Volume 25 — THE SONG OF THE CITY REMEMBRANCER.
Reading edition
"Sweet Remembrancer! Now, good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both."—Successful Tragedy.
The City Remembrancer's post I hold. An office that's sacred, because 'tis old; I repel, I deny the assertion base That there isn't no use in that 'ere place!
So you want to know what I've got to do? And, Imperance, what odds is that to you? But inquiry we court, as we've always done, And I scorn all concealment, myself, for one.
I am only an image, you think, like Gog, Whereas I the Lord Mayor's memory jog, And the Aldermen also, in banquet met, I remind of the duties which some forget.
His Lordship, for instance, perhaps I see Is getting on slow with his callipee; And a slight squeeze of lemon I then suggest, With a dash of cayenne to impart a zest.
"My Lord-eh, my Lord!" says I, "why, look there! You're a spilling your dinner, I do declare! 'Tis of haunch that you're eating; and don't you know Currant jelly should always with venison go?
"Mr. Alderman, bless me! you faint and droop, As if you could hardly get through your soup. Glass of punch, Sir, of course, with the work you've got, You have surely been absent, Sir, have you not?
"Dear me, Mr. Deputy—look, Sir, look! Excuse me; but you I must call to book: Allow me to push you the boat across, You are eating that bird, Sir, without bread-sauce!
"Here's capon, mind, gentlemen; here's black cock; This wine, recollect, is peculiar hock:— This is peacock—that's cygnet, yon gent before, If you think you could manage a little more.
"Not feel quite the thing, don't your Lordship, eh? Hallo! bring the brandy, you Sir, this way. Now, my Lord, a small glass—just a toothful. No? Well then, come, try the least drop of Curaçoa."
But I've other duties, which I discharge In warily steering the Civic Barge Through St. Stephen's storms, whirlpools, rocks, and shoals, Safe and sound, with a cargo—we'll say—of coals.
That Major Benlow—what—ow—owski, he Not half a Remembrancer ain't, to me; And I gets a small pittance for all this here, Which is under a couple of thousand a year.
"LEFT-OFF CLOTHES FOR THE COLONIES."
The "old clothes" fraternity are advertising very briskly for left-off clothes for the Colonies, with a view, no doubt, to a sort of Holywell Street aristocracy that some people are desirous of establishing in Australia. Considering the many scamps that have attained to wealth at the "diggins," and knowing the slavish precedence that is always accorded to the possessors of gold, we may anticipate a peerage of regular "roughs," should an "Upper Chamber" be established at the Antipodes. The old clothes movement, in taking a colonial direction, shows a sympathy with the contemplated exportations of aristocratic distinctions to the New World, at a time when the Old World is exhibiting leniency to throw aside its old worn-out habits. Among the "left off clothes" we presume it will be a good speculation to include a few "coats of arms" for the use of the Antipodean aristocracy.
The Englishman's Castle.
"The Englishman's House (says the Proverb) is his Castle;" and so it is, but then it is a castle which is subject to many attacks (such as the House Tax, Poor Tax, &c. &c.), and which requires for its defence no end of shot. The expenses of its support are fearful—so much so, that frequently is the castle swallowed up in its keep.
A Reflection (By Mechi).—It is not the sharpest blades that always are the truest steel.
THE REMONSTRANCE.
London Merchant. "Why, what is the use of your being in a Respectable House of Business if you proceed in this absurd, vulgar manner? Now, take my word for it, unless you mend very considerably, you will go on from bad to worse. You will become a petty Huckster; from that you will, in all probability, get to be a mere Common Councilman; then an Alderman; when, after a course of Gluttony and Tom-Foolery, painful to think of, you will make a ridiculous termination to your Contemptible Career by actually becoming a LORD MAYOR!"