PUZZLED.--We have so repeatedly explained that _R. S. V. P._, on a note

of invitation, means "Write and Say Vether you'll be Present," that we

are tired of answering the inquiry.

THEATRICUS (Ebury Street).--We shall be happy to read all your

thirty-four plays, and, having done so, to recommend them to such

managers as they may best suit. There will be no difficulty about money,

but we shall be happy to make any advance you may require while the

plays are in rehearsal. One hundred guineas an act is the lowest price

paid at any Metropolitan theatre.

SMACKARJEE WOPPAJEE (Calcutta).--We are much obliged. The sketch of the

Ayah running round the compound after the Adjutant (bird), and the

khansuma and the chuprassy pelting her with her own tabeejes and

banjoobunds, has been handed to one of our artists, but we fear the

nutcut will make but a queer jummakur of it. So you have got your

juwaub, eh? Never mind, there are other young ladies in India. Ask

again.

QUERY.--You are wrong. Sardanapalus is accented on the middle syllable;

Zante is a dissyllable; Chobham is pronounced Cobham; theatre is

accented on the _a_; Phaeeton is sounded fee-a-ton; and Mr. Disraeli as

Mr. De Hisreelly. Attend to these niceties if you would be supposed to

have lived in good society.

A YOUNG HOUSEKEEPER.--In September pickle garlic, parsnips, and spinach,

and pour vinegar into each of your marmalade pots, to prevent

fermentation. Smear the frames of your looking-glasses and pictures with

tar and treacle; and be careful that the pantry doors and windows are

left open at nights, as the autumn air of the garden is cold for the

cats. If you have beer in the house, drink it.

* * * * *

SAINT CABBIE!

[Illustration]

The French have their SAINT 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 of SAINT 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 fastened _a 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 "6_d._" 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 hope CARDINAL WISEMAN will exercise all his influence

with the POPE, or whoever may be the great almanac-maker; at Rome, to

have SAINT CABBIE introduced by the side of SAINT FIACRE in the Romish

Calendar.

* * * * *

A PRESENT FROM THE POPE.

His Holiness--says the _Journal de Bruxelles_--has sent to the young

bridegroom, the DUKE OF BRABANT, "a fragment of the wood of the manger

which formed the cradle of our Saviour." The POPE has a constant supply

of relics on hand to be bestowed on fitting persons and fitting

occasions. Enthrone Liberty in the Capitol, and the POPE, no doubt,

would send _her_ a relic; nothing less than "the Kiss of JUDAS?"

* * * * *

POOR SHAKSPEARE!

The fiddles are once more at him. Again is SHAKSPEARE to be bow-strung.

VERDI--we learn from the _Post_--is putting _King Lear_ and _Hamlet_ to

cat gut. It is, moreover, whispered that _Hamlet_ is destined for the

Princess's; _Hamlet_ to be sung by MR. 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.

* * * * *

REVIEW OF THE MEDICAL LINE.

A grand review of the Medical Staff of the Metropolis was held yesterday

by SURGEON-GENERAL _Punch_; 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.

* * * * *

[Illustration: JOHN CHINAMAN WEEPING OVER HIS TAIL.]

* * * * *

A SHOE-LANE RALEIGH!

The _Morning Herald_ has a beautiful leader upon the QUEEN'S visit to

Dublin; a very beautiful bit of work, indeed. The _Herald_ praises with

manly devotion the name of woman, and the name of mother. _But_--

"But when to both these there is added the title of our QUEEN! she

may not only as in the days of RALEIGH, step on our cloaks, but our---

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

"but our _coats_!"

If the loyalty of the _Herald_ continues--regardless of expense--to rise

in this manner, the next climax may be thus--

"Not only on our coats, _but_ our WAISTCOATS!"

There, we trust, the loyalty of the _Herald_ will, if only for the sake

of appearances, stop.

* * * * *

THE WRONGS OF SCOTLAND.

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 the _Edinburgh Evening Post_ very pertinently asks, Why

should they not be created at Holyrood, on the soil whereto the thistle

is indigenous? Why not? Honest SANCHO says, "Let every tub stand on its

own bottom." And in like manner, why not every Scotch knight sit on his

own Thistle?

* * * * *

REMARKABLE SELF-SACRIFICE.

[Illustration]

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 the _Morning Post_ quotes from the _North 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 of ROBIN 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 the _North 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.

* * * * *

A CHAUNT.

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'S pale ale never rises,

There's no strychnine, boys, in _that_!

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 poison

Which from filthy Thames doth flow.)

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 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.

* * * * *

WALKER!

WOMEN--they so like matches of any sort--have taken to walking-matches.

A MRS. DUNN, of Hartshill, is walking 1,000 miles in 1,000 hours.

Another lady, one MISS 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.

* * * * *

AN AUSTRALIAN CLIPPER.

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.

* * * * *

THE GOVERNESSES IN DESPAIR.

"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."

* * * * *

AN ABODE OF BLISS.

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.

* * * * *

A WARNING TO VEGETARIANS.

One J. 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.

* * * * *

THE GUILLOTINE IN CHINA.

(_From our own Correspondent._)

[Illustration: T]

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, the ROBESPIERRES of 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 upon KU 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 upon KU LONG is 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

chop KU LONG'S tail off as soon as you can."

* * * * *

EVIL EYESIGHT.

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. The _Standard_ supplies a case in point, out of the

_Yorkshire 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 the HONOURABLE 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."

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 of COLONEL 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. The COLONEL, 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 manoeuvre: 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.

* * * * *

GREAT CURE AND SMALL PAY.

Did you ever hear of a clerical SERGEANT 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 L90,

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 to MR.

MASTERS, 33, Aldersgate Street, London.

This is a roll on the modern drum ecclesiastic--SERGEANT KITE beating 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 L90 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

under NERO.

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.

* * * * *

[Illustration: FANCY PORTRAIT OF THE EARL OF STIRLING AND CANADA.]

* * * * *

THE CHELSEA GHOST.

[Illustration: W]

Within the sound of the pleasant bells of St. Barnabas, and within

stone's throw of--_Punch_ does 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. And _Mr. 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.

Punch_ was 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. Punch_ believes

he reports the right word) a vessel of malt liquor, he would go into the

house (which appears to have resembled that of SAUL), 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. And _Mr. Punch_ further 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 let _Punch_ tell 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 the

_Tablet_ does 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, _Punch_ joyfully admits, an enlightened age, but its lights

will, sometimes, burn blue.

* * * * *

A CONSULTATION "IN ARTICULO."

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 Docteur_ DROUYN DE L'HUYS to stimulants inclineth;

_Hofartzt_ BRUCK of _vis naturae medicatrix_ hath a notion;

_Medicus_ AUPICK, looking wise, doth nothing, but defineth.

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,

The AZRAEL who 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!

* * * * *

LOUIS NAPOLEON AT BOULOGNE.

It is said that "the authorities" are making extensive preparations for

the reception of LOUIS NAPOLEON at 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 how LOUIS NAPOLEON was formerly

received. It is not necessary to go very far back in making the inquiry,

as it is as recent as 1840 that LOUIS NAPOLEON was "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 the _abattoir_.

Having reached this result of an inquiry into precedents, we wait

patiently for the official programme of the _fetes_ which 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.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "_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.]]

* * * * *

AUTUMNAL PROMOTIONS.

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 into SIGNOR JONESI, "the celebrated tenor from HER

MAJESTY'S Theatre," who is now delighting the gay _habitues_ of 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 celebrated _cantatrice_, 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 in _Der Freischuetz_, at the Surrey,

into HERR 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 of MR. FLICK'S "unrivalled troupe, and quadruple

equestrian company."

MR. RODGERS, the forty-third pupil of MRS. SEARLE, and principal waterer

of the stage at Covent Garden, promoted at Brighton into "MONSIEUR

ROGER, the admired teacher of dancing and calisthenics at ALMACKS'."

MR. NIGGERS, acknowledged to be the greatest villain that ever appeared

at the City of London and QUEEN'S Theatres, promoted, for a six months'

engagement at Leamington, into "MR. STANLEY SMITH, the leading light

comedian of the Lyceum Theatre, under the tasteful management of MADAME

VESTRIS."

MR. BROWN, the rich grocer of Finsbury Square, promoted, for the short

time he is travelling in France and Italy, into _Milor_ BROWN.

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 in HER MAJESTY'S line.

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, into LADY

SUTHERLAND, and the promotion gazetted accordingly in all the _Journaux_

and _Zeitungen_ of the place. N.B. The promotion is not in the least

denied by MRS. 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

of _Rentiers_ in the shape of young gentlemen who have scarcely got

sufficient to pay the expenses of their journey home; with innumerable

_Hommes 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 the _Times_; with railways-full of

_artistes_, 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 of _Banquiers_, 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 other _Banquiers_, 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 all AUTUMNAL

PROMOTIONS.

* * * * *

THE ENGLISH HIPPOPOTAMUS, AT THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS, to the FRENCH

DITTO, AT THE "JARDIN DES PLANTES."

"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 by M. 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 cher_ animal, 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 are _un charmant

hippopotame_, the _feted_ curiosity 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 old _camarade 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 call _Aztecs_? The ladies actually

kiss them! It makes one sick merely to think of it."

* * * * *

FEARFUL ACCIDENT TO A GREAT CIVIC AUTHORITY.

The _Times_, in describing the late accident on the Great Northern

Railway, assures us, first, that the LORD MAYOR escaped 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, _Punch_ does not see how the _Times_ can reconcile its first

with its second statement.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH IN CHINA.

[Illustration: S]

Since each _gobe-mouche_ is 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 strong _gout_ for Souchong and Congou,

Determines to go and see what is the matter,

It boots not to say _how_ he 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'er _Mr. Punch's_ plans were,

If _these_ tourists could prosper, _he_ wouldn'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 Phoebus 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 opium _cum 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,

And DE 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 'ere BACON and BUNGAY were 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 old HOANG TI built the wall, strong and high,

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

Not long after old HANNIBAL conquered at Cannae,

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 an ATTILA.

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 est_ Peking!"

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

_Mr. Punch_ plainly 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, the _hand_ cultivation

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, poor _Punch_ fit to faint is,

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

"Rats and mice, and such _small_ deer," 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 a LAYARD or BONOMI;

Or, like that of M'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 Fo!"

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, when _Punch_ comes to scan it, he

Finds it is but CONFUCIUS his 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 his _toupees_ instead of his _queues_.

_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 come KUBLAI or HULAKHU;

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 for GENGIS or TIMUR.

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

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

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

And thereto _Punch_ heartily gives you his benison."

* * * * *

HINT TO RAILWAY ROGUES.

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.

* * * * *

RIVAL REAPING-MACHINES.

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.

* * * * *

AN IMPERIAL SWEEP.

We believe there is a species of long broom, called "a Turk's Head." Now

we should say, that the EMPEROR OF RUSSIA would 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.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "HOW COOL AND NICE THE FRENCH-POLISHED FLOORS ARE;

BUT--UGH!--OH DEAR!--HOW HARD!"]

* * * * *

QUEEN CHRISTINA IN ENGLAND.

QUEEN DOWAGER CHRISTINA--who has brightened our darkened land with the

lustre of her presence--is sedulously studying all our London

institutions, in order to do her best to take back and naturalise copies

thereof in Spain. She has already visited the Bank of England, and

exhibited the most interesting astonishment on learning that the

dividends were regularly paid to the public creditor. At first she

received the intelligence laughingly, as a bit of heavy _badinage_, the

best joke that the dull English could get up for her. However, the

Governor of the Bank of England, having gravely assured HER MAJESTY that

the Bank regularly paid the public creditor--he moreover produced the

books in testimony of the pleasing fact--CHRISTINA, as an ex-queen and a

lady, with a frank smile and a graceful curtsey, avowed her belief in

the singular custom.

CHRISTINA, though still handsome and by no means old, is nevertheless

addicted to serious meditation. It is said that, in token of her

contempt of all worldly fopperies, she has worked more than one flag for

fast-sailing vessels, trading to the coast of Africa, and

landing--(LUCIFER willing and able)--their black merchandise at the

Havannah. The flag has at once been typical of the profits of trade, and

the final nothingness of all commercial things; _i. e._--a Death's Head

and Cross-Bones embroidered in white silk upon black satin; and duly

blessed by HER MAJESTY'S confessor. It is said that HER MAJESTY, in

admiration of _Uncle Tom_, offered a very handsome testimonial to MRS.

BEECHER STOWE; namely, a little black boy, wonderfully accomplished, as

page. This story, however, wants confirmation.

We keep the most interesting intelligence for the last. HER MAJESTY has

paid a visit to the cemeteries of Norwood, Kensal Green, and Highgate;

and--she is an excellent artist--was so much pleased with the last, that

she made a sketch of the burial-grounds with her own royal hand, and

sent it off by express to Madrid, accompanied by an autograph letter to

her queenly daughter, recommending the sketch to be followed (with all

allowance for limited space) in the new cemetery (_when_ granted) to the

Protestant English.

* * * * *

AN OMNIBUSIAN SONG.

(_After_ BARRY CORNWALL.)

Ride! Who rides

In a 'bus that taketh twelve insides?

Ah! who is this lady fine

That falls on this lap of mine?

A lady is she,

As big as three.

I prefer her room to her company.

Smoke! Who smokes

To the great annoyance of other folks?

Ah! who is this snob so fine?

A gent, Sirs! a gent!

He comes with the noxious scent

Of tobacco, beer, and wine:

Far better that he

On the roof should be.

I prefer his room to his company.

* * * * *

COTTON AFLOAT.

The Americans have made another magnificent discovery of the use of

cotton. Cotton makes the best cordage for ships. It runs freer, and ties

tighter knots. (The knots hitherto caused by cotton all _Uncle Tom's_

can bear witness to.) Cotton, moreover, makes the best sails: for the

_Sovereign of the Seas_, Yankee craft, has sails as well as rigging of

the fabric. What a slave-clipper might be rigged by the appropriate

cotton! What a thing of life (and death) to walk the middle-passage; to

fly in and out of African bays and creeks! But one ceremony would be

needed to make such a craft perfect. She ought to be christened by the

QUEEN DOWAGER OF SPAIN. As HER MAJESTY is about the richest slaveholder,

the very largest dealer in human flesh, it would be very appropriate

that she should give a name to the kidnapping craft. We would suggest as

a name _The Christina_. The slaver rigged with cotton, and the Dowager

Queen rigged with the spoils of slavery, would be worthy of one another.

* * * * *

HOW TO WRITE THE BIOGRAPHY OF A WOMAN.

An impudent fellow says: "Show me all the dresses a woman has worn in

the course of her life, and I will write her Biography from them."

* * * * *

[Illustration: CONSULTATION ABOUT THE STATE OF TURKEY.]

* * * * *

PERVERSION OF A CLERGYMAN.

[Illustration: T]

The Advertisements that are sent to some of our contemporaries, must be

altered by them. Here, for instance, is a notification, extracted from

the _Lincoln, Rutland, and Stamford Mercury_, by which unprincipled

journal it has evidently been corrupted in the grossest manner:--

THE REVEREND RALPH WILLIAM TOLLEMACHE having obtained the exclusive

right of Shooting, Sporting, &c., over the whole of the Manor of

CLIPSHAM (except Addah Wood), and Lands belonging to J. M. PAGET,

Esquire, in the Lordship of PICKWORTH, in the county of Rutland,

hopes that all qualified Persons will refrain from trespassing upon

the said Lands; as also upon Lands in the Lordship of SOUTH WITHAM,

over which he has the right of Shooting, &c., including Lands

belonging to the Blue Bull Farm in the Parish of CASTLE BYTHAM and

the Hamlet of LOBTHORPE, in the county of Lincoln; and in the Parish

of THISTLETON, in the county of Rutland; also on the Blue Point Farm

in the Parish of WYMONDHAM, in the county of Leicester.

All Poachers, &c., will be proceeded against _with the utmost rigour

of the law_; and MR. TOLLEMACHE _hereby gives notice_, that he will

pay to any Person who will give such information as will lead to the

_conviction_ of any Person or Persons, for any breach whatsoever of

the Game Laws upon any of the aforementioned Lands, the sum of Ten

Shillings upon _each such conviction_.

_South Witham_, August 22, 1853.

In the above announcement should be made the following corrections:--For

"Shooting, Sporting, &c.," read "Preaching, Praying, &c.;" for "Manor,"

read "Parish;" for "Persons," read "Parsons;" for "County of Lincoln,"

read "Diocess of Lincoln," &c. &c.

For "All Poachers, &c., will be proceeded against with the utmost rigour

of the law," read "All Preachers will be proceeded against with the

utmost rigour of the Gospel"--by "Poachers," understanding to be meant

unauthorised fanatics and disseminators of false doctrine. Understand,

also, that the hope expressed by MR. TOLLEMACHE, "that all qualified

Parsons will refrain from trespassing," &c., means that he does not wish

other clergymen to interfere with his people. Lastly, for "Conviction,"

read "Conversion;" for "for," "from;" and for "Game," "Divine." This is

a quaint way of expressing himself on the part of the REVEREND RALPH

WILLIAM LIONEL TOLLEMACHE; but JOHN BUNYAN was quaint; so was JOHN

WESLEY: so was ROWLAND HILL--why not MR. TOLLEMACHE?

It is too bad to represent a Minister as addicted to the sports of the

Field, when, in fact, he devotes himself to the labours of the Vineyard;

as beating stubble and cover with retrievers of the canine species,

instead of perambulating the highways and by-ways with Scripture

Readers; and in place of converting criminals to rectitude, as

converting poachers into criminals.

The spiritual manor of the REVEREND MR. TOLLEMACHE includes several

districts; but, anxious as he is to do the work of them himself, it is

not fair to call him a pluralist. His mild wish that his brethren will

refrain from trespassing on his ground, assures us that he has no

difficulty in forgiving all his neighbours their trespasses.

* * * * *

THE DISAPPOINTED DIRECTOR.

(A FABLE.)

An eminent Railway Director, having early business of importance,

ordered himself to be called at 6. He was not roused till 6.35. His

footman said he was very sorry; he had overslept himself. But he

protested he had made every effort to insure his getting up soon enough.

The Railway Director rang for his hot water. It was lukewarm. The kettle

had not been got to boil. However, the housemaid vowed she had made

every effort to insure its boiling.

The Director of Railways sat down to breakfast. He had to wait five

minutes for his egg: and then it was but half done. The egg had not been

thought of till just that moment, and then had to be sent out for.

Nevertheless the cook had, she declared, made every effort to insure

breakfast betimes.

Having swallowed his coffee, which was filthy, notwithstanding that the

servant had made every effort to insure its goodness, and devoured his

heavy roll, to insure whose lightness every effort had been made by the

baker; the Railway Director called for his boots, which did not shine,

although every effort had been made to polish them. He then took a cab,

and arrived at his destination about a quarter of an hour later than the

time that should have been occupied by the journey; still, the driver

averred stoutly that he had made every effort to get his horse to go.

A large party of friends and colleagues, including several capitalists,

most of whom were great epicures and gluttons, and also dyspeptic and

gouty subjects, whose stomachs and tempers were alike impatient, had

assembled at the house of the Railway Director to dine at 7.30. The

dinner was not announced till 8.15, albeit Messrs. BUBB and GRUBB, with

all the resources of MAGOG'S Coffee-House at command, had made every

effort to insure punctuality.

Hereupon the Railway Director, losing control over his feelings,

indignantly demanded what was the meaning of all this? adding, with an

oath, that he supposed the world to be in a conspiracy against him. To

which one of his guests, a little punchy man, who was wiser than the

rest, replied, "You are quite right; but the reason why the world has

conspired against you is, because you and your association conspire

against the world to deceive and defraud it; for you fix certain hours

in your time-tables, thereby engaging to keep them, and, not keeping

them, pretend that you have only contracted to make every effort to

insure punctuality in keeping them. And this is all the reply you have

to make to the complaints of those whom you have choused. And so, the

world has combined to pay you in your own coin, in order that you may

feel how disagreeable it is to have people, from whom you expect

punctuality, not showing it; but instead of practising it, putting you

off with the excuse that they have made every effort to insure it."

MORAL.

Railway Companies are servants of the public; but if the Director of any

Railway Company were to be treated by his own domestics and tradesfolk

with the same neglect and inattention that he and his fellows treat the

public with, and were to have agreements and bargains made with himself

violated with the like impudence, he would be mightily incensed and

exasperated. And, instead of assuaging, it would only aggravate his

wrath to tell him that every effort had been made to discharge those

obligations to the fulfilment of which there had been paid small regard,

if any.

* * * * *

OCEAN MELODIES.

(_Refined from the original_ Sea-Songs, _for the use of the Yacht

Clubs._)

The Wife wishes to go upon the Continent.

ADELINA has flirted--not once, she declares,

Since you placed on her finger the ring that she wears;

Since at gloomy ST. GEORGE'S your bride she became,

And you gave her an Opera-box marked with her name.

When I sailed in that yacht a whole fortnight with you,

Did I say I was bored (if I did it was true),

With my ALFRED for hours at _ecarte_ I played,

And his meerschaum I lit, and his coffee I made.

When, the night we'd a box at ST. JULLIEN'S last _bal_,

And--goodness knows why--you deserted the _salle_,

I gave you a smile when you chose to appear,

Nor asked whom you knew on that horrid top tier.

Why won't you, dear AL, by mamma be advised?

A wife who don't pout, AL, deserves to be prized--

So to Constance and Rome ADELINA you'll take,

Or a nice piece of work that young person will make.

* * * * *

A NUISANCE.

"MR. PUNCH,--I should be very much obliged if you would put a stop to a

species of annoyance which I am continually subject to. I allude to a

system of 'Notes and Queries,' which is becoming daily more and more

impertinently annoying. These questions are put to me every morning

through the medium of the newspapers, which I am obliged to read, 'just

to be in the world.' I am a poor student, Sir, and have enough to do to

answer questions of a very different description to the following, viz.,

'Do you want luxuriant whiskers?' 'Have you been to ---- emporium?' 'Do

you bruise your oats?' &c. &c. And then if I take a walk, there is

scarcely a street in which I am not assailed by a pictorial Barmaid

ejaculating 'Sherry, Sir?' Do, _Mr. Punch_, allow me, through your

columns, to answer these impertinent questions once for all. I have

_not_ been and never will go to ---- emporium. My AMELIA doesn't care

about whiskers, and therefore _I_ don't; and as for bruising oats, and

drinking sherry, 'this my answer:'--I don't keep horses, and when I want

(and can pay for) wine I'll ask for it.

"I am, _Mr. Punch_, yours &c., FIZ.'

* * * * *

"Non Tali Auxilio."

The head of the Chinese rebellion is extremely indignant with the

conduct of the Comet who has lately been rushing about his dominions. He

has dispatched a near relation of the Moon's to arrest him in his

flight, and, wherever he may find him, instantly to cut off his tail.

* * * * *

A NEW ZODIACAL LIGHT.

At the recent Meeting of the British Association, PROFESSOR GLIMM, of

Finsterberg, favoured Section A with the outlines of his plan for the

better arrangement of the signs of the zodiac, which, as he truly

remarked, were in a very unsatisfactory state, and not at all in

accordance with the spirit of the age. "What occasion have we," he

asked, "for Libra, the Balance, when we have already the scales of the

Pisces?" He therefore proposes to remove Libra from its control over the

harvest month, and to substitute for it Virga, which, as every

school-boy knows, is the Latin for a threshing machine in common use. As

Aquarius comes under the provisions of the New Cab Act, which declares

that no water-man shall be allowed on the stand, he is to retire on a

pension, and his berth is to be held over for FATHER MATHEW.

The weapons of Sagittarius, and his mode of conducting the chase, have

become quite obsolete, and can only excite ridicule in an age which has

made so many improvements in fire-arms. He is therefore to share the

honourable retirement of Aquarius, and his duties and emoluments are to

be divided amongst a troop of shooting stars. These last have petitioned

that Canis Venaticus (the hunting dog) may be allowed to attend them,

but their request cannot be complied with until it has been ascertained

that this celestial pointer will refrain from worrying Taurus and Aries,

and barking at the heels of Virgo. PROFESSOR GLIMM has also persuaded

some distinguished members of the Peace Society to arbitrate between the

Gemini, who have not been on visiting terms for many years. By the

intervention of these gentlemen, it is hoped these discreditable

squabbles will be stopped, and Castor and Pollux will be once more seen

in company.

* * * * *

OUR TOURIST IN PARIS.--No. 3.

The Englishman in Paris lives one of two lives: a life of duty or a life

of pleasure. In the former case he wanders drearily through the Louvre

and the Luxembourg; he makes painful pilgrimages to churches, museums,

and galleries, in the hope of picking up a knowledge of Art. He devotes

this day to St. Denis, the next to Versailles, the third to St. Cloud.

He fills his catalogue and guide-books with annotations, and perhaps

spends a cheerful evening over a diary, in which desperate efforts are

made to distinguish the styles of RUBENS and TITIAN, and the eras of

Notre Dame and the Sainte Chapelle. In the latter case he frequents the

Opera Comique, the theatres, and the public balls: he breakfasts in the

Palais Royal, and dines at PHILIPPE'S, and makes a regular promenade in

the Champs Elysees every afternoon. The well-balanced mind of your

correspondent seizes the advantages of both these systems. He devotes

his morning to the cultivation of his intellect, and the rest of the day

to the gratification of his tastes.

Behold him, then, after a conscientious study of the pictures in the

Louvre, prepared to refresh himself by an airing in the Elysian fields.

What a panorama of superb points of view! The Rue de la Paix, the Place

and Column Vendome, the Attic Madeleine, the endless arcades of the Rue

de Rivoli, the imperial facade of the Tuileries, its classic gardens,

the noble opening of the Place de la Concorde, with its obelisk and

fountains, and the avenue ending with the sublime Arch of the Star.

Where else can such a group of beauties be found? No wonder the poor

Parisians find London dull and ugly! But the less we talk about the

appearance of our dingy city the better; we must forget Trafalgar Square

and its monuments, and console ourselves with our pavement, our

drainage, and our comfortable firesides.

The sun shines cheerfully, the air is pure, and the philosopher enters

the Champs Elysees in a state of serene enjoyment, proposing to study

the manners of the great nation. He observes an ancient man by the

wayside in tattered garments, who plays soft tunes on a bass trombone.

No one pays the least attention to this mild minstrelsy. It is a perfect

image of Wisdom talking in the streets, and no man regarding her.

Another poor creature seated on the ground, grinds a feeble tootling

organ amid similar neglect. The French are evidently not a musical

people. The observer passes on to a temple of Punch, at whose exhibition

(in reverence to the august original in England) he is about to assist,

when he is suddenly aroused to a sense of a cruel disappointment. He

might just as well be in Hyde Park. It is the drive by the Serpentine

over again. Why, there's OVERALLS, of the Blues. There's SWELLINGS

SWELLINGS; you never can go anywhere without seeing him. That was BOB

HILTON, driving the high-stepping grey horse. There goes THREADPAPER of

the Foreign Office, with his infant moustache (what the deuce does _he_

want with a moustache, I should like to know?) There's old GRATINGS, who

is such a bore at the Club; there's CHARLEY MARTINGALE of the Plungers,

with HOOKER (known by his friends as the Bravo) in his wonderful tight

trousers. But who isn't here? Two men behind are talking about the

Metropolitan Handicap and GRUMBLER'S chance of the Derby. Really,

really, this is too bad. The ancient poet asks, "What exile from his

fatherland can leave _himself_ behind?" The question now is what man, by

departure from his country, can hope to be free from his countrymen? It

is intolerable. How is it possible to take notes of Parisian manners

when you are seized upon by SWELLINGS SWELLINGS and catechised about the

prospects of the Haymarket Opera? You get rid of him by informing him,

in confidence, that it has been taken by MR. JOHN BRIGHT for a series of

Bal Masques and Ballet entertainments, when up come the BRAVO and

MARTINGALE, who want to know when PYTCHLEY'S stud is to be sold. You

profess a sulky ignorance of the subject, and try to get away, when

MARTINGALE enters upon a sketch of French character, which he holds very

low, chiefly on grounds of a sporting nature. Ever see such dogs?--ever

see such horses?--ever see such riding and driving?--ever see such

grooms and coachmen? You should go to one of their steeple-chases and

look at them tumbling about. The last time, at La Marche, white and red

cap came pounding along fifty miles an hour, and pulled up short at the

brook to inquire for the _bridge_.

[Illustration]

"_Ou est le pont, Messieurs? Mon Dieu, je vais perdre! De grace, ou est

le pont?_" and another man got with his horse on to the top of a bank,

where he stopped for a quarter-of-an-hour without being able to get off

again, until at last the crowd flicked the unfortunate animal with their

pocket-handkerchiefs into a state of madness, when he jumped down, only

it was on the wrong side, and his rider gave up the adventure.

MARTINGALE was also very severe on the cavalry, whom he described as

tailors mounted on bad cart-horses, and unable to stand for a moment

before British heavies.

HOOKER endorsed the criticisms of his friend, and called attention to

the cavaliers who pranced up and down the drive. Certainly it was rather

a ludicrous contrast, both for men and cattle, with our exhibition in

Rotten Row. The horses were mostly weedy, leggy, tucked up brutes, all

mane and tail, and worth about two pound ten each. One young fellow, a

tremendous dandy, galloped up and down on a gray Arab-looking pony that

an English gentleman would have put his little boy of twelve upon. The

styles of riding were various. There were the _haute ecole_ men, who

rode very long, and showed all their saddle in front of them, and the

Anglo-maniacs, who rode very short, and showed all their saddle behind

them. Some gentlemen seemed disposed to tie their legs together under

their horse's belly; others projected them on each side of his chest

like the cat-heads of a man-of-war. They all rode on the curb, with a

grasp of iron, holding the snaffle in the other hand, perpetually

nagging and spurring and hustling the wretched animals about, till they

did not know what to be at. HOOKER'S honest Yorkshire heart swelled with

bitterness all the time. "They oughtn't to be trusted out with a horse,"

he said. "It's a shame, by JOVE! They drive like a butcher, and ride

like a chummy on a moke" (HOOKER meant to say, a sweep on a donkey; but

he always prefers idiomatic expressions, which add great vigour to his

discourse). "However, I won't be unjust to the Mossoos. They can cook a

good dinner, and no mistake. Come to-night, old fellow, and dine with us

in the Rue Montorgueil. There's HAYCOCK of the 190th coming, and we

shall have some of CLICQUOT'S Champagne."

Good. We will be there.

[Illustration]

* * * * *

A MUSICAL PUMP.

A Composer, whom we cannot do less than call a Musical Pump, so full is

his head of crotchets and water--has published three watery sheets of

music for the Pianoforte, respectively entitled "The Morning Mist," "The

Rainbow," and "The Waterfall." Why should he stop here? why not

thoroughly drain the subject? why not fathom it in all its depths, until

he has not left a drop of water that can be sounded, or out of which any

sound can be got, by any other composer? In our liberality, we beg to

suggest a few subjects for him.

THE SHOWER OF RAIN--dedicated to the Lessee of Vauxhall, with an

illuminated frontispiece, showing a view of the "Ten Thousand additional

Lamps," in water colours.

THE UMBRELLA GALOP, and PARASOL POLKA, dedicated to the fair frequenters

of the Horticultural and Botanical Gardens--with a fine running

accompaniment.

THE DELUGE--humbly inscribed to LORD MAIDSTONE.

THE MACKINTOSH MARCH--with a view of Chobham Camp--and a beautiful

waterproof wrapper.

THE BUCKET OF WATER--A composition for the milk-pail.

THE OVERFLOW--with a splendid engraving of the Surrey Zoological

Gardens, showing the overflow caused by a little Poole. "Exceedingly

playful."--_Musical Review._

THE CATS AND DOGS' SCHOTTISHE, as danced at all the Scottish Fetes in

Holland Park, Cremorne, &c.

And when the subject of rain-water is fairly pumped out, there are all

the other atmospheric changes, of which our climate offers such a

tempting variety, and some of which must surely contain a few of the

elements of success. We scarcely know which are the most ridiculous--the

titles that are given now-a-days to new shirts, or the subjects that are

chosen, as the sources of inspiration, by our musical composers.

* * * * *

EXTREME CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.

The _Field_ newspaper prides itself in giving "No Reports of Prize

Fights." So conscientious is the paper in this particular, that it has

announced its determination--in the event of the decimal coinage being

adopted--to turn away every farthing, rather than derive a profit from a

single _mil_.

* * * * *

CAUSE AND EFFECT.--It is said that a cause is always followed by effect,

but this is not the case at all events at law, where a cause is too

frequently followed by "No Effects."

* * * * *

LINES ON THE BURIAL OF A BRITISH PROTESTANT IN SPAIN.

Not a knell gave out any funeral note,

As his corpse to the shingles we hurried;

And below water-mark we had bare leave got

That our countryman's bones should be buried.

We buried him, dog-like, on that mean site,

The tide on the point of turning,

At the wretched Spaniards' bigot spite

With contempt intensely burning.

No use in coffin enclosing his breast,

Nor in sheet nor in shroud that bound him!

For he lay where he scarce would remain long at rest,

With the ocean washing round him.

None at all were the prayers we read;

And we felt more of rage than sorrow,

As we thought on the brutes who insult us when dead,

And don't pay us alive what they borrow

We thought as we hollowed his shelly bed,

And smoothed down his pebbly pillow,

That the crabs and the lobsters would creep o'er his head,

And we with our fleets on the billow!

Lightly they'll talk of our spirit as gone!

Our guns might to atoms have brayed them,

Yet we've let the rascals in this way go on,

Treating those very Britons who made them.

But half of our shameful job was done,

When the waves roared the hour of retiring,

And we knew we the distance should have to run,

To divert a rabble admiring.

Sharply and quickly we laid him down,

'Mid the jeers of the monks, young and hoary,

And we said, unless Spain is compelled to atone,

All a humbug is Old England's glory!

* * * * *

THE LAWYERS ABROAD.

Our latest advices inform of us of an extensive inundation of the Rhine.

It is impossible to get into a steamer without having "with you MR.

SERGEANT SOMEBODY," or finding a Judge "sitting in error" by taking

possession of the camp-stool we have for an instant quitted. Every town

in Switzerland has its proportion of British Lawyers. Peru the other day

could boast of two justices besides its own; and many a legal luminary

has been exploring the summits of the Jura, as an agreeable change from

his habitual contemplation of the _summun jus_. Equity draftsmen instead

of drawing conveyances have been glad to get conveyances to draw them;

and the common lawyer has forgotten every other motion but locomotion,

which, at this season of the year, is almost a motion of course. The

diligences nearly all over the Continent are so unusually loaded, that

there is scarcely a vacant corner to be found in any one of them, but we

cannot be surprised that when so many lawyers are travelling by them

they should be rather heavily charged.

* * * * *

THE CLOTH AND THE PLUSH.

In SWIFT'S time a Chaplain was a mere clerical domestic; and some

Curates appear to be little better now. Did ever any one hear of an

ordained valet?--somebody wants to hear of such a servant, however, to

judge herefrom:--

Curacy, with Title for Holy Orders, in the Diocese of Canterbury.

Remuneration--board and lodging, and L20 per annum. For further

particulars apply to MR. CLERC SMITH, Secretary to the Church of

England Club, 36, Southampton Street, Strand.

The above is taken from the _Times_. What is the Curate expected to

undertake for L20 a year and his victuals? The cure of Soles--in the

sense of scraping them, perhaps--with the additional duty of polishing

upper leathers. To answer the bell that rings for prayers,

peradventure--and also that which rings for hot water. We should like to

know whether the employer of such a Curate returns him in his Assessed

Tax Paper, with a farther entry on his account under the head of Hair

Powder.

* * * * *

POLITICAL CAPITAL.--The only capital most Irish Members have, and even

that is at a terrible discount.

* * * * *

[Illustration: SEVERE, BUT FLATTERING.

Reflective Cabman. "_Vell, it all 'us was so! The genteeler the Party,

the wosser the Fare!_"]

* * * * *

A CITY WITHOUT SMOKE!

That a city can exist without Smoke, we beg to refer our readers for the

proof of such a possibility to MR. BURFORD'S Panorama in Leicester

Square. There they will be able to admire, in all its beauty and

undefiled cleanliness, the lovely City of Mexico. You are standing on

the top of the Grand Cathedral, and, look in all directions as you will,

you cannot see the smallest wreath of smoke curling about the place.

Now, we should like to see the curl taken out of London in a similar

manner. It may not look, perhaps, so grand, so showy and glittering as

Mexico, but still it may, in its new aspect, appear sufficiently

tempting to induce Mr. BURFORD to select it as the subject of some

future Panorama. The probability is, we should not know it again as the

same city, in which we are now, like so many living chimneys, inhaling

and exhaling smoke all day long. The new Zealander, when he does view

the ruins of our sooty metropolis from London Bridge, would be able to

see them at all events to greater advantage then than he would if he

were to take his private view from one of the parapets to-morrow. For

our own selves, we are most anxious to see how London would look without

smoke--for, in the name of darkness, it looks ugly enough with it.

* * * * *

"THE GREAT GLOBE ITSELF."

MR. ALBERT SMITH alters his song of "_Galignani's Messenger_" to the

current events of the day. MR. WYLD will have to follow his example, and

keep a staff of colourmen constantly at work on his Model. Poland is

gone! Turkey threatened! and in the _Times_ of Saturday, we find--

"Last week of Hindostan!"

And

"Mont Blanc will close this Evening!"

* * * * *

ANOTHER INSULT FROM THE SAXON.

(_From "The Nation._")

Another insult, hot and hissing, has been flung in the scar-seamed face

of Ireland from the Saxon! And the Crystal Palace--or, rather, the

Vitreous Dungeon for Ireland's liberties--was the appointed scene of the

atrocity. Among the more sublimating objects was the venerable form of

O'CONNELL (in something harder than wax!) surrounded by a crowd of his

own finest peasantry.

"That's O'CONNELL," said the QUEEN.

"And very like him," said PRINCE ALBERT. And with all respect for his

Royal Highness--(for, as we are slaves, we have learned to treat the

Saxon with respect!) with all respect we ask, how he should presume to

know it was like the deified lineaments of the sublime Liberator?--"And

very like him!" said the Queen's husband; but--patience is the badge of

all our tribe, and we'll let _that_ pass.

But the withering insult is now to be recorded; if it do not, as we

write it, turn our steel pen red-hot, and singe the paper into flames!

The DUKE OF WELLINGTON--the second Duke--the son of O'CONNELL'S "stunted

corporal"--yes, Dux Secundus--presumed to "buy O'CONNELL and the

peasantry!"

Think of that, oh countrymen! The DUKE OF WELLINGTON dared to put his

hand into his pocket, and to take out so much tax-wrung, Saxon gold,

and--counting it piece by piece--he laid it down as the price of

O'CONNELL!

What did he mean by that cowardly, atrocious, ready-money transaction?

Why, this: by purchasing O'CONNELL he intended to fling this burning

libel in the face of Ireland--he wished to show it as his decided

opinion that O'CONNELL _could be bought!!!_

But the day of reckoning with the Saxon _will_ come. Meantime, if we hug

our chain, it is only to count and _pay for_ the links!

* * * * *

A CLERK PAID IN KIND.

Law is looking up at Manchester--to judge from a paragraph in the

_Morning Herald_; to wit--

"MANCHESTER LIBERALISM.--The following announcement has been posted

on the walls of the Manchester Law Library:--'An experienced clerk,

who writes a good hand, is wanted by a respectable solicitor in

Manchester. Salary 7_s._ per week, with perquisites in the shape of

cast-off clothes. Apply to the librarian.'"

Dull literalism would denounce the respectable solicitor who proposes to

pay an experienced clerk principally in cast-off clothes, as a screw.

Many a plodding fellow will expatiate on the unreasonableness on the

part of a legal gentleman who remunerates a clerk on this scale, of

being astonished that the said clerk should go seedy, or stretch forth

his hand and commit acts contrary to ordinances and statutes in such

case made and provided. It will occur to the stolid mind that the offer

of a stipend of old clothes is not likely to attract any clerk of

experience, beyond that of a Jew salesman. But the true man of figures,

he who understands the language of Fancy, revelling in metaphor,

perceives at once that the proposition which seems so stingy is, in

fact, very liberal. He discerns that by cast-off clothes is meant a

share in the business, consisting in those suits, which though

considerably profitable, are not of sufficient importance to be attended

to by the head of the establishment. It is pleasing to find the language

of poetry thus obtaining, in a profession of which the phraseology has

hitherto been so very unimaginative.

* * * * *

WASHING MADE AGREEABLE.

There is no washing, after all, like gold-washing. It is the kind of

washing that pays the best, and the only one that a gentleman can, with

credit, put his hands to.

* * * * *

[Illustration: A BIT OF HIS MIND.

_Edward (to his Military Cousin)._ "NO! I SHAN'T! I SHAN'T GO AND SHOOT

BLACKBIRDS; AND I TELL YOU WHAT, MASTER CHARLEY, YOU DRAGOON SWELLS

WON'T HAVE QUITE SUCH A PULL UPON US CIVILIANS NOW, FOR WE ARE ALL GOING

TO GROW BEARDS AND MOUSTACHIOS."]

* * * * *

CLASSICALITIES FOR THE NEW COINAGE.

In adopting the decimal coinage, it would be desirable to alter as

little as possible the existing nomenclature of the QUEEN'S cash. The

idea of the decimal may be expressed by the slightest variation of a

term in vernacular use to denote a certain piece of money. By the change

of a letter in the word "Tanner," the sixpence might, nominally, be

retained to the great bulk of the people; whilst, by the conversion

alluded to, namely, into "Tenner," the new elements of its constitution

would be at the same time signified. The novel word "Mil," should be

rejected; and for it might be substituted the similarly sounding but

more familiar name of "Bill," the adoption of which may be recommended

on the ground of analogy, as the shilling has been already long stamped

with the popular diminutive of "Bob." If the somewhat fanciful

expression "Mil," or "Mill," is employed, the principle of its

derivation should be consistently carried out. The words "Winder,"

"Bender," "Twister," "Topper," and "Stunner," might be borrowed to

designate money, which itself should change its present correct

appellation for the more sportive and appropriate title of Blunt. The

mutation of "Florin" into "Floorer" would be obviously called for, and

the crown piece might be neatly styled a "Punisher," as being the

well-known amount of the fine for inebriety.

On all the coins emanating from the pugilistic mint, it would be

requisite that the Lion and the Unicorn should be fighting; and whilst

V. R. figured on one side of them, P. R. should be stamped on the other,

that it might in every respect be characterised by the true ring.

* * * * *

PUNCH'S POTATO PROPHECY.

The reader, who minds his _Punch_, of course remembers what _Punch_

prophesied in 1847 on the Irish potato rot. From that very decay,

_Punch_ predicted regeneration.

"The butcher, the baker,

The candle-stick maker,

All jumped out of a rotten potato."

So runs the childish doggrel; but _Punch_ heard in that shambling verse

a musical promise; and hearing, foretold the coming time when, from the

very blight that smote the people of Ireland through Ireland's potatos,

there should be peace and plenty for Ireland regenerate. And is it not

so? Answer with one of your wildest roars, oh, Lion of Judah! Is it not

so--reply and tenderly, cooingly, oh Dove of Galway!

* * * * *

DISRAELI'S COAT AND BADGE.

Was a smarter old feller than I be e'er seen

In these bright brass buttons--this new quoat of green?

Why is it I'm rigged out so fine as this here?

Why for sarvin' one master for full thirty year.

But wherefore should I be so proud o' my clothes,

And strut in 'em so, stickin' up my old nose?

Do I think the prize-suit such an honour to wear?

Shoo! it baint for the raiment alone as I care.

'Tisn't that--the mere valley and worth of the coat--

'Tis the honour the present is meant to denote,

The respect I be held in, the height of esteem,

Which is far above all I could possible dream.

Why, what dost thee think, man? these things is no less

Than a passpoort for wearers, a privileged dress,

I puts on this quoat on my back--that was all--

And they lets me walk in to the grand County Ball.

There was MEASTER DISRAELI, the friend o' the land,

He comes and he catches me hold by the hand,

"Come along," a sez, "JOHN;" up the room then we stumps,

Which occasioned some noise, as I didn't wear pumps.

To a Lord and a Lady of rank and degree,

'Mongst a whole kit of other fine folks he led me,

And he says to 'em, s'ee, "I the honour ha' got

O 'troducin' my friend to yer, MEASTER JOHN TROTT.

"He's a noble, is JOHN, though he isn't a Peer,--

I wun't say as how he's the noblest that's here;

But an honest man JOHN is, and all on you know,

In course, what the poet calls him as is so.

"Look at this horny palm! how became it like that,

So that on it he uses to slice bacon fat?

Why by thirty years' toil--and for whom, d'ye suppose?

For a wife and five children?--not only for those--

"My lady, to earn his own bread warn't enow,

He yarned your meat as well, by the damp of his brow;

And your silks, and your satins, and jewels besides,

And the coaches you keeps, and the hosses you rides.

"Arter that, I be certain that you won't deny

MEASTER TROTT your fair hand for a dance by and by."

"Such a trifle," she said, "I of course can't withhold."

"But for dancin'" I sez, "I'm afeard I'm too old."

"Oh! we won't 'tempt the Poker, nor Valsa dew Tong,

And I'm sure we shall get very nicely along,"

Said my lady; when straightways the music did play,

And to "_Pop goes the Weasel_" we capered away.

Her ladyship flew, amost, over the ground,

Which I could do nothin' but hammer and pound;

But nobody laughed, for in course they thought how

Arkard they'd look suppose they was tryin' to plough.

When the dancin' was done unto supper we went,

And I feasted away to my full heart's content,

On cake, chicken, lobster, sweets, aught I could find,

The fust time I ever ate all I'd a mind.

'Tis the bein' acknowledged, you see, like that 'ere,

Is what makes me feel proudish this clothin' to wear,

I should say "Dash the buttons!" if that warn't the case,

And consider the quoat but a badge o' disgrace.

* * * * *

IRON BARS OF MUSIC.

We have often wished that we could suggest anything that would afford

some scope for the unemployed ability of the artists of our almost

extinct English Opera. Here, in an advertisement out of the _Times_,

appears to be something like an opening for one of them--if the foreign

predilections of our superior classes have not starved them all:--

ORGAN.--WANTED, a respectable man to act as TURNKEY in a County

Prison. One who understands music, can play the Organ, and sing bass

would be preferred. For further particulars apply, post paid, to T.

T. S., Post-office, Bath.

The popular air of "_Still so gently o'er me stealing_," will

immediately suggest itself as one of the first airs that would be called

for from the musical turnkey, having been transposed so as to be sung in

the bass, which "would be preferred." Any one who had personated the

gaoler in the vernacular version of _Fidelio_ would, however, be the man

for the situation; and it is pleasing to imagine such a respectable

vocalist leading the Prison Chorus at the head of real convicts. A

pretty idea, too, is that of a Nightingale within four stone walls,

beguiling the tedium of confinement with his "jug-jug." Of course the

harmonious turnkey would enchant his incarcerated audience by his

performance of the Witch music of MATTHEW LOCKE. That he should also be

an organist is a good notion; phrenologists will admit it to be

judicious to play the organ of tune against that of acquisitiveness or

theft, and all other human organs out of tune and discordant with man's

better nature. Talking of the organ, SEBASTIAN BACH would have been just

the very turnkey in request, for he was a master of that noble

instrument; and the kind of piece which he most delighted in performing

thereon was a QUOD-_libet_.

It is to be hoped that the cultivation of music will be introduced at

Newgate; and then, perhaps, we shall at last witness a genuine

representation of the _Beggar's Opera_.

* * * * *

OUR TOURIST IN PARIS.--No. 4.

[Illustration: W]

When, Sir, you selected me from the crowd of eminent persons who

solicited the honour of furnishing you with their impressions of the

French metropolis, you were good enough to attribute to me an uncommon

impartiality and serenity of mind. "That impartiality," you observed

with your usual force and felicity of language, "will preserve your

communications from the onesidedness that usually deforms a traveller's

views of foreign country." My modesty, Sir, (almost amounting to

bashfulness) is well known to you, but I will venture to say that you

were correct in your estimate. I feel myself equally free from the

sturdy prepossessions nourished by MR. DOWLAS of Mecklenburgh Square and

the rose-coloured delusions which captivate young THREADPAPER of the

Foreign Office. The former gentleman marches through this city in

company with MRS. D. and the girls, armed with a guide-book and a pocket

map, and finds all barren. The latter wishes to introduce absolute

government into England, supported by an army of five hundred thousand

men and a censorship of the press. THREADPAPER is of tender years; his

moustache is downy, indeed hardly visible without a glass; he will grown

wiser with time, but MR. DOWLAS, I very much fear, is beyond all cure.

D., you old humbug! what do you mean by uttering your shallow vulgar

criticism on the greatest nation of Continental Europe? You know nothing

of their history, except that they were beaten at the battle of

Waterloo; you can't speak a word of their language; you can't read one

of their newspapers; you are supremely ignorant of their character and

institutions, and yet you treat them as a mob of hairdressers, dancing

masters, and cooks (and not good cooks either), and exult in the

time-honoured conviction that one Englishman can thrash two Frenchmen.

DOWLAS, attend to me, I am going to talk about taste--a word that ought

to excite shame and anguish in your mind. For a quarter of a century you

have been smothering the world with printed fabrics of fantastic and

horrible ugliness. Millions upon millions of yards of these abominations

have found their way into every nook and corner of the world. Remote

tribes of wandering Tartars and the squaws of painted Choktaws have clad

their bodies and depraved their souls with your outrageous patterns.

Bales marked with the well-known D. (oh, how could you, MR. DOWLAS,

Sir?) have carried their baleful influence into the innocent populations

of the Peaceful Ocean. The least hideous of these productions are those

you have stolen (and spoiled) from the French, and if there is any

improvement in your patterns of late years, it is entirely to be

attributed to your piracy of French designs.

The fact is, that France has become the Mistress of Arts to the world.

If England lives in a fever of industry, _she_ lives in a fever of

invention. Every novelty we have is due to her restless creative spirit.

In arts, in letters, in philosophy, she scatters abroad new ideas with

unsparing profusion; other nations, following with unequal steps,

treasure up what falls, and claim it as their own. This exuberance of

fancy is only the result of the universal artistic feeling which seems

to animate her citizens. You cannot go anywhere in Paris without being

conscious of this. Every shop window is a picture. Look at that

pastrycook's. A few pieces of china and half-a-dozen bon-bon boxes form

a composition that is really charming. Is there any one from Marlborough

House could do it as well? Only think of the tons of three-cornered

tarts and Bath buns that form the decoration of a London confectioner's.

And yet this pretty arrangement is due to the intuitive taste of the

little scrubby ignorant daughter of the people who serves in the shop. I

will not draw your attention to the quiet becoming style of her dress,

because you have often confessed to me in private your admiration of

Parisian toilettes, though in the presence of MRS. D. you loudly affect

to prefer the dowdy manner adopted by that lady in common with the most

part of her countrywomen. I will, therefore, make no further mention of

ladies' costume, only protesting that, in my opinion, all Frenchwomen in

their degree dress to perfection, and that an ugly bonnet is no certain

proof of wisdom or goodness as is generally supposed.

Turn to the houses, and compare their gay ornate appearance with the

dismal monotonous streets of London. Every one has its separate

character. The portal is of sculptured stone, always decent and often of

beautiful design. A little bit of carved cornice, a simple moulding

round the windows gives individuality and interest to the upper part

without any of the astounding architectural eccentricities of Regent

Street. Enter, and you will find the furniture of even the humbler

occupants varied, characteristic, and pretty. Where ornament is

attempted, it is well chosen and sparingly introduced. A beautiful

cabinet, a few small pictures, a group or two in bronze, some exquisite

china--quite a contrast to the overwhelming magnificence of English

upholstery. I know, DOWLAS, you gave a _carte blanche_ to JOBKINS and

SON for your house in Mecklenburgh Square. Well, well--if the subject is

a painful one we will not pursue it; though I must say that I think six

copies of the peacocky young woman in fetters, called for some

inscrutable reason the Greek Slave, rather too much for two

drawing-rooms (couldn't you send up a pair to the best bed-room, and one

to the butler's pantry?) and I may also take this opportunity of

informing JOBKINS, JUNIOR, who does the "tasty" business of his firm,

that merely multiplying expensive tables and chairs, and daubing

everything over with gold, though it may satisfactorily swell the bill,

shows a miserable want of fancy and cleverness in a decorator.

I quite admit the solidity and conscientiousness of English workmanship.

We buy a frightful table in Bond Street, and, behold, it will last for

ever. The drawers in DOWLAS'S house are as delightful to open and shut

as they are horrible to look at. English boots will outlast French

boots, and English gloves French gloves. Whatever may have been the case

years ago, it is a great mistake to suppose that these articles are

better now in Paris than in London. The great difference is shortly

this[5]--our artists are tradesmen and their tradesmen are artists. In

all articles of simple usefulness we have an unquestionable superiority,

but where something more than convenience or durability is required our

designers seem quite helpless. A certain funeral car will occur to many

as an example of this truth, and, perhaps, by malicious persons, will be

taken to shew how much or how little is to be expected from Government

Schools of Art.

The Tourist is aware that no one can walk about Paris without seeing

abundant evidences of the coarsest moral and social feeling, and claims

an infinitely higher position for his own countrymen and countrywomen in

this respect. He also recollects that he has already ridiculed the dress

of Frenchmen, and sees that this may be supposed inconsistent with a

sweeping panegyric on French taste. But this is an exception that

proves the rule. A Frenchman's _theory_ of dress is wrong. He always

wants to be conspicuous and picturesque. Hence, nothing is too singular

and showy for him. He gets himself up, as if for the stage, with velvet

and fur and beard and moustache, and exhausts the resources of his

inventive mind for new and still more _piquant_ combinations. When he

turns his attentions to the chase, the result is something worth seeing,

and no mistake, as will be more plainly seen by a picture of a party of

sporting gentlemen going out shooting. But these comicalities are

eschewed by the genuine "swells," who adopt our sober English notions of

masculine costume, and, indeed, dress exactly like Englishmen. The

advice of _Polonius_ to _Laertes_ will literally apply to the matter at

the present day:--

"Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy.

But _not expressed in fancy_--rich, not gaudy--

For the apparel oft proclaims the man.

And they in France _of the best rank and station_

Are most select and generous, chief in that--"

The most august confirmation has been given to this view. I state with

becoming reverence and awe that his I----L M----Y, with that regard

for detail which characterises his great mind, has sent a special envoy

to London, and had all his liveries made in Saville Row, with which

unspeakably solemn allusion I close this communication.

[Footnote 5:] This is not intended to apply to our painters, who may

well be compared with those of any country, but to the designers for

manufactures.

[Illustration]

* * * * *

SPIRITED CONDUCT OF A PUBLIC COMPANY.

The Greenwich Steamboats have recently been employed in the important,

but somewhat dangerous, service of destroying the various piers, at

which they call for passengers. These absurd and useless

structures--which are usually composed of three or four superannuated

barges, loosely connected by a twopenny cord; several flights of stairs,

leading up into the air and down again, on to the next pier and back

again, or, indeed, anywhere but into the boats; a hut which combines the

accommodation of a watch-box with the cleanliness of a pigstye, and a

series of gangways which are intended to accommodate themselves to the

rising and falling of the tide, but which invariably stick fast at the

wrong end, and either carry the unfortunate traveller some 20 feet above

the wharf, or threaten to precipitate him down a sort of Montagne Russe

into the water;--these agglomerations of tar, dirt, touchwood, and

rope-yarn, have so long encumbered and disfigured the bank of the river

that the Directors of the Greenwich steamboats have come to the

resolution which their boats have been carrying out.

The plan, on which the work of demolition is carried on, is as follows:

The captain drives the boat stem on to the pier, without giving any

order to reverse the engines, and the immediate consequence is a most

satisfactory collision. It is not true, however, that the French, in

despair at ever being able to effect a landing in London over these

piers, have bribed the Directors to destroy these bulwarks of the river.

Nor are the Directors following the example of the Scotch Baronet, who

has just pulled down a pier on his estate, because the boats stopped at

it on Sunday. The cases are quite different, for the Scotch piers are

only private, or representative, and can be removed at pleasure, whereas

the London piers have persevered in their career of uselessness for many

ages, and can only be got rid of by violent measures.

* * * * *

PAT'S WELCOME TO THE REAPING-MACHINE.

I'm sick of the sickle, MOLLY dear, and stooping so long and so low;

And it's little grief it gives me, to give the ould bother the go!

And when another harvest comes, by the Saints! I'd like to see

The money or anything else that 'ud make a Raping-Machine of me!

I've raped in Scotland and England, and I've raped in the Lothians three,

And I dar' say it's twenty year since first I crossed the Irish Sea;

I've raped yer wheat, and yer barley, and oats and beans, sez Pat:

But as for Profit--it's sorrow the raping that ever I raped of that!

So, good luck to you, MISTHER MAC CORMACK, and Yer Reverence, MISTHER

BELL,

And good luck to you, MISTHER HUSSEY--I wish yer Honours well;

The shearer's footing on the fields ye've fairly cut away;

But it's not been worth the standing on, bedad, this many a day.

And now the Horse takes the raping in hand, and pulls the huge machines

That go clicking and snicking across the fields of wheat, oats, barley,

and beans;

Ye've got machines for sowing, and thrashing, and raping, between and

betwixt,

And, troth, it's my private opinion ye'll have a machine for eating it

next!

But we'll throw the sickle aside, MOLLY, and go and try our luck

On the banks of the far Australian strames, where the otter is billed

like a duck:

For there's mate, and drink, and clothes, MOLLY, and riches and rank to

be won.

At the Anti--what d'ye call the place, on t'other side of the sun?

And there'll be no land-agents, nor middlemen, nor Jews,

But ye'll see me stoning lumps of gould at the beggarly Kangaroos;

And there's nayther shooting of bailiffs, nor any such wicked fun,

In land that lies beneath our feet, on t'other side of the sun.

And no more masses to pay for!--good day to ye, FATHER O'BLADD,

The last Confession from me, faiks, and the very last penny ye've had;

It's little Yer Reverence leaves behind when ye clear away our sin,

As the prophet sez, ye purge our dross, and take precious care of the

tin.

Ye've a bandage on yer wrist, MOLLY; that wrist with gems I'll deck,

And a string of nuggets, like millstones, I'll hang about yer neck,

And we'll live in a snug retirement where our nearest neighbour'll be

The EMPEROR OF CHINA, who will sometimes look in to tea!

Och! the world we're leaving, MOLLY, is a world of grief and care,

For even the pigs and potatoes are not the angels that once they were;

But the world we're going to, MOLLY, is where the giants of ould

Buried--for want of a better bank--their stocking-legs crammed with

gould!

It's a world of wonders, MOLLY, a world without a peer;

For what it has, and what it wants, we've nothing like it here:

But of all its wondrous things, it seems the strangest thing to me

That there the labouring man's the man gets first to the top o' the tree.

* * * * *

SEA-SIDE INTELLIGENCE.

A _spirituelle_ young lady writes up from Ramsgate to say:--"In the

morning, my dear, we have a delivery of letters by the Post. In the

afternoon we have another delivery--the delivery of husbands, brothers,

_cousins_, or beloved acquaintances, as the case may be, by the

steam-packet. In this manner, darling, we have a _mail_-delivery twice

a-day. It would ill-become _me_ to say _which_ one I like best."

* * * * *

NECROMANCY FOR GENTS.

Table-rapping with Genuine Spirits every evening at the SHADES Harmonic

Free and Easy, in Scamp's Alley. A Medium in the Bar--but "goes" of

whiskey, brandy, rum, or gin unlimited.

* * * * *

TEST FOR TRAVELLERS.

It is complained that there are no examinations at the Inns of Court in

town, whilst it is forgotten that thousands of applicants for admission

are daily plucked at the hotels all over the country.

* * * * *

PURITANS IN REQUEST.--The metropolis would be much more pleasant if the

Commissioners of Sewers had a proper number of disscenters among them.

* * * * *

[Illustration: DIVISION OF LABOUR.

_Sportsman (in Standing Beans)._ "WHERE TO, NOW, JACK?"

_Jack._ "WELL! LET'S SEE! I SHOULD JUST GO UP THE BEANS AGAIN, AND

ACROSS THE TOP-END, BEAT DOWN THE OTHER SIDE AND ROUND BY THE BOTTOM;

WHILE YOU'RE THERE, GET OVER AND TRY OLD HAYCOCK'S STANDING OATS--HE

WON'T MIND--I'LL STOP HERE AND MARK!"]

* * * * *

PRINCE ALBERT, THE CZAR, AND THE TURK.

"For Heaven's sake, gentlemen, _don't_ nail the poor man's ears to the

pump!"

Such was the benevolent exclamation of TYGER ROCHE (an Irish fire-eater

of the last century) when he beheld a certain attorney within the walls

of Dublin Jail. And the prayer was sufficient; for no sooner was it

uttered, than the hapless lawyer was in the clutches of invoked

persecutors, and hammer and nails hotly sought for.

Our friend the _Spectator_, oddly enough, is, for once, very like TYGER

ROCHE. He says--

"It is evident that a serious disturbance in Europe might be very

inconvenient to the minor German Powers; and that fact has _perhaps_

suggested _the rough guess_, that a Prince bound up with German

interests by family relations, has used his position near the

British Sovereign for the purpose of inducing England to assist in

hushing up the quarrel, with scanty regard to the justice of the

case; _in short, that_ PRINCE ALBERT has induced England to abandon

her pledge and her ally!"

The _Spectator_ having made "the rough guess," reasons on it in his own

logical way, and concludes with these convincing words--

"_We do not believe_ that PRINCE ALBERT has so far forgotten his

happy and exalted duty, of which he has shown so just an

appreciation, by officious meddling with affairs which are not his."

That the _Spectator_, the Esquimaux of the Press--for somehow he always

appears to _Punch_ in a suit of sealskin, with a very blue nose,

prepared, if necessary, to harpoon the whale that shall supply his

midnight oil--that the cold _Spectator_ should suggest such a charge

against PRINCE ALBERT merely to express a disbelief is, at least, a very

unnecessary trouble.

"Don't nail the poor man's ears to the pump!" cries TYGER ROCHE.

"Don't believe PRINCE ALBERT an ally of NICHOLAS!" cries the

_Spectator_.

* * * * *

A SERIOUS QUESTION TO COLONEL SIBTHORP.--Is the ghost of Pond Street,

Chelsea, the ghost of Protection?

* * * * *

TAVERN EXPERIENCE.

I went to the sign of the Cat and Fiddle,

Whereat they did me grossly diddle:

I went to the Commercial Inn,

Where they well nigh stripped me to the skin:

I went to the Manchester Business House,

And equally there I found them chouse.

I went to the Coffee-House and Tavern,

Which turned out a regular robbers' cavern:

I went to the Family Hotel,

And they pillaged and plundered me there as well:

I went to the Recreative ditto,

My Stars and Garters!--wasn't I bit--oh!

* * * * *

[Illustration: IMPUDENT ROBBERY OF A TRAVELLER AT AN ENGLISH HOTEL.

THE POOR GENTLEMAN WAS FIRST KNOCKED DOWN BY A HEAVY BILL, AND THEN

PLUNDERED.]

* * * * *

ALL MY EYE AND BEATE MARTIN.

The humbug of the Holy Eye-water at Salette has been recently exposed

very efficiently; but we are told the BISHOP OF GRENOBLE has adopted it,

because, to use a legal expression, it "runs with the surplice." We can

but express our astonishment that such eye-water should be necessary to

make a Bishop ('s) see.

* * * * *

A PETRIFIED LUNCHEON.

"MR. PUNCH,--The periodical review of the uses and abuses of English

Hotels having commenced, I beg leave to state that there is a small,

unpretending hostelry at Matlock Baths, where the luncheon (price 2_s._)

supplied is invariably made up of bits of loins of mutton, and leavings

of ribs of beef, all--in honour of the locality--duly petrified. Last

week I managed to chip off and swallow a bit of a joint, and I verily

believe have been troubled with the stone ever since. (Price 2s.!)

"Yours, VIATOR."

* * * * *

A TRAP TO CATCH A MOONCALF.

[Illustration: T]

The _Times_, in a letter from Grenoble, states that the Trappists in the

neighbourhood of La Salette are busy in the manufacture of a beverage

which, from the writer's description, seems to be about identical with

that which is produced by MESSRS. SEAGER & EVANS. We congratulate the

worthy monks upon taking to honest gin-spinning, which is a much more

laudable occupation than weaving toils to entangle simpletons. We should

think this order must be rather numerous in the district in question, as

surely all those must have been regular Trappists, who were concerned in

getting up the enormous hoax which has given it celebrity.

It seems that they have entrapped some gulls of the LUCAS tribe, who

were not up to Trap: but we should have considered even that common

marine fowl, the Booby, too old a bird to be capable of being caught by

chaff so extremely palpable.

* * * * *

PEBBLES PICKED UP AT THE SEA-SHORE.

BY A SENTIMENTAL OLD YOUNG LADY.

One's existence down here is divided between donkey-riding and

novel-reading--pretty exercises for the mind and body! It would be

difficult to say which were the slowest--the donkeys or the novels. It's

very strange, but how extremely rare it is you come across a donkey or a

novel that's in the least moving!

Youth writes its hopes upon the sand, and Age advances, like the sea,

and washes them all out.

We raffle, and raffle our best affections away, like shillings at the

Library, and Man looks coldly on, and smilingly says, "Better luck,

Miss, next time."

I am sure that the sand, with which Time has filled his hour-glass, must

have been picked up at a watering-place, for nowhere else does the time

run on so slowly, or the hours succeed one another with such provoking

similarity.

It is very curious that the sea, which brings the colour back to our

cheeks, generally takes it from our ribbons!

It is the same with dispositions as with bonnets; it is not every one

that can stand the sea-side.

Scandal is a rank weed which is generally found in great profusion near

the sea-coast.

A watering-place is a harbour of refuge, that we, poor weak vessels,

after having been tossed about for nine months in the year, are obliged,

during the other three, to put into for repairs.

I am frequently reminded, when I see a party about to start in a

pleasure boat, of the effect of a London season. Every one is so gay and

blooming, so full of health and spirits at the starting, but how pale,

dejected, dragged, drenched, and fairly sickened they look, if you

chance to see them returning at the end of it!

* * * * *

SONG OF THE TRANSPLANTED SHAMROCK.

"One of the Royal servants brought with him to the train a sod of

shamrock which had been dug up in the grounds attached to the

Viceregal Lodge. A porcelain pot received the plant, which, as it

had been obtained at the special request of HER MAJESTY, is probably

destined to be transplanted to some of the Royal grounds, and

cultivated as a memento of a visit which will be long memorable in

Ireland."--_Dublin Daily Express._

Erin mavourneen, torn up from thy green,

Lonely, withered, and drooped for a while,

Though planted in porcelain, and nursed by a Queen,

I was sick at the roots for my own pleasant isle;

Where the winds came so gently to kiss me and love me,

There was tenderness e'en in the breath of the north;

Where the kind clouds would fling their soft shadows above me,

When the hot sun of summer came scorchingly forth.

I pined for those tender grey eyes, whose black lashes

Veil a tear and a smile alike ready to start;

I longed for the mirth, whose unquenchable flashes

Hold a struggle with gloom in the Irishman's heart.

White hands were about me, but not my own people's,

Kind hearts, too, but not the kind hearts I had known;

The bells that I heard rang in Sassenach steeples,

And wanted the music I loved in my own.

An' I fancied they scorned me, the poor plant of Erin,

Them roses so gaudy, them thistles so tall;

An' I thought as they tossed their proud heads, it was sneerin'

At my poor lowly leaflets, wid no flower at all.

But by little and little I felt that about me

The soil gathered cheery, and kindly, and warm;

And the illigant flowers that I thought meant to flout me

When I larnt what they said, sure they meant me no harm.

The hands I thought cold I found true in their tending,

The hearts I thought hard, sure, were soft at the core;

So I opened my leaves with less fear of offending,

And the longer I knew I loved England the more.

For my Queen is a mistress that's gentle and tender,

And oft my poor leaflet her bosom adorns;

She says I've my sweetness, if roses their splendour,

An' if I've no blossoms, why, sure I've no thorns.

* * * * *

MOTTO FOR THE LEADER OF THE CHINESE REVOLUTION.--Heads I win, Tails you

lose.

* * * * *

THE INSTITUTION OF OUR SPECTRE OF CHELSEA.

The following "Pastoral" has been published by an obscure individual,

who pretends to adopt a certain episcopal style.

To the Inhabitants of Chelsea, Brompton, Fulham, Kensington, and the

Neighbourhood, Health and Good Digestion.

Respectable and Intelligent,--From the Apparition of GILES SCROGGINS of

tuneful memory, to that of the Head of the Woolly Quadruped which

manifested itself to WILLIAM WHITE, there was no want of spectral

appearances sufficient to convince the enlightened British Public of the

existence of Ghosts. Not to mention the unfortunate MISS BAILEY, who,

after suspension by the cincture of her own stocking, revisited an

unprincipled CAPTAIN SMITH, nor to say more than is necessary of the

Ghost of Cock Lane, it may suffice to cite the instance of the

Hammersmith Ghost which, as is well known, appeared to, and terrified a

great many people. And now lately, in this very place, which is not far

from that, there has appeared a Ghost, which has frightened multitudes;

as countless thousands among you are able to testify.

But the incredulous--insensible to the force of table rappings,

disbelieving the prodigies of clairvoyance, and deriding the wonderful

visions of the Crystal--who, in short, ascribe all the supernatural

events of the day, which are very numerous, to imagination or fraud,

will doubtless, after a short time, by the lapse whereof the

recollection of the fact shall have been weakened, dispute or deny the

truth of the Chelsea Ghost, and attribute the authentic narrative

thereof to the incredible WALKER.

Lest, therefore, the memory of this so wonderful Apparition should

perish, and in order that, on the contrary, its fame may endure for

ages, we have decreed to erect a Spirituous Establishment, in the

immediate vicinity of the house wherein it took place, namely, in Pond

Street, Chelsea, to be called and known by the name and sign of the

Ghost and Goblet, which all are invited to frequent, and partake of the

refreshment of spirits.

Beneath the edifice to be reared under these auspices, there will be

provided a subterranean retreat, bearing the name of The Shades, in

further allusion to the miracle which it is intended to commemorate.

A confraternity of the Ghost and Goblet has already been formed for the

purpose of celebrating with an appropriate banquet the approaching

Festival of Michaelmas. Additional Members may be enrolled at 6_d._ per

week each.

The following indulgences are promised to those who repair to the

Hostelry of the Ghost and Goblet with the usual dispositions:--

Unlimited indulgence in Roast Goose, on the aforesaid Festival of

Michaelmas, which will also be the Anniversary of the Foundation, on

condition of eating with the goose an optional quantity of mashed

turnip, in order to signify the demolition of that Lantern to which

profane scepticism would refer supernatural appearances.

Indulgence in brandy, gin, rum, Hollands, and whiskey; in superior ale,

porter, and stout; and in genuine foreign wines and liqueurs--to any

extent, on condition of ringing the bell, or calling the waiter, and

repeating the proper order for the liquor as often as may be requisite.

Indulgence in tea and shrimps.

Indulgence in tobacco for any term of hours; the hostelry remaining

open.

Indulgence of the same duration in the amusement afforded by a good dry

skittle ground.

Indulgence above stairs in the exercise of dancing; on condition of

executing the proper movements to the tune of "_Pop goes the Weasel_,"

or whatsoever other measure may be prescribed by popularity.

Indulgence in the delights of harmony in the Shades below: on condition

of expressing a desire for refreshment.

To secure the full benefit of these Indulgences it will be only

necessary, further, to pay for them; and that this may the more

conveniently be done they will be supplied on the most liberal scale of

charges.

In addition to the Skittle Ground, there will be provided a Bowling

Green, surrounded with a Ghost's Walk, adorned with Winking Statues,

Bleeding Pictures, and other objects of like nature calculated to edify

the faithful in such matters. In conclusion, Respectable and

Intelligent, as touching liquor, we profess ourselves ever ready to

supply you

IN YOUR OWN JUGS, BRUMMAGEM BROMPTON.

* * * * *

[Illustration: Two of the most Extraordinary Occurrences of the Day--The

Appearances at Salette and Chelsea.]

* * * * *

NEUTRALITY IN PLUSH.

The wonders of steam at Manchester and other great manufacturing towns

are quite eclipsed by the triumph at which mechanical science has

arrived in an obscure locality. Witness this advertisement, extracted

from the _Cambridge Chronicle_ of the 10th instant:

WANTED in a Clergyman's family in the country, a FOOTMAN, _which_

must also have a knowledge of Gardening. For particulars address

X.Y., Post Office, Caxton.

The Footman _which_ is wanted in a Clergyman's family, is, of course, a

Machine; as the neuter pronoun, by the tenet of MURRAY, held of course

by every clergyman, is to be applied to animals and inanimate things;

and no known animal is capable of a Footman's place. The Footman thus

wanted might have been supposed to be a trivet, but for the requisition

that it shall have a knowledge of gardening. This proves that it must be

an Engine--and in part a Garden Engine--endowed with intellectual

faculties. That it is advertised for is sufficient evidence that it

exists.

Necessity is the mother of invention; and the dearth of labour, combined

with the insolence, unthrift, and dishonesty of servants, has compelled

some clever mechanist to devise the sort of Footman which is wanted by

the clergyman; and has been long in general request.

How such a domestic could have been constructed; how it was possible to

make a lackey that should not only clean boots and wait at table, but

dig, and prune, and plant, and exercise intelligence, moreover, in these

horticultural operations, it is difficult to conceive. Imagination

staggers at the idea of a Steam Flunkey. The MR. SMEE, who resolves

thought into electrical action, may suppose that galvanism might have

served to vivify the apparatus, and cause the fibres of its artificial

brain to quiver with those vibrations which constitute perception,

memory, and understanding. But if mind consists in vibrations, the

abilities of a SHAKSPERE are no great shakes; therefore we cannot accept

such a theory of the constitution of the Footman which is wanted in a

Clergyman's family.

The mysterious agency concerned in Table Turning, belief in which has in

some minds survived its refutation by FARADAY, we should rather consider

to be the animating principle of this FRANKENSTEIN'S Androides or

ANDREWOIDES, artificial Andrew or automatic John Thomas.

The female domestics in the family of the clergyman are, of course, of a

nature similar to that of the manservant which is wanted there, since no

housemaid or cook could stay in a house where a Footman was kept

referred to by the neuter pronoun, which, and consequently where the

Footman was an Inanimate Thing.

* * * * *

A FABLE FOR MR. COMMISSIONER MURPHY.

Once upon a time, a lot of murphies--_id est_ potatoes--were put in a

pot together. "Now, boys"--said one of the praties--"as we'll all be in

hot water--all of a bilin'--wobble as we may, for the credit of ould

Ireland--don't let us _split_ on one another."

* * * * *

THE MAIN STAYS OF SCIENCE.

The _savans_ at Hull have lately been giving some very interesting

results of the trial of the strength of "stays." Surely this department

should have been left to a female committee, for the true strength of

"stays" can only be ascertained by experiments in very tight lacing.

* * * * *

A NEW TIDE OF EMIGRATION.

Gold has been discovered in Scotland. This discovery may work perhaps a

miracle. It may have the effect of sending all the Scotchmen, who for

years have left their native country, "bock again."

* * * * *

ANOTHER "HEIGHT OF IMPUDENCE."--Naming a Railway Engine "Safety."

* * * * *

BRITISH ENTERPRISE.

[Illustration: A]