "United Distressed Needle-women" contemplate striking for a reduction of the hours of labour. Twenty-one hours a day, with three intervals of two minutes each for meals, except during the busy season which comprises only about eleven months in the year, is spoken of as likely to be their stipulation.

Manchester.—Policemen are in rather better demand, at a slight advance on former prices. Good stout articles are quoted at from 13s.to 17s.per week; sergeants 19s.to 21s.; best blues, strong, full length, 23s.

A culinary wag (notSoyer) has inserted in his Cookery Book the proclamation ofEmperor Nicholas, in which he talks largely about the "orthodox faith" and "the sword," and has labelled it: "Directions for Cutting up a Turkey."

The liberal man, when he is in doubt about the proper weight of a letter, puts on two stamps: the mean man only puts on one.

Friend of Self-Government.

Seedy Cab-driver, whither art thou going!Sad is thy fate—reduced to law and order,Local self-government yielding to the gripe ofCentralisation.Victim ofFitzroy! little think the M.P.'s,Lording it o'er cab, 'bus, lodging-house and graveyard,Of the good times when every Anglo-Saxon'sHouse was his castle.Say, hapless sufferer, was itMr. Chadwick—Underground foe to the British Constitution—Or myLord Shaftesbury, put upMr. FitzroyThus to assail you?Was it the growth of Continental notions,Or was it the Metropolitan police forcePrompted this blow atLaissez-faire, that free andEasiest of doctrines?Have you not readMr. Toulmin Smith'sgreat work onCentralisation? If you haven't, buy it;Meanwhile I should be glad at once to hear yourView on the subject.

Seedy Cab-driver, whither art thou going!Sad is thy fate—reduced to law and order,Local self-government yielding to the gripe ofCentralisation.

Seedy Cab-driver, whither art thou going!

Sad is thy fate—reduced to law and order,

Local self-government yielding to the gripe of

Centralisation.

Victim ofFitzroy! little think the M.P.'s,Lording it o'er cab, 'bus, lodging-house and graveyard,Of the good times when every Anglo-Saxon'sHouse was his castle.

Victim ofFitzroy! little think the M.P.'s,

Lording it o'er cab, 'bus, lodging-house and graveyard,

Of the good times when every Anglo-Saxon's

House was his castle.

Say, hapless sufferer, was itMr. Chadwick—Underground foe to the British Constitution—Or myLord Shaftesbury, put upMr. FitzroyThus to assail you?

Say, hapless sufferer, was itMr. Chadwick—

Underground foe to the British Constitution—

Or myLord Shaftesbury, put upMr. Fitzroy

Thus to assail you?

Was it the growth of Continental notions,Or was it the Metropolitan police forcePrompted this blow atLaissez-faire, that free andEasiest of doctrines?

Was it the growth of Continental notions,

Or was it the Metropolitan police force

Prompted this blow atLaissez-faire, that free and

Easiest of doctrines?

Have you not readMr. Toulmin Smith'sgreat work onCentralisation? If you haven't, buy it;Meanwhile I should be glad at once to hear yourView on the subject.

Have you not readMr. Toulmin Smith'sgreat work on

Centralisation? If you haven't, buy it;

Meanwhile I should be glad at once to hear your

View on the subject.

Cab-driver.

View on the subjeck? jiggered if I've got one;Only I wants no centrylisn', I don't—Which I suppose it's a crusher standin' sentryHover a cabstand.Whereby if we gives e'er a word o' cheek toParties as rides, they pulls us up like winkin'—And them there blessed beaks is down upon usDead as an 'ammer!As forMr. Toulmin Smith, can't say I knows him—But as you talks so werry like a gem'man,Perhaps you're a goin' in 'ansome style to stand aShillin' a mile, Sir?

View on the subjeck? jiggered if I've got one;Only I wants no centrylisn', I don't—Which I suppose it's a crusher standin' sentryHover a cabstand.

View on the subjeck? jiggered if I've got one;

Only I wants no centrylisn', I don't—

Which I suppose it's a crusher standin' sentry

Hover a cabstand.

Whereby if we gives e'er a word o' cheek toParties as rides, they pulls us up like winkin'—And them there blessed beaks is down upon usDead as an 'ammer!

Whereby if we gives e'er a word o' cheek to

Parties as rides, they pulls us up like winkin'—

And them there blessed beaks is down upon us

Dead as an 'ammer!

As forMr. Toulmin Smith, can't say I knows him—But as you talks so werry like a gem'man,Perhaps you're a goin' in 'ansome style to stand aShillin' a mile, Sir?

As forMr. Toulmin Smith, can't say I knows him—

But as you talks so werry like a gem'man,

Perhaps you're a goin' in 'ansome style to stand a

Shillin' a mile, Sir?

Friend of Self-Government.

I give a shilling? I will see thee hanged first—Sixpence a mile—or drive me straight to Bow Street—Idle, ill-mannered, dissipated, dirty,Insolent rascal!

I give a shilling? I will see thee hanged first—

Sixpence a mile—or drive me straight to Bow Street—

Idle, ill-mannered, dissipated, dirty,

Insolent rascal!

Members of the House of Commons, being in the Library, or elsewhere about the House, have to run for it in order to be present at divisions, and are sometimes too late. Lightness of heels (as well as of principle) appears to be a quality necessary to a representative of the British people. An election contest might be an actual footrace. Why not? The candidate that is able to outrun his opponent is at least as fit and proper a man to represent a constituency, as he is who can outbribe him. However this may be, we expect soon to see some such arrangements as the following among the Parliamentary notices:—

Thomas Babington Macaulaywill runJoseph Hume, or any other Member, on the India question; or what not.

Frederick Lucas, the Scarlet Runner, will match himself withPhinn, the Bath Brick, to run any length upon the Nunneries' Bill; or as much farther as thePopechooses.

Colonel Sibthorpewill run any Member ofHer Majesty'sGovernment (in which he has no confidence) at any time, on any question.

We shall also haveSir J. T. Tyrrell, the Farmer's Boy, challengingLord John Russell, the Bedford Pet, to a trial of speed; theAttorney-Generalwill be invited to a similar match bySir F. Thesiger;Mr. Brightwill be proposing to hopLord Palmerston; and perhapsMr. Benjamin Disraeliwill want to jumpMr. Gladstonein a budget.

To judge from the smoke in which the investigation of the Dockyard abuses has ended, it would seem that the late Government played their cards in the knowledge that knaves were trumps.

The East India House.—It has been said of the East India House, that "it is an establishment which, in patronage, and other delicate little matters, generally goes 'the wholeHogg.'"

DELIGHT OF THE GROUSE AT THE PROSPECT OF A LATE SESSIONDELIGHT OF THE GROUSE AT THE PROSPECT OF A LATE SESSION.

The Irish constituencies being now completely in the hands of their spiritual advisers, it is contemplated that henceforth the Speaker's writ for a new election in Ireland shall be directed to the priests of the vacant locality. The Reverend gentlemen are to meet (whiskey toddy and tobacco to be charged to the county), and their endorsement of their tool's name on the back of the writ, without any other form of election, is to save all the riot and bloodshed which they now feel it their duty to their Church and their consciences to cause, if a layman, Catholic or Protestant, ventures to present himself to the electors without priestly sanction. Anything for peace and quietness.

The genius ofMr. Mechihas sharpened many razors:—may it have a corresponding effect upon agricultural blades.

We have been favoured with a glimpse of the note-book of a great dramatic critic, who evidently contemplates giving, or selling to the world, a great national treat in the form of a new edition of the dramatists. The annotator seems to combine all the acuteness of the needle with the straightforward bluntness of the railway buffer. We subjoin a few specimens:—

NOTE ON THE TRAGEDY OF DOUGLAS.

There is a passage in this play which has escaped the attention of all critics who have preceded me; a passage which showsGlenalvonto have been of a social disposition. In one of the scenes withNorval,Glenalvonsays (aside),

"His port I love."

And, from this remarkable passage, we get three facts: first, thatGlenalvonliked port; secondly, that he had tastedNorval'sport; and, thirdly, that the port in question was of a high character.

NOTE ON JULIUS CÆSAR.

The character ofCascahas never yet had full justice done to it by the critics; but there is one passage which may be compared to a perfect thoroughfare for finding our way toCasca'sreal condition. He evidently belonged to the landlord or agrarian party in the State, and there can be no doubt that the terms on which his tenants held of him were exorbitant. The whole fact bursts in upon us like a thunderbolt through the roof of an out-house, or a broker through the door of an apartment with the rent in arrear, when we read the following line, spoken byAntonyin the course of his funeral oration overCæsar:

"See what a rent the enviousCascamade!"

Now, this allusion to the rent made byCascaproves either one of two things: First, that he let lodgings at a high price; or, secondly, that he derived a considerable income from a landed tenantry. I am inclined to the latter supposition, for it is possible that had he let merely lodgings, some of the lodgers would have been introduced into the play, with that nice appreciation of the ludicrous for whichShakspeareis conspicuous. This not having been done, we are driven on the other hypothesis, to which, on the whole, we give the preference.

The above specimens will suffice to show the public the addition that may be shortly expected to a department and style of literature in which the English language is already rich—excessively rich—in the opinion of some of us.

Why are diplomatic papers called Circular Notes?—Because they go round about a subject without coming to any definite end! They are, moreover, called Circular because they are seldom on the square.

Expensive Spirits.—The estimates of the charge of the disembodied Militia are heavier than one would expect on the supposition that the Militia, disembodied, consists of the ghosts of Militiamen.

The Affairs of Turkey.—TheSultanmay "lead a life of jollity:" but his Minister for Foreign Affairs isRedschid.

The natural history of Bricks is interesting.

We are enabled to trace it without difficulty from very ancient periods, both with reference to its different structures, and with reference to building purposes.

It is pleasing to observe how the bitumen was first used, how it was moulded into form, and baked into hardness, by the heat of the Persian sun. We can trace it through many of its forms until we come to the great Roman Brick of nine inches long, three inches broad, and three inches thick. We now discover, with the satisfaction and pleasure of the antiquarian, how long these Bricks have endured; but, for many years, we were not aware of any application of the Brick, other than that of strength, stability, and support of edifices—edifices which, sometimes, might really raise the question: "To what extent the architect forTimemeant to contend withEternity?"

We think we are indebted to our Cambridge friends—it may be to our Harrow friends, we cannot tell—for the first moral or ethical application of the word Brick.

How common it has been of late years to say to a man, whose virtuous tendencies are of the first order, "My dear fellow, you are a Brick." It becomes, however, more emphatic in the usage of the third person. "Do you knowMr. So-and-So? Is he really a man I can trust? Is he a good fellow?" The answer in one word is, "He's a Brick." The answer is satisfactory, in all senses, to the propounder of the question—indeed, a more satisfactory reply cannot be uttered.

We have heard this kind of expression calledslang—it really is not so. Gentlemen, take up yourPlutarch, turn to the Life ofAgesilaus, and what do you read? You'll find, if you understand Greek—and if you don't, set about learning it immediately, for the purposes of history, as well as poetry and elevation of thought—that when the Ambassador from Epirus went toAgesilaus, to have a diplomatic chit-chat with him, he said to him: "Where on earth are the walls of Sparta? In other States of Greece the principal towns have walls—but where are yours, dearAgesilaus?" TheSir Stratford Canning, orLord Cowley, from Epirus, was answered by that amiable monarch: "I'll to-morrow at morning dawn shew you the walls of Sparta. Breakfast with me, old chap; some of the best black soup that Sparta can afford shall be put on the table: and I'll shew you the walls."

They met: andAgesilaushad drawn out his Spartan army before him, and, with exulting cheer and dignified mien, said to his friend from Epirus, "Look!these are the Walls of Sparta, Sir; and every particular man you see is a Brick." How classical becomes the phrase! how distinct from slang!

We do not say we have translated the greatPlutarchliterally, but we have translated him in spirit, and if that great man had been now living, and could have seen this, he would no doubt have been delighted, and grateful to us for our application of history to the correction of vulgarisms, and to the promotion of sound and sincere classical literature.

Why is there such a fuss made about the purchase of benefices, the possession of pluralities, and the management of bishops to get more income than they ought to have? These are all merely clerical errors.

The "Vexata Quæstio."—"What is a mile?"

Gipsy. Have your Fortune toldGipsy."Have your Fortune told, my pretty Gentleman?"Pretty Gent."Oh! Lawk! Don't mention it!"

Gipsy."Have your Fortune told, my pretty Gentleman?"

Pretty Gent."Oh! Lawk! Don't mention it!"

Mr. Charles Keancontinuing to be exposed to the nuisance of criticism, has determined, though with much regret, on a still more decided step in vindication of his personal dignity than any he has yet taken. Having already struck off the Free List of the Princess's Theatre all the critics who have insolently ventured to express unfavourable opinions of his acting,Mr. Keanhad hoped that the public would have taken this warning that he is not amenable to hostile criticism. In this hope he regrets to find himself disappointed. Many persons still consider him a bad actor, and have not shrunk from audaciously expressing this detestable opinion in and out of the Princess's Theatre. Further forbearance onMr. Kean'spart would clearly be an act of injustice to himself.

He has, therefore (though at cost of much pain to himself), resolved on a measure which he trusts will prevent any repetition of this annoyance.Mr. Keandeeply regrets thatHer Majesty, having lately visited the Haymarket Theatre, was observed (no doubt, in an unguarded moment,) to laugh atMr. Braid'soffensive (and most unsuccessful) imitation ofMr. Kean'sperformance in theCorsican Brothers, whichMr. Buckstonehas had the bad taste to sanction in a ridiculous and entirely unsuccessful burlesque or extravaganza, called theAscent of Mount Parnassus. This having been brought toMr. Kean'sears (as most acts of the same kind are sure to be), he has, in consequence, struckHer Majesty'sname off the Free List of the Princess's Theatre, exclaiming, in the manner ofRichard, and in a tone of dignity which so over-powered the prompter and stage-manager that he has not yet recovered the shock—

"Off with her name! so much for Royalty!"

The most remarkable exhibition of Dissolving Views is that of the National Gallery, where, through various chemical processes and mechanical means, the pictures of the ancient Masters are undergoing dissolution.

(IMITATED FROM THE ARAB'S ADDRESS TO HIS STEED.)

My insolent; my turbulent! that stands crest-fallen by,With the recent Cab Act in thy hand, and tear-drops in thine eye,Try not to overcharge us now, or make our pockets bleed;You cannot do it now again—thou'rt sold, my man, indeed.Fret not with that impatient cough: if surlily inclined,The nearest station is the place at which redress to find;The magistrates have now the power to mulct thee of thy gold,Or send thee off to jail, my friend. Thou'rt sold, my man, thou'rt sold.'Tis well! those old and crazy wheels not many a mile can roam;After next October you must keep that vehicle at home.Some other cab less old and torn you shortly must prepare,With roof not full of crevices, admitting rain and air.Yes, it must go! the crazy cab, the old abandoned fly,Must on thy master's premises be finally put by;And in it there some juveniles, who cannot get a ride,May cram themselves, by climbing up the wheels on every side.Do they ill-use thee, Cabman? No! I'm sure it cannot be;You that have bullied half the world, and humbugged even me.And yet, if haply thou'rt done up, and for thee we should yearn,Can the same law that cut thee off compel thee to return?Return! alas! my Cabman bold, what shall the public do,When rain is falling everywhere, wetting the public through?I'll stand me up beneath an arch, and pause and sadly think—'Twas at the beer-shop opposite, the Cabmen used to drink.The Cabmen used to drink!Away—my fevered dream is o'er;I could not live a day and know cabs were to be no more.They've cut thee down, exacting one; but legal power is strong:You tempted us, my insolent! you kept it up too long.Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wert sold?'Tis false! 'tis false! Thou'rt better off, my Cabman, thou art told.Thus, thus, I leap into thy cab, to ride five miles from town,And when at Acton I alight, I'll pay thee half-a-crown.

My insolent; my turbulent! that stands crest-fallen by,

With the recent Cab Act in thy hand, and tear-drops in thine eye,

Try not to overcharge us now, or make our pockets bleed;

You cannot do it now again—thou'rt sold, my man, indeed.

Fret not with that impatient cough: if surlily inclined,

The nearest station is the place at which redress to find;

The magistrates have now the power to mulct thee of thy gold,

Or send thee off to jail, my friend. Thou'rt sold, my man, thou'rt sold.

'Tis well! those old and crazy wheels not many a mile can roam;After next October you must keep that vehicle at home.Some other cab less old and torn you shortly must prepare,With roof not full of crevices, admitting rain and air.Yes, it must go! the crazy cab, the old abandoned fly,Must on thy master's premises be finally put by;And in it there some juveniles, who cannot get a ride,May cram themselves, by climbing up the wheels on every side.

'Tis well! those old and crazy wheels not many a mile can roam;

After next October you must keep that vehicle at home.

Some other cab less old and torn you shortly must prepare,

With roof not full of crevices, admitting rain and air.

Yes, it must go! the crazy cab, the old abandoned fly,

Must on thy master's premises be finally put by;

And in it there some juveniles, who cannot get a ride,

May cram themselves, by climbing up the wheels on every side.

Do they ill-use thee, Cabman? No! I'm sure it cannot be;You that have bullied half the world, and humbugged even me.And yet, if haply thou'rt done up, and for thee we should yearn,Can the same law that cut thee off compel thee to return?Return! alas! my Cabman bold, what shall the public do,When rain is falling everywhere, wetting the public through?I'll stand me up beneath an arch, and pause and sadly think—'Twas at the beer-shop opposite, the Cabmen used to drink.

Do they ill-use thee, Cabman? No! I'm sure it cannot be;

You that have bullied half the world, and humbugged even me.

And yet, if haply thou'rt done up, and for thee we should yearn,

Can the same law that cut thee off compel thee to return?

Return! alas! my Cabman bold, what shall the public do,

When rain is falling everywhere, wetting the public through?

I'll stand me up beneath an arch, and pause and sadly think—

'Twas at the beer-shop opposite, the Cabmen used to drink.

The Cabmen used to drink!Away—my fevered dream is o'er;I could not live a day and know cabs were to be no more.They've cut thee down, exacting one; but legal power is strong:You tempted us, my insolent! you kept it up too long.Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wert sold?'Tis false! 'tis false! Thou'rt better off, my Cabman, thou art told.Thus, thus, I leap into thy cab, to ride five miles from town,And when at Acton I alight, I'll pay thee half-a-crown.

The Cabmen used to drink!Away—my fevered dream is o'er;

I could not live a day and know cabs were to be no more.

They've cut thee down, exacting one; but legal power is strong:

You tempted us, my insolent! you kept it up too long.

Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wert sold?

'Tis false! 'tis false! Thou'rt better off, my Cabman, thou art told.

Thus, thus, I leap into thy cab, to ride five miles from town,

And when at Acton I alight, I'll pay thee half-a-crown.

NATURAL HISTORY OF CHOBHAMNATURAL HISTORY OF CHOBHAM.

NATURAL HISTORY OF CHOBHAM.

Seeing how extremely difficult it is to get a complaint listened to at almost any post-office, we think the old simile "As deaf as a Post" might very suitably be altered into "As deaf as a Post-Master."

BEFOREAFTER.BEFOREANDAFTER."Vell, Summons me! I ain't a going to take Sixpence! You call yourself a Gentleman, I s'pose?""O! Don't Summons me, Sir! Consider my poor wife and children, there's a kind Gentleman."

BEFORE

AFTER.

"Vell, Summons me! I ain't a going to take Sixpence! You call yourself a Gentleman, I s'pose?"

"O! Don't Summons me, Sir! Consider my poor wife and children, there's a kind Gentleman."

WWE learn with pleasure that the gallant fellows assembled under canvas at Chobham have proved that they can not only stand fire, but they can stand water with astonishing bravery. No soldiers have ever gone so far "into the bowels of the land" as these highlowed heroes, who have stamped the imprint of their military heels on the mud of Chobham. Never were laurels so thoroughly watered as the laurels worn at Chobham, by what Cockneyism would call indiscriminately the veterans and the wetter-uns of our encamped soldiery. If any man lately under canvas has had a stain to get rid of, we may be sure that it has been thoroughly washed out by the showers with which he has been saturated. The only wonder is that the gallant fellows have not been all washed away by a mode of "hero wash-up" that would have been indeed deplorable.

WE learn with pleasure that the gallant fellows assembled under canvas at Chobham have proved that they can not only stand fire, but they can stand water with astonishing bravery. No soldiers have ever gone so far "into the bowels of the land" as these highlowed heroes, who have stamped the imprint of their military heels on the mud of Chobham. Never were laurels so thoroughly watered as the laurels worn at Chobham, by what Cockneyism would call indiscriminately the veterans and the wetter-uns of our encamped soldiery. If any man lately under canvas has had a stain to get rid of, we may be sure that it has been thoroughly washed out by the showers with which he has been saturated. The only wonder is that the gallant fellows have not been all washed away by a mode of "hero wash-up" that would have been indeed deplorable.

A pauper is generally imagined by foreigners to be a lantern-jawed, herring-paunched, emaciated and pallid wretch, cropped and shaven, clothed in pepper-and-salt ditto, and employed in crushing bones for manure and soup. Thanks to Free Trade and the Diggings—among second causes—this order of fellow Christians is now almost extinct. Our continental neighbours will find, on inquiry, that a wholly different appearance is for the most part presented by the remaining objects of British charity. Coats, waistcoats, and trousers—in some cases gaiters and breeches—of superfine black cloth, warm and comfortable to the feeling, sleek and glossy to the sight, envelope with liberal amplitude proportions which are plump, and perhaps corpulent. The nether extremities are encased in capacious and shiny highlows, sometimes silver-buckled. A goodly beaver hat with extensive brim shades the entire man from the rays which tend to liquefy the oleaginous part of him. This is the only badge of poverty that he bears about him; its form is suggestive of an emblem of manual labour—the Shovel.

His dietary is open to no objection in regard either to quantity or quality; except that, in both respects, it tends rather to produce plethora and engender gout. It is, in fact, discretional; for even when he enjoys an indoor maintenance, he receives a stipend in lieu of rations, and this sum is usually handsome enough to enable him to indulge in every delicacy of every season.

When he thus lives in the House—the Almshouse provided for him—he has the whole of it to himself, and is required to share it with nobody except his own family if he is blessed with one: so far, therefore, from being separated from his wife in a comfortless ward, he occupies a mansion which is the abode of domestic happiness.

His work is mostly as optional, conversely, as his victuals: so that he can eat and drink as much, and exert himself as little as he likes. The only employment obligatory upon him is light clerical duty, and the greater part of that he is permitted to delegate to somebody else. He is supposed, indeed, to be continually producing new editions of Greek Testament, biblical or patristic commentaries, confutations of Popery, apologies for Church-rates, and other works tending to the spiritual welfare of the nation; to the due performance of which tasks a necessary condition is learned leisure, accompanied by nutritious food and generous liquor.

This walking monument of beneficence—walking when he does not ride in a well-appointed carriage—is almost the only eleemosynary kind of person, except the actual mendicant, existing amongHer Majesty'ssubjects. The funds which serve for the maintenance of the order of industrious poverty to which this useful member of society belongs, are derived from freehold and personal property together with rent-charges on land, amounting on the whole to £50,000,000. That all this property was granted by our ancestors for charitable purposes—to wit hospitals and schools—attests their munificence; whilst how prosperous we are is evident from the fact, that in order to use up all their bounty, we roll several hundred paupers into one.

The Clerk of the Weather ought certainly to be called to account for his treatment of our gallant soldiers at Chobham, who have been literally in "soak" during nearly the whole of the present campaign. The incessant wet is, in fact, a reflection upon the courage of the military, for we may well ask if they are subjected to weather that is always foul on the principle, that "none but the brave deserve the fair."

Wot's this?—wot hever is this 'ere?Eh?—arf a suvrin!—feels like vun—Boohoo! they won't let me have no beerSuppose I chucks it up into the sun!—No—that ain't right—The yaller's turned wite!Ha, ha, ho!—he's sold and done—Come, I say!—I won't stand that—'Tis all my eye andBetty MartinOver the left and all round my hat,As the pewter pot said to the kevarten.Who am I?Hemprerof theFrenchLewis Napoleon Bonypart,Old Spooney, to be sure—Between you and me and the old blind oss.And the doctor says there ain't no cure.D'ye think I care for the blessed Bench?—From Temple Bar to Charing Cross?Two mile and better—arf a crown—Talk of screwing a feller down!As for poorBill, it's broke his art.Cab to the Moon, Sir? Here you are!—That's—how much?—A farthin' touch!Now as we can't demand back fare.But, guv'ner, wot can this 'ere be?—The fare of a himperial carridge?You don't mean all this 'ere for me!In course you ain't heerd about my marridge—I feels so precious keveer!How was it I got that kick o' the ed?I've ad a slight hindisposition,But a Beak ain't no Physician.Wot's this 'ere, Sir? wot's this 'ere?You call yerself a gentleman? yer Snob!He wasn't bled:And I was let in for forty bob,Or a month, instead:And I caught the lumbago in the brain—I've been confined—But never you mind—Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! I ain't hinsane.Vot his this 'ere? Can't no one tell?It sets my ed a spinnin—TheQueen'seye winks—it aint no sell—TheQueen'sed keeps a grinnin:Ha, ha! 'twas guvBy the cove I druv—I vunders for wot e meant it!For e sez to me,E sez, sez e,As I ort to be contented!Wot did yer say, Sir, wot did yer say?My fare!—wot, that!Yer knocks me flat.Hit in the vind!—I'm chokin—give us air—My fare? Ha, ha! My fare? Ho, ho! My fare?Call that my fare for drivin yer a mile?I ain't hinsane—not yet—not yet avile!—Wot makes yer smile?My blood is bilin' in a wiolent manner!Wot's this I've got?Show us a light—This ere is—wot?—There's sunthin the matter with my sight—It is—yes!—No!—'Tis, raly, though—Oh, blow! blow! blow!—Ho, ho, ho, ho! it is, it is a Tanner!

Wot's this?—wot hever is this 'ere?

Eh?—arf a suvrin!—feels like vun—

Boohoo! they won't let me have no beer

Suppose I chucks it up into the sun!—

No—that ain't right—

The yaller's turned wite!

Ha, ha, ho!—he's sold and done—

Come, I say!—I won't stand that—

'Tis all my eye andBetty Martin

Over the left and all round my hat,

As the pewter pot said to the kevarten.

Who am I?Hemprerof theFrenchLewis Napoleon Bonypart,Old Spooney, to be sure—Between you and me and the old blind oss.And the doctor says there ain't no cure.D'ye think I care for the blessed Bench?—From Temple Bar to Charing Cross?Two mile and better—arf a crown—Talk of screwing a feller down!As for poorBill, it's broke his art.Cab to the Moon, Sir? Here you are!—That's—how much?—A farthin' touch!Now as we can't demand back fare.

Who am I?Hemprerof theFrench

Lewis Napoleon Bonypart,

Old Spooney, to be sure—

Between you and me and the old blind oss.

And the doctor says there ain't no cure.

D'ye think I care for the blessed Bench?—

From Temple Bar to Charing Cross?

Two mile and better—arf a crown—

Talk of screwing a feller down!

As for poorBill, it's broke his art.

Cab to the Moon, Sir? Here you are!—

That's—how much?—

A farthin' touch!

Now as we can't demand back fare.

But, guv'ner, wot can this 'ere be?—The fare of a himperial carridge?You don't mean all this 'ere for me!In course you ain't heerd about my marridge—I feels so precious keveer!How was it I got that kick o' the ed?I've ad a slight hindisposition,But a Beak ain't no Physician.Wot's this 'ere, Sir? wot's this 'ere?You call yerself a gentleman? yer Snob!He wasn't bled:And I was let in for forty bob,Or a month, instead:And I caught the lumbago in the brain—I've been confined—But never you mind—Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! I ain't hinsane.

But, guv'ner, wot can this 'ere be?—

The fare of a himperial carridge?

You don't mean all this 'ere for me!

In course you ain't heerd about my marridge—

I feels so precious keveer!

How was it I got that kick o' the ed?

I've ad a slight hindisposition,

But a Beak ain't no Physician.

Wot's this 'ere, Sir? wot's this 'ere?

You call yerself a gentleman? yer Snob!

He wasn't bled:

And I was let in for forty bob,

Or a month, instead:

And I caught the lumbago in the brain—

I've been confined—

But never you mind—

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! I ain't hinsane.

Vot his this 'ere? Can't no one tell?It sets my ed a spinnin—TheQueen'seye winks—it aint no sell—TheQueen'sed keeps a grinnin:Ha, ha! 'twas guvBy the cove I druv—I vunders for wot e meant it!For e sez to me,E sez, sez e,As I ort to be contented!Wot did yer say, Sir, wot did yer say?My fare!—wot, that!Yer knocks me flat.Hit in the vind!—I'm chokin—give us air—My fare? Ha, ha! My fare? Ho, ho! My fare?Call that my fare for drivin yer a mile?I ain't hinsane—not yet—not yet avile!—Wot makes yer smile?My blood is bilin' in a wiolent manner!Wot's this I've got?Show us a light—This ere is—wot?—There's sunthin the matter with my sight—It is—yes!—No!—'Tis, raly, though—Oh, blow! blow! blow!—Ho, ho, ho, ho! it is, it is a Tanner!

Vot his this 'ere? Can't no one tell?

It sets my ed a spinnin—

TheQueen'seye winks—it aint no sell—

TheQueen'sed keeps a grinnin:

Ha, ha! 'twas guv

By the cove I druv—

I vunders for wot e meant it!

For e sez to me,

E sez, sez e,

As I ort to be contented!

Wot did yer say, Sir, wot did yer say?

My fare!—wot, that!

Yer knocks me flat.

Hit in the vind!—I'm chokin—give us air—

My fare? Ha, ha! My fare? Ho, ho! My fare?

Call that my fare for drivin yer a mile?

I ain't hinsane—not yet—not yet avile!—

Wot makes yer smile?

My blood is bilin' in a wiolent manner!

Wot's this I've got?

Show us a light—

This ere is—wot?—

There's sunthin the matter with my sight—

It is—yes!—No!—

'Tis, raly, though—

Oh, blow! blow! blow!—

Ho, ho, ho, ho! it is, it is a Tanner!

"Mr. Spoonerpresented a petition from parishes in Wiltshire against the opening of the Crystal Palace on Sundays."

SupposeMr. Lucaswere to present a petition from parishes in Meath, praying for the closure of butchers' shops on Fridays?

A PHOTOGRAPHIC POSITIVEA PHOTOGRAPHIC POSITIVE.Lady Mother (loquitur)."I shall feel obliged to you,Mr. Squills, if you would remove these stains from my daughter's face. I cannot persuade her to be sufficiently careful with her Photographic Chemicals, and she has had a misfortune with her Nitrate of Silver. Unless you can do something for her, she will not be fit to be seen atLady Mayfair'sto-night."[Mr. Squillsadministers relief to the fair sufferer, in the shape of Cyanide of Potassium.]

Lady Mother (loquitur)."I shall feel obliged to you,Mr. Squills, if you would remove these stains from my daughter's face. I cannot persuade her to be sufficiently careful with her Photographic Chemicals, and she has had a misfortune with her Nitrate of Silver. Unless you can do something for her, she will not be fit to be seen atLady Mayfair'sto-night."

[Mr. Squillsadministers relief to the fair sufferer, in the shape of Cyanide of Potassium.]

No. 1.—THE SAILOR BEGGAR'S SONG.

I'm a jolly London sailor;Gaily still I keep afloat,With the picture of a Whaler,And the model of a boat.True, I ne'er was on the Ocean,But I've travelled wide and far,Kept by the police in motion.Pity a Whitechapel Tar!Shivered are my timbers, stranger;Lame, you see, is poorJack Junk:Yes, I got this, braving danger,(Falling from a scaffold drunk).On my forehead see depictedValour's honourable scar('T was with a pint pot inflicted).Pity a Whitechapel Tar!Glazed my hat and blue my jacket,White my trowsers, loose my tie;Seaman's costume, when I lack it,Down at Houndsditch I can buy.Naval talk I've learnt in placesWhere the British seamen are;"Furl the main-top," "splice the braces."Pity a Whitechapel Tar!Nursemaids, from your upper casementsThrow the halfpence freely down;Cooks from areas and from basements,On the sailor do not frown.Bring the joints out, if we ask it,Distant is the seaman's star;(Here's the plate! I'll prig the basket).Pity a Whitechapel Tar!

I'm a jolly London sailor;

Gaily still I keep afloat,

With the picture of a Whaler,

And the model of a boat.

True, I ne'er was on the Ocean,

But I've travelled wide and far,

Kept by the police in motion.

Pity a Whitechapel Tar!

Shivered are my timbers, stranger;Lame, you see, is poorJack Junk:Yes, I got this, braving danger,(Falling from a scaffold drunk).On my forehead see depictedValour's honourable scar('T was with a pint pot inflicted).Pity a Whitechapel Tar!

Shivered are my timbers, stranger;

Lame, you see, is poorJack Junk:

Yes, I got this, braving danger,

(Falling from a scaffold drunk).

On my forehead see depicted

Valour's honourable scar

('T was with a pint pot inflicted).

Pity a Whitechapel Tar!

Glazed my hat and blue my jacket,White my trowsers, loose my tie;Seaman's costume, when I lack it,Down at Houndsditch I can buy.Naval talk I've learnt in placesWhere the British seamen are;"Furl the main-top," "splice the braces."Pity a Whitechapel Tar!

Glazed my hat and blue my jacket,

White my trowsers, loose my tie;

Seaman's costume, when I lack it,

Down at Houndsditch I can buy.

Naval talk I've learnt in places

Where the British seamen are;

"Furl the main-top," "splice the braces."

Pity a Whitechapel Tar!

Nursemaids, from your upper casementsThrow the halfpence freely down;Cooks from areas and from basements,On the sailor do not frown.Bring the joints out, if we ask it,Distant is the seaman's star;(Here's the plate! I'll prig the basket).Pity a Whitechapel Tar!

Nursemaids, from your upper casements

Throw the halfpence freely down;

Cooks from areas and from basements,

On the sailor do not frown.

Bring the joints out, if we ask it,

Distant is the seaman's star;

(Here's the plate! I'll prig the basket).

Pity a Whitechapel Tar!

Toast and Water.—A Toast proposed at a Temperance Meeting.

On Saturday evening last, a large and influential meeting of members of the Hebrew nation assembled in the Synagogue, Great Saint Helen's, for the purpose of taking into consideration the recent article inPunch, in which that illustrious individual, remarking upon the fact that Jews were somehow or other mixed up in most cases of fraud, chicanery and imposture, strongly counselled the respectable and wealthy portion of the community to take such measures, as might tend to destroy an argument especially useful to those whose bigotry resisted the admission of the Jew Englishman to the civil rights of a Christian Englishman.

Among those who were present we noticedBaron Ingots,Sir Aaron Montechristo,Mr. Alderman Fitzdavid, theRev. Rabbi Haphtorah,Professors BereshithandBara, and others, as representatives of the higher classes; andMessrs. Abrahams,Isaacs,Jacobs,Ikey,Barney,Clo,O. Clo,Behemoth,Gonoff,Shobbus,Fence,Sheeney,Tango, &c. &c. on the other interest. The former class had not deemed it desirable to bring the ladies of their families, but in the body of the meeting we remarkedMrs.andMiss Ikey,Mrs. Behemoth,Mrs.and theMisses Shobbus(11),Mrs.andMiss Sharon,Mrs. Tusks, and other distinguished Mosaic ornaments of private life.

Mr. Alderman Fitzdavidwas voted into the chair, and a disposition to disturbance among the less select part of the meeting was speedily suppressed by the worthy Alderman reminding them, in a firm but good-humoured tone, that "he happened to be a magistrate." A young gentleman in the crowd appeared to take this remark as personal, and left the meeting somewhat abruptly, immediately after which it was noticed thatMrs. Sharonwas compelled to borrow her daughter's pocket-handkerchief.

Mr. Alderman Fitzdavidthen read the article fromPunch, and said that the Hebrews were deeply indebted to that periodical. It had never shrunk from fighting their battles, or from pointing out their errors, and he was convinced that no right-minded Jew could mistakeMr. Punch'smeaning or mistrust his goodwill. There was no doubt that the great mass of the Jews in England worshipped gold with a devotion which made them blind to better things.

A Voice.Vot's better, my dear, ceptin' dimonds; eh, vot.

Mr. Alderman Fitzdavidwould tell them. Honesty was better, and straightforward dealing, and liberality. Why had the word Jew become synonymous—

A Voice.Eh? vot. There's a proud vord. Dictionary, s'elp me! Aint he ambitious? Synonnymouth! Lor!

Mr. Alderman Fitzdavid.Synonymous with—he would not say cheat, but with a sharp practitioner, in the mouths of their Christian fellow-subjects?

A Voice.All prejudith, my dear; all blinded prejudith, whereof it behoves them to be ashamed. (The speaker was here removed by Policeman C 146, in order to an arbitration in regard to a gold snuff-box just annexed by the former.)

Baron Ingotssaid that he was urgent to remove this reproach from Israel. He looked to education as the remedy, but then the Jews had already ample provision of well-conducted schools. There was something wanting besides mere book-learning.

TheRev. Rabbi Haphtorahwould not preach to them, but he, in common with all who endeavoured to do good by instruction, felt painfully that the spirit of modern Jewism counteracted the effect of the noble Hebrew rules of life. What was the use of his proclaiming "Covet not," when the lesson of every day was "Covet everything, and get as much of it as you can."

A Voice.The Christians as talks is so much better, isn't them?

Sir A. Montechristo.That was no answer. Besides he was bound to admit that there was a large portion, though only a portion, of the Christians, who did look to better things than mere gain. It was a disgrace to the English Jews, considering their limited number and great advantages, that they did not present a practical refutation of the charges of their enemies.

A Voice.Hear him! Vy, he could buy up streets full of Christians as easy as I'd buy a net of oranges. (Blandly.) D'ye happen to vant any fine oranges,Sir Hairon? Proud to vait upon yer at yer ouse—knows it vell. Not a Lord in the land—not theDukey Vellintonshimself has got a finer. Now.

Professor Bereshithdwelt with much earnestness upon the contemptible character of the greedy and avaricious man, and upon his inevitably low station in the scale of society; but his speech was interrupted byMrs. Behemoth, who insisted on forcing her way to the chairman, in order to get him to buy a ring which had come intoher hands rather promiscuous, and was just fit for his finger. The horrible clamour which the energetic matron made, on being put forth from the meeting, tended to bring matters to a conclusion. Other speeches were delivered, in which the Hebrew gentlemen expressed their sincere desire to improve the condition of their humbler brethren, but the latter did not seem very grateful or much inclined to co-operate. A resolution of thanks toPunch, and of hope that he would continue his exertions for and among the Jews was carried, and the meeting was broken up.

PPUNCH has seen that much generous sympathy has been excited for an unfortunate Cab-driver, "said" to have been sent to prison for a month for the offence of not having five shillings in his pocket. One story is good till another is told; but unfortunately the police reporters tell so many stories, that it is almost impossible to keep pace with them. After several columns of indignation—more or less virtuous; after the expenditure of a rivulet of ink, having more than the usual quantity of gall in it; and after a little energetic questioning in the House of Commons, the plain truth comes out that the Cab-driver never said a word about "not having five shillings," and consequently was not sent to prison at all for his poverty, but because he was convicted of an overcharge, and because he declined the test of actual measurement which was offered to him.

PUNCH has seen that much generous sympathy has been excited for an unfortunate Cab-driver, "said" to have been sent to prison for a month for the offence of not having five shillings in his pocket. One story is good till another is told; but unfortunately the police reporters tell so many stories, that it is almost impossible to keep pace with them. After several columns of indignation—more or less virtuous; after the expenditure of a rivulet of ink, having more than the usual quantity of gall in it; and after a little energetic questioning in the House of Commons, the plain truth comes out that the Cab-driver never said a word about "not having five shillings," and consequently was not sent to prison at all for his poverty, but because he was convicted of an overcharge, and because he declined the test of actual measurement which was offered to him.

We make every allowance for a reporter whose province it may be to exaggerate gooseberries, and give undue enormity to cauliflowers for paragraphical purposes, but it is rather too hard of him to indulge his imagination and allow it to run riot in getting up a monstrous case of magisterial oppression. The affair has, perhaps, answered its purpose, for it has given gigantic dimensions to a police report and made that productive of half-a-crown which would, if kept within the commonplace limits of fact, have yielded scarcely a shilling; it has given an opportunity to "able editors" to write admirable leading articles—admirable in every respect but the foundation, which has unfortunately given way; and it has permitted vigilant Members of Parliament to show their vigilance, by asking the Home Secretary what he is about, and why he doesn't reverse a few magisterial decisions every now and then, by way of keeping up the "independence" of the Bench and showing that he is not asleep in his office. So far as any good may result from these things, the fictitious report of the Cab case has answered its purpose; but the only real advantage we can see in it has been gained by the Cabman, for whom subscriptions have poured in which have enabled him to pay his fine, and perhaps leave him a handsome balance for future penalties. Whilst we firmly oppose the Cabman in all his delinquencies—and they are not a few—let him only come forward with a real wrong, and he shall have all the benefit ofPunch'savengingbâton.

In consequence of the reduction of the Soap Duties, an eccentric gentleman, who likes a smooth shaven lawn, has the lawn in front of his house lathered in order to be shaved.

Promise of marriage is like precious China—a man has so much to pay for its breakage.

There is no kind of man more delightful to meet with than a good clergyman who is also a good fellow, and, moreover,—within canonical and decent limits—a wag. Now, here is one such singularly pleasant parson, writing, as a correspondent of theTimes, thus:—

"Sir,—My attention has just been directed to an Advertisement in theTimesof the 11th instant, inserted by the Great Western Railway Company, announcing an excursion train for Sunday, the 17th instant, to Oxford, Banbury, Leamington, Warwick, and concluding by saying, that 'the Warwick station is only a short distance from the romantic ruins of Kenilworth Castle.'"This last sentence is probably only added as a bait to catch excursionists. It is well, therefore, that such and the public in general should know that—thanks to the excellent proprietor, theEarl of Clarendon—'the romantic ruins of Kenilworth Castle' are not open to visitors on the Sabbath—an arrangement, I may add, which has added much to the morality and proper observance of the Lord's Day in our parish.

"This last sentence is probably only added as a bait to catch excursionists. It is well, therefore, that such and the public in general should know that—thanks to the excellent proprietor, theEarl of Clarendon—'the romantic ruins of Kenilworth Castle' are not open to visitors on the Sabbath—an arrangement, I may add, which has added much to the morality and proper observance of the Lord's Day in our parish.

"I remain, your obedient Servant,

"Edward R. Eardley Wilmot,Vicar of Kenilworth."

"Vicarage, Kenilworth, July 18."

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