About the 10th, look for falling stars—not various actors, authors, and
singers I could name, but shooting meteors. If they do not appear, you
must blame them, and not me.
Towards the 12th, tell all your friends how deuced disagreeable it is to
be tied by the leg from pressure of business, and not able to accept an
invitation to the Highlands, where a thousand acres of grouse have been
preserved on purpose for you.
About the end, buy a guinea shooting-jacket, and hang it about your
room. Also keep an old gun, to be cleaning whenever your friends call.
By the way, if you should go to the North, avoid buying one of those
shooting-jackets said, in the advertisements, to resemble the "bonnie
heather," because your back, being seen in motion, may be taken by an
inexperienced friend for a bush with a bird in it, and you will probably
receive the contents of his double-barrel in the neighbourhood of your
lumbar vertebræ.
[Illustration:
VIRGO—Unmatched enjoyment.
]
HISTORICAL MEMORANDA:
KINDLY FURNISHED TO THE EDITOR BY THE MEMBERS OF THE OLD
ORIGINAL "ARCHÆOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION," RESPECTING
THE NEW HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT.
According to Fitzwalker, a monk who wrote in the middle ages, the first
House of Commons was so called from having been the only house in the
centre of the commons, which formed the site of the present city of
Westminster. It was built by King Cole, from a portion of the ruins of
Thebes, whence the stones were brought in that monarch's one-horse
chaise to save expense; and as only one could be carried at a time, the
journeys backwards and forwards took many years. Subsequently, a
peculiar species of cake was manufactured there for the king, termed
_parliament_; and from the officers of state being accustomed to eat
this during their debates, the senate took its name. This structure was
burnt down in 1834, by catching fire from the inflammatory speech of an
Irish member; and its rebuilding was entrusted to Mr. Barry, the
celebrated clown at Astley's. Much speculation has taken place as to
whether the lady of this clever pantomimist and architect is the one
addressed by Mr. Tennyson, in "Locksley Hall," in the line—
"As the husband, so the wife is: thou art mated to a clown."
Mr. Barry celebrated the laying of the first stone by driving four ducks
on the Thames, from Battersea to Westminster, in a washing-tub,—being
half of the identical butt in which the Earl of Malmsey was drowned by
the Duke of Clarence, afterwards William IV., in the presence of
Shakspeare, Hume, and Macready.
[Illustration]
The notorious Guy, Lord Vaux, celebrated for blowing up the house, was
captured in the vaults of the building. In trying to escape he
dislocated both his ankles,—as may be always seen in the likenesses of
him, carried about on the 5th of November, when the feet are invariably
hind-side before.
The Speaker of the House of Commons is so called from never opening his
mouth. He has, however, to take in all the members choose to spout, and
therefore may be regarded as the Uncle of the senate, King Alfred being
the Father, or, according to others, Mr. Byng. But this affinity does
not constitute any degree of relationship between Mr. Byng (or King
Alfred) and the Speaker, any more than Mr. Boyle's having been the
father of chemistry, made his brother, if he had one, chemistry's uncle.
The members of the House put M.P. after their names; which are the
initial letters of Mistaken Profession.