MISCELLANIES, IN VERSE AND PROSE. (continued 2)

Here we have, in one short page, a striking instance of the "true instinct" of Lord Wenables' fine horses, who were quite displeased that they were not allowed to drag him any farther—a delightful picture of a worthy Alderman and his family—three in a chay—a splendid specimen of Lady Wenables' sagacity and urbanity, and a fair estimate of the value of the latter upon the mind of the young invitée, who accepted her Ladyship's offer of a seat in the state coach because the day was beginning to get warm!

In safety, however, did Lord Wenables get to Oxford, of which, the reverend author says—"There is something peculiarly imposing in the entrance, particularly in the eastern entrance, to this city." Now this, which is ably twisted into the beginning of a flourishing description of towers and colleges, evidently refers to the toll at the Bridge-gate, and which Lord Wenables, who paid the turnpikes himself and kept the halfpence in the coach pockets, declared to be one of the greatest impositions at the entrance of a city that he had ever met with.

We are unable to give our readers the account of the highly honourable reception which Lord Wenables met with at Oxford, or the description of the dinner of which he partook—but we must, let what may happen, extract the whole account of the dinner given by his Lordship to the Oxfordians—a dinner which took place after a somewhat protracted lecture on comparative anatomy, which, if it failed in the delivery of establishing a likeness between a "bat" and a "whale," most certainly bears evidence, in its transmission to paper, of the great similitude between a Lord Mayor's Chaplain and a donkey.

It will be needless for us to make an observation upon what follows:—

"The hour of six had scarcely arrived, when the company, invited by the Lord Mayor to dine with him at the Star, began to assemble. The City watermen, in their new scarlet state liveries, were stationed in the entrance hall; and a band of music was in attendance to play on the arrival of the visitors."

The reverend author, by blending the band and the watermen (who are also firemen), leaves it somewhat doubtful to which corps the duty of playing on the arrival of the visitors was confided. He proceeds:—

"In a large drawing-room, on the first floor, fronting the street, on a sofa at the upper end, sat the Lady Mayoress, accompanied by Mr. Charles Venables, and surrounded by the other ladies of the party. The City Marshal of London, Mr. Cope, dressed in full uniform, and carrying his staff of office in his hand, took his station at the door, and announced the names of the guests as they severally arrived. Near the entrance of the room also stood Mr. Beddome, in a richly-wrought black silk gown, carrying the sword downwards. The Lord Mayor, who was in full dress, and attended by the Chaplain in clerical robes, wore on this occasion the brilliant collar of S.S. (quære A.SS.) The Worshipful the Mayor, and the other Magistrates of Oxford; Richard Cox, Esq., Thomas Fox Bricknell, Esq., Aldermen; William Folker, Esq., Thomas Robinson, Esq., Richard Ferdinand Cox, Esq., Assistants; Mr. Deodatus Eaton, and Mr. Crews Dudley, Bailiffs; together with Mr. Percival Walsh, the City Solicitor, attended by the Town Clerk, in his robe of office, which resembled in some degree the undress black silk gown worn by Gentlemen Commoners of the University—were all severally introduced, and received by the Lord Mayor with a warmth and cordiality adequate to that which they had so kindly manifested on the preceding day.

"The Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, the Rev. Dr. Richard Jenkyns, Master of Baliol, preceded, as usual, by one of the Yeomen Bedels, carrying a large mace, and the Rev. Dr. Thomas Edward Bridges, President of Corpus Christi College, the Rev. Dr. George William Hall, Master of Pembroke; the Rev. Dr. Nicholas Philip Shuttleworth, Warden of New College; the Rev. Dr. John Dean, Principal of St. Mary's Hall, and Lord Almoner's Prælector in Arabic; together with the two Proctors, the Rev. George Cumming Rashleigh, M.A., and the Rev. Wadham Harbin, M.A.; the Rev. Mr. Woodgate, to whom allusion has before been made, and other Members of the University, all of whom were dressed in full academicals, were severally introduced to the Lady Mayoress. To this distinguished list of visitors must be added the names of John Fane, Esq., one of the Members of Parliament for the county of Oxford; and James Haughton Langston, Esq., and John Ingram Lockhart, Esq., Members for the City of Oxford.

"When dinner was announced, the party, amounting to nearly sixty persons, each gentleman taking charge of a fair partner, descended to a long room on the ground floor.

"Every attention had been given by the proprietor of the Star to render the dinner as excellent as the occasion required, and to fit up the dining-room with as much taste as its extent would admit of; and no means had been left untried to keep the apartment as cool as possible. Wreaths of flowers were hung thickly round it, and the windows, which opened on a garden, were overspread with branches of trees, to exclude, as much as possible, the warm beams of a western summer sun. The band of musicians now removed their station from the entrance hall to the garden under the windows, where they played, at proper intervals, with excellent effect, the whole evening. The Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress took their seats at the head of the table, the Vice-Chancellor of the University sitting on the right hand of his Lordship, and the Chief Magistrate of Oxford on the left of her Ladyship. The heads of the Houses then took their seats, according to the priority of their admission to the degree of Doctor, alternating with the ladies and daughters of Aldermen Atkins, Magnay, Heygate, and Lucas. The Aldermen of London and of Oxford then filled the remainder of the table.

"Amidst much elegance and beauty, the Lady Mayoress attracted particular observation. Her Ladyship was arrayed in the most splendid manner, wore a towering plume of ostrich feathers, and blazed with jewels!

"When the Chaplain, by craving a blessing on the feast, had set the guests at liberty to address themselves to the dainties before them, and the room was illuminated throughout by a profusion of delicate wax candles, which cast a light as of broad day over the apartment, it would not have been easy for any eye, however accustomed to look on splendour, not to have been delighted, in no common manner, with the elegance of the classic and civic scene now exhibited in the dining-parlour of the first inn in Oxford.

"The accompaniments, indeed, fell short of that splendour which they would have had in the Egyptian Hall of the Mansion House in London, but still the general effect was peculiarly striking; and when the rank of the company is considered, may with truth be called brilliant!

"The conversation naturally assumed that tone best qualified for the discovery of those talents and learning, of which the evening had drawn together so select and bright a constellation.

"After dinner, as soon as the health of the King, the welfare of the Church, the prosperity of the University and City, and other toasts of loyalty, literature, and religion, had been honoured, the Lord Mayor proposed the health of the Vice-Chancellor of Oxford. This was followed by toasts to the health of the other Heads of Houses, the Professors, and Proctors; the Worshipful the Mayor and other Magistrates of Oxford, and the Right Hon. the Lord Mayor of London; each toast giving rise to such acknowledgments as the individuals, to whom they referred, considered appropriate and adequate. The health of the Lady Mayoress, and the other ladies of the company, was proposed by one of the Heads of the Houses; the toast was hailed with warm demonstrations of respect, and the honour was acknowledged with considerable point and taste by Mr. Lockhart, the Member, at her Ladyship's request.

"The Ladies, who, to the great gratification of the Company, had sat longer than is usual at most tables, at length obeyed the signal of the Lady Mayoress, and retired to the drawing room,

"The conversation was, however, in no degree changed in their absence. The Lady Mayoress and her fair friends had taken their share in it with much good sense and delicacy; and their departure, so far from being succeeded by that obstreperous and vulgar merriment, or anything like that gross profligacy of conversation, which indicates rejoicing at being emancipated from the restraint of female presence, only gave occasion to the Magistrates of Oxford to express their wish, that, in the invitations to their Corporation dinners, arrangements could be made that would include the ladies."

After such a dinner and such an evening, it may easily be imagined that Lord Wenables and his Court slept like tops—not but that his Lordship had "requested his friends not to devote too many hours to repose." In obedience to a wish, which when breathed by a Lord Mayor becomes a command, everybody was up and busy "while the morning was early:" the yeoman of his Lordship's household, half covered with an awning, was occupied with the cook, who was busied on this lovely day in making a fire to boil the tea-kettle, in a grate in the bow of the boat.

"About seven o'clock," says the reverend historian, "signals of the approach of his Lordship's party were descried and heard. The populace, thickly stationed on the road through which the carriages were to pass, caught up the acclamation; and announced to all who thronged the margin of the river, that——the Lord Mayor was coming! His Lordship and the Lady Mayoress alighted from the carriage at the bridge, and walked through the respectful crowd, which divided to give them passage; and were at once conveyed to the state barge——in the Water Bailiff's boat!"

The shouts of delight which rent the air were music to the ears of greatness—it was quite a genial morning, and one of those days "when we seem to draw in delight with the very air we breathe, and to feel happy we can scarcely tell why." So writes the reverend author, with more taste than judgment; for a man, placed as he was in the society of Lord Wenables and his Court, not to know why he felt happy, shows, we fear, a want of perception equally lamentable with the want of tact displayed in confessing it.

The reverend author laments that the eagerness of the party to do honour to the delicacies of the Lord Mayor's breakfast-table, prevented their seeing the beauties of Nuneham.

At ten o'clock they made Abingdon—and at Clifton the water shoaled suddenly from eighteen inches to fourteen and a half, so that his Lordship's yacht, which drew nearly two feet, could be drawn no farther, and they remained hard and fast till a fresh supply of the element could be procured.

The following passage is in the author's happiest style:—

"The crowds of people—men, women, and children—who had accompanied the barge from Oxford, were continually succeeded by fresh reinforcements from every town and village that is skirted by the river. Distant shouts of acclamation perpetually re-echoed from field to field, as the various rustic parties, with their fresh and blooming faces, were seen hurrying forth from their cottages and gardens; climbing trees, struggling through copses, and traversing thickets, to make their shortest way to the water-side. Handfuls of halfpence were scattered to the children as they kept pace in running along the banks with the City Barge; and Mr. Alderman Atkins, who assisted the Lord Mayor in the distribution, seemed to enter with more than common pleasure into the enjoyment of the little children. It was gratifying to see the absence of selfish feeling manifested by some of the elder boys, who, forgetful of themselves, collected for the younger girls."

It will be remembered that the voyage now under detail was undertaken in the dreadful year of panic—but we confess we had no idea of the desperate state of affairs in the country which could induce so severe a run on the banks for a few halfpence, such as is here described. It may not be uninteresting to trace the source of the Lord Wenables's munificence. The halfpence in question were those which we mentioned his Lordship to have taken in change at the turnpike-gates during his Lordship's over-land journey to Oxford, and were now distributed with that liberality and grace for which his Lordship and Mr. Alderman Atkins will never cease to be remembered. The reverend writer, indeed, says:—

"There is, unquestionably, something genuine and affectionate in the cheerfulness of the common people, when it springs from the bounty and familiarity of those above them: the warm glow of gratitude spreads over their mirth; and a kind word or look, or a little pleasantry, frankly said or done—and which calls in no degree for any sacrifice of personal dignity—always gladdens the heart of a dependant a thousand times more than oil and wine. It is wonderful, too, how much life and joy even one intelligent and good-humoured member of a pleasure-party will diffuse around him. The fountain of indwelling light, which animates his own bosom, overflows to others; and every thing around quickly freshens into smiles."

It is, we fear, too evident that this passage comes direct from the reverend writer's heart: it seems clear to the meanest capacity, that he speaks from experience—perhaps of himself—when he expresses the delight which even one intelligent person can convey to a party. It is quite clear, that in the party now assembled there either was no intelligent person, or only one—at least, the observation of the author leaves little room to doubt the disagreeable fact.

At page 80, the following account of the natives of Caversham and the neighbouring districts is given, which is at once romantic and picturesque:—

"Among the equestrians, two are deserving that their looks and equipments should be alluded to in more than general terms. The animals they bestrode were a couple of broken-down ponies, gaunt and rusty, who had possibly once seen better days. The men themselves were not unsuitable figures for such a pair of steeds. They rode with short stirrups, that brought their knees almost under cover of the shaggy mane that overspread the ewe necks of the poor creatures; and carried their short thick sticks perpendicularly in their hands. Such was the appearance of these country wights as they shambled along the road that gave them so good a view of the City State Barge. And so mightily pleased was the Lord Mayor with their uncouth and ludicrous appearance, that he hailed one of them, and asked him to be the bearer of a message to Reading, touching his Lordship's carriage. The fellow seemed to feel as he never felt before! An honour was about to be conferred upon him alone—to be the avant-courrier of the Lord Mayor of London!—above and beyond all other riders, drivers, and walkers of whatever quality and degree, who had thronged to the view of the civic party. And no sooner had his Lordship flung him a piece of money, and told him to 'make haste to the Bear Inn, Reading, and order the Lord Mayor's carriage to meet the barge at Caversham Bridge,' than the fellow instantly belaboured the starveling ribs of the poor animal that carried him, with kicks and cudgel; who, in a moment, dashed briskly forward, snuffling and snorting across the fields. In the eagerness of his flight, the doughty messenger had much ado to maintain his seat: he sometimes slipped on one side of the saddle, and sometimes on the other; while the skirts of his unbuttoned coat fluttered out far behind him. He executed his commission, however, with fidelity equalled only by the dispatch which he had used; for when the barge arrived at Caversham Bridge, the carriage was waiting the Lord Mayor's arrival. Other carriages were also in attendance. It was now nearly nine o'clock; and as the evening shadows were beginning to shroud the surrounding scenery, the Lady Mayoress, and the other ladies of the party, except the Misses Atkins, fearful of too long exposure to the night air, landed at the bridge, amidst the firing of guns and other demonstrations of respectful salutation, and proceeded in their carriages to Reading."

That a Lord Mayor should devote much time to Reading, Mr. Rogers would declare highly improbable—but his Lordship and party partook of a sumptuous supper and went to bed. That we cannot devote much more space to Lord Wenables is equally mortifying—suffice it to say, that on the following day, after a hearty breakfast, an eleven o'clock snack, and a one o'clock luncheon, Lord Wenables and his court partook of a cold collation at Cliefden, at which were present Mrs. Fromow and her son, Broom Witts, Esq.; the Mayors of Maidenhead, Windsor, and Reading, the brothers and sisters of Lord Wenables, and sixty or seventy other persons.

"The gardens and grounds were thronged with spectators, either strolling about or seated on the grass; and on the opposite banks, several tents were erected for general convenience; around which the children shouted and threw up their hats!"

What particular occurrences excited the mirth and activity of the children round this particular spot, the reverend gentleman omits to mention; the following, however, must not be overlooked:—

"The increasing pressure of the surrounding people now rendered the adoption of some plan necessary by which their curiosity could be better gratified. Arrangements were accordingly made to admit the female part of the spectators, in small successive parties, to walk round the tables as the company were seated at dinner; and it was curious to see how many eager eyes were strained, and fingers pointed, to distinguish the individuals of the party. But it was something more than a mere idle feeling of curiosity that prompted this anxiety in the honest peasantry to see the Lord Mayor of London."

It seems, in fact, that Lord Wenables was born in those parts, so that his anxiety about the source of the Thames was in fact instinctive and intuitive, and as natural as it was laudable.

The next thirty or forty pages of the work consist of a character of his late Majesty, an account of Mr. Wenables's paper-mill, and a description of the royal Castle at Windsor, copied, we presume, from the Guide to that building, which has been long since published for the benefit of Lions, at the small charge of sixpence.

The details of breaking a bottle over the stone at Staines we cannot give, although the anxiety of Lord Wenables to discover the London water-mark appears to have been professionally natural. At Richmond the barge remained—like the great Lord's stock in trade—stationary, and his Lordship's fine foaming horses having been delighted once more with the sight of his Lordship, dashed from Richmond to the Mansion House with a celerity which, although somewhat inconsistent with "true dignity," brought the illustrious personage, his wife, his chaplain, and his sword-bearer, to the end of the Poultry in "no time;" having safely achieved an adventure which will hand down to posterity the great names of Wenables and Fromow, and the unrivalled powers of an historian, who (though modesty may induce him to keep himself snug) will live in his works till time shall be no more.

LORD WENABLES AGAIN.[55]

The editor of these memoirs, anxious to do justice to Mr. Firkins's feelings, and to Mr. Gurney's accuracy in recording them, considers that he cannot do more for the establishment of the sincerity of one party, and the correctness of the other, than may be done by submitting a few extracts from an authentic work, published many years subsequent to the period to which Mr. Gurney refers, giving an account of the journey of Lord Mayor Wenables to Oxford, written and published at the desire of his lordship, and his companions in that enterprise, by his lordship's chaplain. As the romance of real life is said to be infinitely more romantic than that of fiction, so the details of dignity, splendour, and magnificence, ably and carefully written by the rev. gentleman, by which the expedition of Alderman Wenables was distinguished, very much transcend the description given by our respected acquaintance Firkins, to my much-regretted friend Gurney. The extracts must be brief—but I am convinced they will be highly satisfactory.

The first quotation I shall make from the reverend author's book, is the description of the departure of the Lord Mayor from the Mansion House. It is headed "Tuesday," and begins at page 11:—

"On the morning of the 25th (July), the lord mayor accompanied by the lady mayoress, and attended by the chaplain, left the Mansion House soon after eight o'clock.

"The private state carriage" (I ought to observe, the italics are mine) "had driven to the door at half-past seven" (which, by the way, as an act of volition upon the part of the private state coach, was extremely attentive). "The coachman's countenance was reserved and thoughtful; indicating full consciousness of the test by which his equestrian skill would this day be tried, in having the undivided charge of four high spirited and stately horses, a circumstance somewhat unusual: for in the lord mayor's carriage, a postilion usually guides the first pair of horses,"—i.e. the postilion in the carriage guides the leaders, which are the farthest removed from it.

"These fine animals," says the reverend author, "were in admirable condition for the journey—having been allowed a previous day of unbroken rest; they were quite impatient of delay, and chafed and champed exceedingly on the bits, by which their impetuosity was restrained.

"The murmur of expectation, which had lasted for more than half an hour amongst the crowd who had gathered around the carriage, was at length hushed, by—the opening of the hall door. The lord mayor had been filling up this interval" (the door?) "with instructions to the femme de ménage and other household officers who were to be left in residence, to attend with their wonted fidelity and diligence to their respective departments of service during his absence, and now appeared at the door. His lordship was accompanied by the lady mayoress, and followed by the chaplain.

"As soon as the female attendant of the lady mayoress had taken her seat, dressed with becoming neatness, at the side of the well-looking coachman, the carriage drove away; not, however, with that violent and extreme rapidity which rather astounds than gratifies the beholders; but at that steady and majestic pace which is always an indication of real greatness."—P. 12.

The reverend gentleman describes this majestic progress through London to Cranford Bridge; a powder-mill at Hounslow is blown up on the way; but at Cranford Bridge, "just thirteen miles from London," the lord mayor staid only long enough to change horses—"for his lordship intending to travel post from Cranford Bridge to Oxford, his own fine horses were, after a proper interval of rest, to return to town under the coachman's care."

"These noble animals, however, seemed scarcely to need the rest which their master's"—job—"kindness now allotted them, for though they had drawn a somewhat heavy carriage a distance of nearly seventeen miles, yet they appeared as full of life as ever; arching their stately necks, and dashing in all directions the white foam from their mouths, as if they were displeased that they were to go no farther."—P. 16.

"Just as the carriage was about to drive away" (more volition), "Mr. Alderman Magnay, accompanied by his lady and daughter, arrived in a post-chaise. After an interchange of salutations, the lady mayoress, observing that they must be somewhat crowded in the chaise, invited Miss Magnay to take the fourth seat, which had yet been vacant in the carriage; as the day was beginning to be warm, this courteous offer of her ladyship was readily accepted."

Here is a perfect justification of Firkins's regrets at his fall—the unhappy trio, jammed in the po chay, had been the year before in precisely the same elevated position which their illustrious friends then occupied; and if the courteous lady mayoress the year before that, had been screwed up with her husband and daughter in a po chay also, then Mrs. Magnay would have been the courteous lady mayoress, to have relieved the Wenableses. I must, however, think that the reverend gentleman's reason for Miss Magnay's ready acceptance of the courteous offer does her an injustice. By his account, she readily got out of the family jam, not because she duly appreciated the grace and favour of the lady mayoress, but because "the day was beginning to be warm."

The journey to Oxford was all safely completed, and after seventy-six pages of matter, equally illustrative of Firkins's feelings, we come, at p. 77, to this description of the rapture and delight of the people of Oxfordshire, under the exciting circumstances of the lord mayor's return down the river towards London:—

"The crowds of people—men, women, and children—who had accompanied the barge from Oxford, were continually succeeded by fresh reinforcements from every town and village that is skirted by the river. Distant shouts and acclamations perpetually re-echoed from field to field, as the various rustic parties, with their fresh and blooming faces, were seen hurrying forth from their cottages and gardens, climbing trees, struggling through copses, and traversing thickets to make their shortest way to the water side. Handfuls of halfpence were scattered to the children as they kept pace with the city barge, and Mr. Alderman Atkins, who assisted the lord mayor in the distribution, seemed to enter with more than common pleasure into the enjoyment of the little children. It was gratifying to see the absence of selfish feeling manifested by some of the elder boys, who, forgetful of themselves, collected for the younger girls."—Pp. 77, 78.

The last bit for which I have room, is of the more convincing and powerfully descriptive cast, than anything I have yet advanced in favour of my poor friend Gurney's estimation of Firkins's dismay at his fall. The scene is near Caversham, where crowds of "spectators, some on foot, some on horseback, and some in equipages of every kind," were collected to see the barges pass.

"Among the equestrians," says the author, "two are deserving that their looks and equipments should be alluded to in more than general terms. The animals they bestrode were a couple of broken-down ponies, gaunt and rusty, who had possibly once seen better days. The men themselves were not unsuitable figures to such a pair of steeds. They rode with short stirrups, that brought their knees almost under cover of the shaggy manes that overspread the ewe necks of the poor creatures; and carried their short thick sticks perpendicular in their hands."

This sounds like an account in one of the innumerable books of travels in the interior of Africa, rather than a description of a couple of natives of Berkshire, within five-and-thirty miles of Hyde Park Corner; however, "so mightily pleased was the lord mayor with their uncouth and ludicrous appearance, that he hailed one of them, and asked him to be the bearer of a message to Reading, touching his lordship's carriage. The fellow seemed to feel as he never felt before. An honour was about to be conferred upon him alone, to be the avant courier of—'the Lord Mayor of London,' above and beyond all the other riders, drivers, and walkers, of whatever quality and degree, who had thronged in view of the civic party; and no sooner had his lordship flung him a piece of money, and told him to 'make haste to the Bear Inn at Reading, and order the lord mayor's carriage to meet the barge at Caversham Bridge,' than the fellow instantly belaboured the starveling ribs of the poor animal that carried him with kicks and cudgel, who in a moment dashed briskly forward, snuffling and snorting, across the fields. In the eagerness of his flight, the doughty messenger had much ado to keep his seat; he sometimes slipped on one side of the saddle, and sometimes on the other, while the skirts of his unbuttoned coat fluttered far out behind him."—Pp. 81, 82.

All this evidence from the pen of a worthy divine, will, I am sure, convince the most sceptical reader of the fidelity with which my late friend repeated the regrets and lamentations of our friends in Budge Row, after their involuntary abdication. Every page of the account of that memorable journey and voyage teems with gem-like illustrations of a similar character; and I regret that my duty, as editor of the Gurney Papers, does not permit me to draw more largely on its stores.

MODERN IMPROVEMENTS.

To John Bull.

Sir,—I am not one of those who snarl at modern improvements, but I admit my incapacity to find out the improvements, at which other people snarl—I consider gas and steam to be two of the most odious and abominable nuisances ever tolerated in a Christian country: I only ask the best-natured critic—the most impartial judge in Christendom—whether anything can smell more abominably than the vapour which thousands of pounds are hourly spent to produce? If ruining oil-men, and beggaring wax-chandlers, is sport, well and good—in Heaven's name stew down the wholesome coals and make smoke, and set fire to it: but don't call that an improvement.

I love the sight of a lamp-lighter—a "jolly Dick" in a greasy jacket flaring his link along the pavement, rubbing against one's sleeve, or besprinkling one's shirt with oil—I seldom see one of them now; the race is superseded by a parcel of dandies, with dark lanthorns in their hands, prowling about like so many Guy Fawkes's: up they go, and without taking off the green lamp-tops and putting them on their heads, as the jolly Dicks did, they open a door, turn a cock, introduce their lanthorn—piff, paff, poff,—out comes the light, and down goes the ladder—this is innovation, not improvement.

Then steam—what's the improvement of steam? There was an interest in a short sea voyage when I was young—contrary winds—tides against one—nature had fair play—but now Mr. This-thing or Mr. T'other-thing makes a great copper pot, and fills it with water—more coals; poking and stoking, and shovelling and raking—Nature is thrown overboard; and the pacquet-boat, uninfluenced either by her smiles or frowns, ploughs up the waves, and marches along, like a couple of wandering water-mills. There is no interest in this, sir—any fool can make a copper pot—any fool can fill a copper pot with water—any fool can make a fire, and poke it, and make water boil—there's no pleasure in this life when events are thus provided for, and that, which had all the interest of doubt and difficulty, is reduced to a certainty.

The same in land carriage—formerly, a stage coach journey was an affair—a thing to be thought about—a man took leave of his relations, left his home, in the expectation of never seeing his wife again; then there was an interest, a pleasure in the speculation, and a hope, and a fear, and a doubt, and something to keep the faculties awake. Now, sir, if you want to go sixty or seventy miles, you have hardly settled yourself comfortably in your corner, before you are at your journey's end. Why, sir, before these jigamaree things were invented, I have lived two-and-twenty days on board a Leith smack, for three pounds three shillings, and enjoyed a pleasant five days' excursion on the road to Plymouth; whereas at present I am whirled from Edinburgh to London in forty hours, and taken from Piccadilly to Dock—Devonport I mean—in about half that time. Now this, to my mind, is no improvement.

Then, sir, look at London—look what the improvers have done—pulled up the pavements, the pride of the land, and turned the streets into roads. This Muckadamizing is no improvement. Puddles for purbecks is a bad exchange—the granite grinding is no wonder—the rattle and clatter of London is at an end. One might as well be at Slough or Southall, or any of the environs, as be in the heart of the town. They have taken away Swallow-street—scene of my youthful pleasures; and, to crown all, they are pulling St. James's Park to pieces, planting trees, and twisting the water. Why did not they leave the canal straight, as the Serpentine is? Are we to come back to the days of Duck Island, with a Whig governor for it? Why are the horses and cows disturbed to make way for the people? I love to see horses and cows happy. I like to see the barracks and hospitals. I don't want to look at great big rows of high houses, filled with people who can afford to live in them, while I cannot. This is no improvement.

Then for manners and customs: in my time we dined early and sat late, and the jolliest part of our lives was that which we passed with our legs under the mahogany. Now, we see no mahogany—we dine at supper-time and the cloth stops and the wine never moves; away go our women—no healths—no toasts—no gentleman to cover a lady—no good wishes—nothing convivial—one anonymous half glass, sipped silently, and the coffee is ready. Out we go, turned adrift at eleven, with nothing on earth to do for the rest of the evening, unless one goes to a Club, where, if a man asks for anything stronger than soda water, he is looked at as a monster. Hock and Seltzer water, perhaps, if it's hot weather—wimbly wambly stuff, enough to make a cat sick, and after that, home. Why, in my time, sir, I should have laughed at a fellow who flinched before his fourth bottle, or who submitted to the degrading circumstance of finding his way to bed of his own proper discretion. But those days are past—one thing I do thank the stars for—we are getting back to the tobacco—not indeed the beautiful lily pipe, tipped rosily with sealing wax, and pure as the driven snow, but a happy succedaneum—a cigar. I do love a cigar, sir; it reminds me of the olden time, and I like the smell of my clothes in the morning, which I congratulate myself none of our modern improvements, as they are called, can ever eradicate.

Perhaps you have been lately in the Regent's Park—I will tell you what is doing there—a Mr. Somebody—I forget his name, but it is somehow connected in my mind upon Von Feinagle's principle with a Christmas pie—Horner, by Jove, that's it—he has sunk twenty thousand pounds, and raised a splendid building—a temple—a pantheon—a feature in the town—and what do you think for?—to exhibit a panorama of London from the top of St. Paul's, just within a couple of miles of St. Paul's itself—but then we are to be saved all the trouble—to be screwed up to the eminence without labour: to my mind, the whole point of a fine prospect is the trouble of getting to it—far-fetched and dear-bought are the great attractions, and all the interest is destroyed if things are made too easy of attainment. I don't like this plan.

The same struggle against nature seems to be going on everywhere—see the theatres—even at that band-box the Adelphi—there was a difficulty in getting in, and a difficulty in getting a seat when one did get in; now it is all made easy and comfortable, and for what? To see a schooner so like what any one can see any day in the river, that it is no sight at all; like Lawrence's pictures—I hate that President—his things are like life, the likenesses are identity, and so like nature that there is no merit in the painting—I like a little doubt—I love to show my quickness by guessing a portrait—the interest is destroyed if there is no question about the thing—the same with shooting—I used to hit my bird and miss my bird, and walk and walk over the furrows, and climb over the hedges and ditches, and bang away with a gun of my poor father's, which, when it did go off, was not over-certain in its performance—I liked the pursuit—now, with your Mantons and percussions, your Nocks without flints, and all that sort of thing—wet or dry, off they go—slap bang, down tumbles the bird for each barrel, and the thing is over—I never shoot now—a thing reduced to a certainty loses all interest.

Before Palmer's time I used to keep up a constant correspondence with a numerous circle of friends and acquaintance; there was no certainty about the delivery of one's letters—mail carts were robbed—post-boys were murdered—bags found in a pond all soaked to rags; then, there was an interest in it; now, a letter never miscarries; all like clockwork. I hate that Freeling—his activity and vigilance have destroyed the interest. I haven't written to a friend for the last fifteen years, nor should I write to you now, only that I send my letter by a servant lad, who is a member of an Intellectual Institution, and so stupid, that I think it is at least ten to one that you ever receive it.—Perhaps you will just acknowledge it, if it comes to hand—the expectation will, at least, serve to keep up the interest.

Yours truly,

Stephen Brown.

Baker Street, Oct. 17, 1828.

To John Bull.

Sir,—I perceived the other day in your columns a letter from a gentleman of the name of Brown, who, in the most cynical, sneering manner, thought fit, unjustly as I think, to run down all our modern improvements—I know you are impartial, and love to give upright adversaries fair play in your paper; I differ with Mr. Brown, and perhaps you will give me the opportunity of showing how and why.

In the first place, the ridicule, which not only he, but, I am sorry to say, yourself and many others, think fit to cast upon the advancement of learning, and which you have nick-named the march of intellect, is entirely misplaced—you look at things politically, because politicians of a peculiar class have adopted the institution of societies, seminaries, and universities—this is wrong—considering the matter thus, and associating men and manners, you teach us to believe the march of intellect the "rogues' march," to which all the well-disposed middling classes are to go to destruction; but you should consider the matter differently; you should recollect that almost all the political supporters of these Mechanics' Institutes and London Universities have imbibed their political principles merely because they have had little or no education themselves, and that as for instilling pride or arrogance into the minds of the lower and middling classes of the people, by sending them to the London University, the very converse must be the fact, because there is nothing that I see to be derived from the institution at all likely to induce pride or self-satisfaction in any of its members.

In the Times of Tuesday, I perceive an advertisement from Mr. Dufief, stating that nearly 300 members of a class in the London Mechanics' Institute are learning French rapidly and critically. This, I conceive, so far from being an absurdity, to be one of the most beneficial events ever announced: consider what an improvement it will be for the common run of people who frequent public places of amusement, to find the lower order well grounded in French—in that language they will, for elegance sake, carry on their future conversations, and the ears of our wives and daughters be no longer disgusted with the coarseness to which they are now subject—for you are of course aware, that as the progress of learning exhibits itself amongst the canaille, the aristocracy will abandon the ground they assume, and our belles and beaux, in less than a dozen years, will whisper their soft nonsense in Hebrew, Sanscrit, Cingalese, or Malabar.

But Mr. Brown seems not only to find fault with mental improvement, but also with mechanical and scientific discoveries—he sneers at steam and growls at gas. I contend that the utility of constructing a coach which shall go by hot water nearly as fast as two horses can draw it, at a trifling additional expense, promises to be wonderfully useful. We go too fast, sir, with horses—besides, horses eat oats, and farmers live by selling oats; if, therefore, by inconveniencing ourselves and occasionally risking our lives, we can, however imperfectly, accomplish by steam what is now done by horses, we get rid of the whole race of oat-sowers, oat-sellers, oat-eaters, and oat-stealers, vulgarly called ostlers.

Gas too—what a splendid invention—we gain a magnificent light, and ruin the oil-merchants, the whale-fisheries, and the wax-chandlers—it is as economical as it is brilliant;—to be sure we use more coals, but the coal-merchants are all worthy men, and never take advantage of a frost to advance the price of their commodity; coals are evidently, however, not so essentially necessary to the poor as wax candles; therefore, even supposing the price of coals to be raised, and their value enhanced, we light our streets more splendidly, and our houses more economically.

Mr. Brown seems to dislike the over-brilliancy of the gas in the public ways, as tending to destroy the legitimate distinction between day and night. I admit this innovation—but let me beg to say, that until gas was brought to the perfection it now is, for external illumination, we never could see the unhappy women who are driven to walk the streets at night, so plainly following their avocations, or ever were indulged with the pleasing prospect of our watchmen slumbering in their wooden sanctums, at the corners of the streets.

Mr. Brown appears to dislike Mr. Mac Adam's improvements; these I defend upon several principles; one which I conceive to be extremely important, is, the constant employment they afford to the sweepers of crossings, without whose active exertions no man could ever pass from one side of the street to the other; and another which I firmly believe to be conducive to the improvement of the mind—I mean the activity with which the eye, and the ear, and the understanding must be constantly kept, in order that the individual walking may escape being run over; superadded to which, there is the admirable manure which the sweepings provide for the land.

In short, most of the objects of Mr. Brown's vituperation are objects of my respect, and I take the liberty of writing this, in order that he may, if he chooses, enter into a public disputation upon the several points at issue; for which purpose, if he will direct a letter to me under cover to you, I will appoint a time and place where the merits and demerits of the present age may be temperately, calmly, and dispassionately discussed between us.

I am, Sir,

Your obedient servant, Richard White.

PUNNING.

It would be vain, at this time of the world's age, to enter upon a serious disquisition into the "art or mystery" of punning: it would be useless to argue upon its utility, the genius and talent required for carrying it on, or the pleasure or amusement derivable from it. The fact is self-evident, that puns are an acknowledged ingredient of the English language amongst the middling classes, and are, in their societies, the very plums in the pudding of conversation.

It may be said that punning is a vice, and we are quite ready to admit the charge; but still it exists and flourishes amongst dapper clerks in public offices, hangers-on of the theatres; amongst very young persons at the universities; in military messes amongst the subalterns; in the City amongst apprentices; and, in some instances, with old wits razee, who are driven to extravagant quibbles to furnish their quota of entertainment to the society in which they are endured.

A punster (that is, a regular hard-going thick and thin punster) is the dullest and stupidest companion alive, if he could but be made to think so. He sits gaping for an opportunity to jingle his nonsense with whatever happens to be going on, and, catching at some detached bit of a rational conversation, perverts its sense to his favourite sound, so that, instead of anything like a continuous intellectual intercourse, which one might hope to enjoy in pleasant society, one is perpetually interrupted by his absurd distortions and unseasonable ribaldry, as ill-timed and as ill-placed as songs in an opera sung by persons in the depth of despair, or on the point of death.

Admitting, however, the viciousness, the felonious sinfulness of punning, it is to be apprehended that the liberty of the pun is like the liberty of the press, which, says the patriot, is like the air, and if we have it not we cannot breathe. Therefore, seeing that it is quite impossible to put down punning, the next best thing we can do is to regulate it, in the way they regulate peccadilloes in Paris, and teach men to commit punnery as Cæsar died and Frenchmen dissipate—with decency.

The proverb says, "wits jump," so may punsters, and two bright geniuses may hit upon the same idea at different periods quite unconsciously. To avoid any unnecessary repetition or apparent plagiarisms, therefore, by these coincidences, we venture to address this paper to young beginners in the craft, to the rising generation of witlings; and we are led to do this more particularly, from feeling that the tyro in punning, as well as in everything else, firmly believes that which he for the first time has heard or read, to be as novel and entertaining to his older friends, who have heard it or read it before he was born, as to himself, who never met with it till the day upon which he so liberally and joyously retails it to the first hearers he can fall in with.

For these reasons we propose, in order to save time and trouble, to enumerate a few puns which, for the better regulation of jesting, are positively prohibited in all decent societies where punnery is practised; and first, since the great (indeed the only) merit of a pun is its undoubted originality, its unequivocal novelty, its extemporaneous construction and instantaneous explosion, all puns by recurrence, all puns by repetition, and all puns by anticipation, are prohibited.

Secondly, all words spelt differently, having a similar sound, which are carefully collated and arranged in a catalogue prefixed, for the use of little punnikins at schools, to Entick's small dictionary, of whatever sort, kind, or nature they may be, are prohibited. Take for example:

Augura soothsayer.

Augera carpenter's tool.

Allevery one.

Awla shoemaker's gimblet.

Haul(for the Cockneys) to pull.

Halla vulgar proper name.

Boara male pig.

BoreMr. Creevy.

Waxthe produce of Bees.

Whacksthumps on the head or body

and so on.

In the next place, all the following travelling puns are strictly prohibited:—

All allusions upon entering a town to the pound and the stocks—knowing a man by his gait and not liking his style—calling a tall turnpike-keeper a colossus of roads—paying the post-boys charges of ways and means—seeing no sign of an inn—or, replying, "Sir, you are out," to your friend who says he does—talking of a hedger having a stake in the bank—all allusions to sun and air to a new-married couple—all stuff about village belles—calling the belfry a court of a peal—saying, upon two carpenters putting up paling, that they are very peaceable men to be fencing in a field—all trash about "manors make the man," in the shooting season—and all such stuff about trees, after this fashion—"that's a pop'lar tree—I'll turn over a new leaf, and make my bough," etc. etc.

Puns upon field sports, such as racing being a matter of course—horses starting without being shy—a good shot being fond of his but and his barrel—or saying that a man fishing deserves a rod for taking such a line; if he is sitting under a bridge calling him an arch fellow—or supposing him a nobleman because he takes his place among the piers—or that he will catch nothing but cold, and no fish by hook or by crook. All these are prohibited.

To talk of yellow pickles at dinner, and say the way to Turn 'em Green is through Hammersmith—all allusions to eating men, for Eton men, or Staines on the table-cloth—or Egg-ham, are all exploded—as are all stuff about Maids and Thornbacks, and Plaice—or saying to a lady who asks you to help her to the wing of a chicken, that it is a mere matter of a pinion—all quibbles about dressing hare and cutting it—all stuff about a merry fellow being given to wine—or upon helping yourself to say you have a platonic affection for roast beef—or when fried fish runs short, singing to the mistress of the house, with Tom Moore,—

are entirely banished.

At the play-house never talk of being a Pittite because you happen not to be in the boxes—never observe what a Kean eye one actor has, or that another can never grow old because he must always be Young—never talk of the uncertainty of Mundane affairs in a farce, or observe how Terrybly well a man plays Mr. Simpson—banish from your mind the possibility of saying the Covent Garden manager has put his best Foot forward, or that you should like to go to Chester for a day or two—or that you would give the world to be tied to a Tree—or that Mr. Make ready is a presentable actor—all such stuff is interdicted.

In speaking of Parliament, forget Broom and Birch, Wood and Cole, Scarlett and White, Lamb and the Leakes, the Hares and the Herons, the Cootes and the Cruins—such jumbles will lead into great difficulties, and invariably end, without infinite caution, in an observation, that the conduct of that House is always regulated by the best possible Manners.

There are some temptations very difficult to avoid—for instance, last Saturday we saw gazetted, as a bankrupt, "Sir John Lade, Cornhill, watchmaker!" Now this, we confess, was a provocation hard of resistance—when one sees a lad of sixty-four set up only to break down, and perceives that whatever he may do with watches, he could not make a case before the Insolvent Debtors' Court; and moreover, since his taking to watchmaking arose from his having, in the spring of life, gone upon tick, and that the circumstance may be considered as a striking instance of a bad wind-up—we admit that in the hands of a young beginner such a thing is quite irresistible, but such temptations should be avoided as much as possible.

We have not room to set down all the prohibited puns extant; but we have just shown that the things which one hears, when one dines in the City (where men eat peas with a two-pronged fork, and bet hats with each other), as novelties, and the perfection of good fun, are all flat, stale, and unprofitable to those who have lived a little longer and seen a little more of the world, and have heard puns when it was the fashion to commit them at the west end of the town.

These hints are thrown out for the particular use of some sprightly persons, with whose facetiousness we have been of late extremely pestered—we apologise to our rational readers for the insertion of such stuff, even by way of surfeit to our quibbling patients.

CAUTIONARY VERSES TO YOUTH OF BOTH SEXES.[56]

My readers may know that to all the editions of Entick's Dictionary, commonly used in schools, there is prefixed "A table of words that are alike, or nearly alike, in sound, but different in spelling and signification." It must be evident that this table is neither more nor less than an early provocation to punning; the whole mystery of which vain art consists in the use of words, the sound and sense of which are at variance. In order, if possible, to check any disposition to punning in youth, which may be fostered by this manual, I have thrown together the following adaptation of Entick's hints to young beginners, hoping thereby to afford a warning, and exhibit a deformity to be avoided, rather than an example to be followed; and at the same time showing the caution children should observe in using words which have more than one meaning.

FASHIONABLE PARTIES.[57]

The season of festivities is arrived—the balmy breath of Spring has called the dormant vegetation into life—the flowers are bursting from their buds, the blossoms hang on every tree—the birds sing melodiously, and the sun shines brightly over the fresh foliage; in consequence of the completion of which arrangements, everybody is coming to London, in order to take the dust in the Parks, or pace the burning pavement in the streets. Such is the order of things, and shady groves and cooling grots are abandoned for drawing rooms at ninety-six, and half-a-score sickly orange-trees tubbed on the top of a staircase.

Thursday last was a fruitful day in the annals of our town. Lord Dudley had a grand dinner—so had the Bishop of London—so had Lady Sykes—so had Mrs. Bethel, and so had half a score of the leaders of Ton. The Society for the Relief of Foreigners in Distress (to which his Royal Highness Don Miguel borrowed fifty pounds of Lord Dudley to subscribe) had their anniversary feast at the City of London Tavern; and the Chimney Sweepers of the metropolis held theirs—contrast is every thing—at the White Conduit House!

This last was amongst the most elegant affairs of the season—every thing which could possibly have reference to the profession was interdicted; black puddings and black strap were banished; and when the amiable and excellent Mr. Duck, after doing what few Ducks can do (we mean stuffing himself with sage and onions), called attention to Non nobis Domine—sung, the newspapers say, "by some professional vocalists"—the grace was received by the fraternity with sootable attention; that they did not exactly understand it, Mr. Duck said was a misfortune, not a fault; but as he could almost see from the windows the chimneys—(loud cries of Order interrupted the speaker)—the roof, he meant, of that noble pile, the London University, he did hope that before many years had gone over their heads, he should find the younger branches of the profession to which he had the honour to belong, bringing the dead languages to life, and conversing flue-ntly—(Order, order!)—he meant easily, in Latin and Greek."

"The immortal memory of Marshal Saxe and Sir Cloudesly Shovel," were then given by Mr. Figgins, and were shortly followed by the health of Mr. Brougham, who was expected to have favoured the party with his presence, but he was unable to get away from the House of Commons.

Mr. Duck felt it necessary to rise, in order to endeavour to do away with an impression which had got abroad, that the gentlemen of the profession disliked the introduction of machines to supersede the necessity of climbing-boys—he repelled the insinuation, although, added the Honourable Gentleman, "if machines had been invented in my time, I, perhaps, should not have had the honour of being here, for I began at the bottom of the chimney and climbed my way to the very top"—(loud cheers). "I dare say, gentlemen," said Mr. Duck, "you have heard the story of the humane man who proposed to supersede the necessity of climbing-boys by letting a goose down the chimney by a string, which would, by the fluttering of its wings, effectually clean the whole flue—the lady to whom he proposed this plan replied that she thought it would be very cruel treatment of the goose. 'Lord love your eyes, Ma'am,' said the professor, 'if so be as you are particular about the goose, a couple of ducks will do as well!'—and, gentlemen, I never hear that professional anecdote but I think of myself when I was but a duckling, as I may say, and the laudable ambition into which I climbed and climbed, and rose, as I may say, like a phonix out of the hashes, until I reached my grand climacteric."

Mr. Duck sat down amidst shouts of applause.

In the Old Times of yesterday we find the following report of some part of the entertainment, which we were unfortunate enough to miss—we take the liberty of borrowing it:

"Mr. Watson said that he was present, a few evenings since, at a Lecture delivered by Dr. Birkbeck, on the utility of the machine to supersede the necessity of the climbing-boy. The Doctor, he admitted, argued candidly and fairly on the subject, and produced an improvement in Glass's machine, which was unquestionably the best invention of the kind; yet, with all its perfections, he (Mr. Watson) was convinced that it would never answer the expectations of those who entertained such a favourable opinion of its efficacy in cleansing chimnies. In the course of the lecture the Doctor said that the machine must succeed in all cases where it is used, if the prejudices of the master chimney-sweepers did not interfere with the trial. It was true that the machine so eloquently eulogized by the Doctor would answer in cleansing perpendicular chimnies, but where there were impediments from various causes, no machine, however pliable, would overcome them.

"Several master chimney-sweepers addressed the chair in the course of the afternoon. One of them commenced 'I'm blowed, but if we had Dr. Bucbuck, or whatever you may call him, here at our dinner, I think we should soon make a conwert of him to our opinions. Gemmen, I say it is impossible that ere chimney (pointing to the chimney in the room) can be swept unless one of us goes up it; and I'll give you a proof of it now.' The speaker here began to doff his long coat, and would have run up the chimney in earnest, had he not been prevented by some of his brother tradesmen, who caught hold of him by the legs just as his body was about disappearing from the company. When he alighted on the floor, he said that he did not mind a fig getting a sooty shirt, so that he succeeded in showing the strangers present, how little danger was to be apprehended in doing the work as it should be done, and that was by encouraging climbing-boys. He had ascended upwards of 5,000 chimnies in his life, of all sorts and sizes, and never yet met with an accident."

"Archdeacon Pott and the Clargy of Middlesex," were then given.

Mr. Duck then rose and said, "Gentlemen—we all of us have known what it is to climb; and as my honourable friend on the left says—I may say I have been up five thousand chimnies, long and short, and never failed in doing my duty to my employers—but what was it repaid me for my toil—what was it that cheered me in my labour—the sixpence as I got when I kimm'd down?—or the bread and cheese the kitchen-maid would give me afore I went out?—No, sir; it was not that—no—neither the one nor the other;—it was the smile of ooman—lovely ooman, which rules us all;—in her favour there is indeed a sweeping-clause; and I have the pleasure to tell you, that there is a splendid assembly of the dear creechurs a waiting in the next room, ready to trip it on their fantastic toeses—so, if you please, gemmen, we'll wind up the arternoon, by drinking—'Success to the brush and shovel all over the world'—and then join the fair."

To this proposal no possible objection could be made; and the doors being thrown open, a most splendid collection of the dear creechurs appeared ready for the quadrilles, which commenced about five. The principal dancers were—

Mr.William Duck,MissGrigson,

Mr.Watson,MissHawkins,

Mr.Robert Tottie,Mrs.Tom Ducks,

Mr.Wilkinson.MissAnne Smith.

The refreshments were of the first quality, and the whole day passed off with the greatest hilarity.

A DAY'S PROCEEDINGS OF A REFORMED PARLIAMENT.

IMPERIAL PARLIAMENT,

Anno ——.

House of Commons, Thursday, Feb. 28.

Several new Members took the oaths and their seats; amongst them we observed the Hon. Member for the District of Field Lane and Saffron Hill, whose entrance was greeted with huzzas, clapping of hands, and other demonstrations of joy.

PRAYERS.

Mr. Snob rose and said as how he thought it were a great waste of time to okipy the Ouse with a lot of praying—he thought that it would be quite as well and ample sufficient that every member, on entering the Ouse, should poke his face in his at and mutter a short jackerlation, sich as was done in his parish church.—(Hear.)—He never did no more when he was a churchwarden—(hear, hear)—and he always found that it answered the purpose; and he gave notice that, on Monday next, he intended to move that the present practice be done away with—(cheers).

Mr. Ketch said he would sartinly second the motion whenever it came before the Ouse.

WAYS AND MEANS.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer intimated that on the 22nd of next month he should be prepared to submit his plan of Ways and Means for the year. He could not then, with propriety, enter into details—he would merely state that it was in contemplation to repeal most of the existing taxes (cheers from all sides), and this object would be easily attained by suspending for the present the payment of the interest on the funded debt—(immense cheering)—by the sale of several supernumerary ships of war, and the materials of some of the dockyards.—(Hear, hear.)—He anticipated also a considerable sum from the disposal of superfluous military equipments, cannon, &c., which it would be the height of folly to retain in these "piping times of peace;" it would follow of course that very extensive reductions would take place in the military establishments—(cheers)—all pensions will forthwith be abolished—(Long-continued cheering).—He laid particular stress upon the word all, in order that there might be "no mistake"—(a laugh)—and, although there might be an apparent hardship in some few cases, yet his Majesty's ministers had wisely resolved not to incur censure from any person or party by using even the semblance of partiality.—(Cheering, which lasted several minutes.)

A Member, whose name we could not learn, rose, and in the exuberance of his joy exclaimed, "Blow my wig if ever I heard such a speech in all my life."—("Order! Order!")

The Speaker begged to remind the Hon. Gentleman that such expressions were not strictly in accordance with the dignity of the House.

The Member apologized for having been led away by his feelings, but this he would say, that whoever should now venture to assert that His Majesty's Ministers had any other than the benefit of their country in view, told a thundering lie.—(Loud laughter.)

Mr. Gubbins said that he wholly and totally agreed with the G'elman what spoke last—he thought that the thanks of the community and the country at large are due to the Right Hon. G'elman (the Chanciller) for his expozee; and in order that their ancestors might see—(a laugh)—he begged pardon, their posteriors—(roars of laughter)—well then, their children's children and them as comes arter them, might see the estimation in which that House had held him, he would move that its freedom be presented to him in a snuff-box of the value of five sovs., and he would subscribe his bob.—(Cheers, and some laughter.)

The Speaker interposed, and endeavoured to explain to the Hon. Member that there was no such thing as freedom in that House, consequently his motion could not be put.

Mr. Gubbins said he supposed it would be unreglar to argufy that pint with the Right Hon. Speaker, he would therefore bow to the Cheer; he would not however be done out of doing nothing, and with reference to the place represented by the Right Hon. G'elman the Chanciller, he would propose to bestow upon him the title of "The Bermondsey Screw."—(Laughter.)

(As all our readers may not understand the point of this pun, we should explain that in the Clink liberty, represented by the Right Hon. G'elman the Game of Skittles is a favourite amusement, and some of the Amateurs have a particular mode of delivering the Bowl, which amongst the cognoscenti is termed "A Bermondsey Screw.")

NEW SOUTH WALES.

Mr. Cobbett having given notice, that on Thursday next he should bring forward his motion (postponed on a previous occasion) for a Committee of that House being appointed, with instructions to proceed to New South Wales, for the purpose of enquiring into the Administration of Religion in that Colony,—

Mr. Lagg rose, apparently under great excitement, and said that he could never consent that such a preposterous motion should be entertained by that House even for a moment. Was the Honourable Gentleman aware of the privations and hardships which the Members of such a Committee would have to undergo? He thought not—for himself, he would say, that he had been a resident in the neighbourhood of Sidney during the greater part of Fourteen Years—(hear, hear)—"and," said the Hon. Gentleman, with much emotion, "I will never willingly consent to go there again, or recommend such a voyage to any of my friends." He said he saw several Honourable Gentlemen around him, whom he knew had been there as well as himself, and, judging from his own feelings, he was quite assured they would bear him out in his opposition.

Mr. Cobbett said, that under these circumstances he should ask leave to withdraw his motion. (Leave given instanter.)

NEW POLICE.

Petitions were presented from several parishes in the outskirts, against the system of Police introduced by a late Administration.

Several Members having risen at the same time to recommend the attention of the House to these petitions, and all asserting, with much vociferation, their right of priority, the Speaker was obliged to interpose and call on Mr. Bumpus.

Mr. Bumpus said he thought there could be but one opinion on the subject of this system, and that was, the sooner it was abolished the better—(hear, hear,)—he said that it required no oration to shew its baneful and unconstitutional character; he thought he could not better exemplify its true character than in using the words of a very intelligent and interesting youth, the son of a tailor-chandler, who was one of the officers of the parish in which he (Mr. Bumpus) resided. "Addressing me" (said the Honourable Gentleman) "you must understand, Gentlemen, this youth lisps very much, these were his very words, says he, Thir, says he, it is a miltuthy thythtem to thupport a arbituthy Government."—(Tumultuous cheering.)

During the Hon. Gentleman's speech much mirth was excited by the waggery of one of the members whom the Hon. Gentleman had superseded. At every pause, the Hon. Member exclaimed, "What a shocking bad hat!" &c., &c.

NEW WRIT.

On the motion of an Honourable Member a new writ was ordered for the district of Golden-lane, in the room of Nicholas Briggs, Esq., deceased—(see our Execution Report of Thursday last). The same Member also followed up his motion by a notice that previously to the next Old Bailey Sessions he should move that the laws affecting life in cases of burglary should be revised with a view to their repeal.

POST-OFFICE.—FRANKS.

Mr. Pott said he had a motion to submit to the House, to which, from previous communication with many Honourable Gentlemen, he did not expect any opposition. Every Honourable Member, he was assured, had already found the advantage arising from the privilege of franking letters, and, he was quite certain, had often experienced considerable annoyance from the very limited number to which they were at present restricted—(Hear, hear)—as well as the great bore of being obliged to write the whole direction. He could not conceive for a moment why they should be limited to sending and receiving in the whole, the paltry number of twenty-five letters each day—(Hear)—and that the weight of each of such letters should be restricted to a particle under an ounce. Some of the public officers, and, be it observed, men virtually appointed by that House, were privileged to send letters free of postage, without limitation as to weight or number "and yet we, who, as I said before, appointed those officers, are trammelled!—monstrous anomaly!" He would not attempt to conceal that in bringing forward the motion he would presently submit to the House, he thought it probable that its adoption might be attended with individual benefit to some of the Members, and himself amongst the rest—he would deal candidly with the House—he fully expected it would—(Bravo!)—and he thought it but reasonable that men who were obliged to sacrifice their time and their health for the good of the country ought to have some ostensible means of repaying themselves—(Hear, hear)—besides those bye-blows which occasionally more or less occurred: this, he had every reason to believe, would prove a positive benefit; and still better—it would not depend on contingencies.—(Cheers.)—He would not further detain the House, but would move, "That the law or rule of the House (he did not care which it was) which at present allowed Members of Parliament to send a limited number of letters free of postage, should forthwith be rescinded, and that hereafter they should have the privilege of sending as many as they may choose, without restriction as to weight or number; and further, that it shall be sufficient that members thus privileged should only be required to affix their signatures to the address,"—(Much cheering.)

Mr. Bowditch said he should certainly oppose the motion, even though he should stand alone. He, as principal officer of the Post-office, had devoted the greater part of a long life in endeavouring to perfect the details of the business of that establishment, and at the same time to increase its productiveness, and he viewed with dismay the attempt now about to be made to render his exertions a nullity; independent of the loss which the revenue would sustain, the mail coaches were even now almost insufficient to convey the bags, and the increased weight and bulk which the measure now proposed would give, would render the thing perfectly impracticable. He said he would not venture to characterize the system at present practised by many of the Members of that House in this particular, but when he saw the immediate and eager use which certain newly-elected, reforming, patriotic Members, made of this privilege for filthy lucre—(groans)—he was filled with disgust.—(Great uproar.) The Honourable Gentleman proceeded with much earnestness for a considerable time, but the noise and confusion was such, that we could only here and there catch a solitary word—we understood him, however, to make some allusion to "pattern cards," "samples of grocery," &c. but could not catch the context. Order being at length restored, the Honourable Gentleman concluded by moving, as an amendment, "That in future, Members of Parliament should only be allowed to send five letters, and receive the same number each day, free of postage, and that the weight of each of such letters should not exceed half an ounce."—(Yells of disapprobation.)

Mr. Van said that the objection of the Honourable Secretary of the Post-office was perfectly ridiculous, as regarded the probable insufficiency of the mail coaches; he would ask, Would it not be an easy matter to alter the system of coaches, and in their place adopt that of steam conveyance? The number of railways with which the whole country was now about to be intersected would render such alteration a matter of the greatest ease, and one steam carriage would be able to perform the work of a dozen mail coaches. (Hear, hear, hear.)

The Chancellor of the Exchequer was quite taken by surprise, and said, that although he could not sanction the proposed measure, he clearly saw that in the present temper of the House, opposition would be fruitless; he could, however, have wished the hon. gentleman had communicated his intentions to him before bringing his motion before the House—the very lucrative situation of Receiver-General of the Post-office Revenue had within these few days become vacant, and he thought that had he been consulted, he could have placed this subject in so feeling a point of view to the hon. gentleman, as might have caused the present motion to have been withheld.

Mr. Pott rose immediately, and said he thought it very probable that he had taken an erroneous view of the subject, and, with the leave of the House, would withdraw his motion. (Cries of "No, no! divide, divide!") The gallery was then cleared, and on a division the numbers appeared—

For the amendment, 3; against it, 296— minority, 293. For the original motion, 296; against it, 3— majority, 293.

This announcement was received with loud cheers, and evidently to the great discomposure of the hon. mover.

On our re-admission, symptoms of a desire to adjourn having manifested themselves,

Mr. Spriggins rose and said that, although there was an evident inclination to toddle, he could not allow the House to mizzle without putting in his spoke. He would stick to the present Ministry like bricks and mortar. The Chancellor of the Exchequer had proved himself a reg'lar out-and-outer; he and his colleagues had shown they were down as a hammer, and he had no doubt, in a short time, everything would be right as a trivet.

The House rose at an early hour, it being understood that one of the members had some heavy bets depending on a match of bumble-puppy, in which he had backed his apprentice, and which came off that afternoon in the neighbourhood of Bethnal Green.

CLUBS.[58]

There have recently been published several very edifying works upon "Etiquette," and the mode of behaving well in company. As no book touching the conduct of Club society has yet appeared, and this is the season of the year at which those admirable institutions are making weekly acquisitions in the shape of new members, we have thought it might be neither superfluous nor disagreeable to give the recently admitted candidates a few leading rules for their behaviour, in the way of directions—Thus,

In the first place, find fault with everything, and bully the waiters. What do you pay your subscriptions for, but to secure that privilege? Abuse the Committee for mismanagement, until you get into it yourself—then abuse everybody else.

Never shut the door of any room into which you may go, or out of which you may come.

When the evening papers arrive, pounce upon three; keep one in your hand reading, another under your arm, ready to relieve that; and sit down upon a third. By this means you possess yourself of the opinions of all parties, without being influenced by any one.

If you wish to dine early and cheap, order some cold meat just before three o'clock—it will then be charged as luncheon; bread, pickles, &c., gratis. Drink table-beer, because, as the Scotch gentleman said of something very different, "It is vary pleasant, and costs nothing."

If you dine on the joint, get it first, and cut all the best parts off, and help yourself to twice as much as you want, for fear you should never see it again.

If you are inclined to read the newspaper when you have finished your meat, make use of the cheese as a reading-desk; it is very convenient, and, moreover, makes the paper smell of the cheese, and the cheese taste of the paper.

If you come in, and see a man whom you know dining quietly by himself, or two men dining sociably together, draw your chair to their table and volunteer to join them. This they cannot well refuse, although they may wish you at Old Scratch. Then call for the bill of fare and order your dinner, which, as the others had half done before your arrival, will not be served till they have quite finished theirs. This will enable them to enjoy the gratification of seeing you proceed through the whole of your meal, from soup to cheese inclusive, while they are eating their fruit and sipping their wine.

If you drink tea, call for a "cup" of tea; when the waiter has brought it, abuse him for its being too strong, and desire him to fetch an empty cup and a small jug of boiling water; then divide the tea into the two cups and fill up both with the water. By this method you get two cups of tea for the price of one. N.B.—The milk and sugar not charged for.

If you are a literary man, always write your books at the club—pen, ink, and paper, gratis; a circumstance which of itself is likely to make your productions profitable.

When there is a ballot, blackball everybody you do not happen to know. If a candidate is not one of your own personal acquaintance, he cannot be fit to come there.

If you are interested about a friend, post yourself directly in front of his balloting box, and pester everybody, whether you know them or not, to give him a vote; this, if pertinaciously adhered to, will invariably settle his fate, one way or the other.

Always walk about the coffee-room with your hat on, to show your own independence, and your respect for the numerous noblemen and gentlemen who are sitting at dinner without theirs.

When you are alone in any of the rooms where writing materials are deposited, help yourself to covers, note-paper, sealing-wax, and black-lead pencils at discretion; they are as much yours as any other member's, and as you contribute to pay for them, what difference can it make whether you use them at the club or at home?

When you go away, if it is a wet night, and you are without a cloak or great-coat, take the first that fits you; you can send it back in the morning when it is fine: remember you do. This rule applies equally to umbrellas.

Never pay your subscription till the very last day fixed by the regulations; why should the trustees get the interest of your money for two or three months? Besides, when strangers come in to see the house, they will find your name over the fire-place, which will show that you belong to the Club.

An observance of these general rules, with a little attention to a few minor points, which it is scarcely possible to allude to more particularly here, will render you a most agreeable member of the Society to which you belong, and which it will be right to denounce everywhere else as the most execrable hole in London, in which you can get nothing fit either to eat or drink, but in which you, yourself, nevertheless, breakfast, dine, and sup every day, when you are not otherwise engaged.

RACHAEL STUBBS'S LETTER TO RICHARD TURNER

Sadrgov, April 3, 18—.

Deer Richud,—I receved yewer kind leather on Fryday, wich fond me in good helth, but not spirts,—for sins yew went a whay i have encresed my sise hand teers. Yew was kindust off the kind, and i cud have wukked has kitching-mad frum marwn to nite if yew had note gon; but sins yew want away iviry think sims to go rong. Muster Fishir, wich is, ginrilly speking, has gemmunly a Cock as is, scalds me iviry day for nott beasting the jints; hand Missus Stoak says I pays no manor of respict to her for nott gitting their diners better dun, wich I bleve, Richud, his owen to yewer habsence. If I thote all wot yew sed was sinsear hand yew ment it, i wud give wharning hand go hat my munt; but praps, deer Richud, yew whas only roging me, wich wud be onkind and crule. Tommus Wite is halways laffing hat me about yew, hand says I ham a grate fowl hif I wait for yew, for yew ment nuthink, and says it is eye tim i was marred, wich he wood willinly do imself; but I says, no, Tommus, i likes yew well enuff, but as long has Richud Turner sticks to is bargin, i ham is, hand is aloan.

Wat i rites now for, his to hask yew wat yew wood lick me two do. My muther, i know, cud meerly furnish a rome for hus, and pot in a Tabbel and chares and a chest of drarers, hand a Bedd, wich is the most hessensheal hof hall; hand wood be quite haggreable to the mach; hand hif we cood bitter hourselfs buy aving a frunt where we cood sell Hoysters hand srimps, hand red Earrings, and sich lick, hin winter; hand Soddy wattur, hand Pop, hand them kind of harticles, hin summer; i might tunn a peny wile yew wos hin playse, hif yew Kontinewd hin survice, hand hif not, do togither in bisness; wich wud save me from brileing my fayse hin the rosting hand beasting, wich i most do till I leave, or get a cocks playse in a smal famly. I know that Martha, the fot kitching-mad hat Sur Kristuffer Kaddingtuns, kept cumpny halong with won of the futmun; hand she was marred, hand they sot up a Tomhandjery shop, hand is reelizing a furtun; but i shud object to a Tomhandjery shop because of the low confersation wich gose hon hin sich playses, has well has the smel of the Pips, wych makes me sike.

HOOK'S PLAY WITH MULREADY'S ENVELOPE.

The envelope is addressed by Hook to his good friend Mr. Broderip, the magistrate. The reader will observe the liberties taken with the artist's design upon comparing it with a similar envelope in another part of this work.

Deer Richud, i ham wiling to do hany thing for yew, hand wuk day and night upon my ands hand neese to make yew comfurtable, hand i think we cud be very appy, but do not make a fowl hof me now, hand i will truss yew half my life; hand my Muther his a woman well to doo, hand wen it pleses Purvidence to tack her up hout of this wuld will leve us sumthing for a raney day, which wud be a grate cumfut to me, appen wen it may.

i pot this hin a buskett, hand have sent yew three fools and a small Sammon cott this mawning, for yewer Sister Lizy, wich altho i never seed hur i ham very fond hof from yewer subscription on her,—hif she will haxcept the triffles i shal be plesed, hand my love; hand wen yew are a heating the fools, do nott forget her wich sent them.

Hif yew lick, yew can call on muther, wich is the darey at the korner of Jon street, and tawk maters over with hur. i am tird hof life down here without yew. i hope yew will get this safe. I have got Tommus Wite to rite the redress, not honely because he rites a good and, but to show im thatt we hare frends.

do let me here from yew; and with true love and french-ship, in wich yewer sister his inklewded, beleve me, deer Richud,

Yewers internally,

Rachael Stubbs.

i ave pade the Courage hand Bucking.

(Births, Deaths, and Marriages, 1839.)

MR. MINUS, THE POET.[59]

The poetry of Mr. Minus could be compared to nothing but the dropping of honey upon rose leaves, or the fluttering of moths round the smoke of cinnamon;—it was so flippant, so sweet, and so trifling. He had a round of set rhymes and ideas, which, like the man who walked out in the morning in a dress of crimson and gold, because he had no other, he perpetually was using; such as

which species of versification having displayed al fresco after dinner in lines "To a Mole upon Fanny's left knee;" "A sonnet to half a jasamine flower;" "An ode to the wing of a butterfly," and "An Epithalamium on the marriage of two humming birds," (all of which were written, sung, composed, and recited by himself) he obligingly sat down to the piano-forte on their return, and gave the following air with infinite effect:

Fanny's Bower.[60]

This Mr. Minus considered a chef-d'œuvre, and if he was mistaken there was such a softness, a condescension and pleasantry in his manners, as would have excused a more serious error; as a companion, he was delightful; as a man, honourable; and as a poet, fashionable.

NATIONAL DISTRESS.

In a late number[61] we somewhat unfeelingly (it is hinted by a correspondent) doubted, and even sneered at, the universal topic, the national distress, with which we are, it seems, overwhelmed; and when any suggestions of our friends (backed by truth and reason) can be attended to, we are always delighted to avail ourselves of them, and recant our errors.

We have reconsidered the subject, and, during the last fortnight, have visited the most diversified scenes of life, and we feel bound to retract the "flippant doubts" (those are our communicant's words), which we expressed as to the existence of general calamity, and are ready to confess that we had no idea of its extent, particularly in and about the metropolis.

The first object which tended to convert us from our original prejudiced opinion on the subject, was the sight of that most melancholy assemblage of people called "Epsom Races." Upwards of fifty thousand of the most unhappy of our fellow-countrymen, victims of tyranny and taxation, no longer ago than the week before last, dragged their wretched limbs to this sad and deplorable spectacle; and the vast sums of money taken from some of them, and the immense quantity of provisions and liquor which the poorer part of the slaves were compelled to devour, were unparalleled, we believe, on any former similar occasion.

It made our hearts bleed to behold our excellent and free-born tailor driving, with great labour and danger, a tandem, with two blood-horses; and we nearly wept when we found that our bootmaker and his unhappy family could only afford a barouche and four, hired for the day.

But we had, also, an eye to the agricultural part of the question; and we were struck with horror and amazement at the pale, emaciated, and threadbare appearance of the broken-down farmers of Surrey, Berks, and Bucks, who crawled out to the mournful scene upon their starving ponies, for which some, in their despair for money, were wild enough to ask seventy, eighty, and a hundred guineas each.

At the inns on the road, the expenses the tax-ridden slaves incurred were abominable. A hatter in Bond Street was charged seventeen shillings a bottle for champagne; and a wretched party of landholders in the neighbourhood of Leatherhead, who have threatened to abandon their farms, were driven by their grief to drink two dozen and four bottles of that shameful imposition upon British credulity called Chateau Margaux.

On our return from Epsom (having to cross the country) we passed through Kingston. Woe, grief, and mendicity there had established their tribunal. Petitions and remonstrances were all in array; and, in order to give the mourning victims of that devoted parish an opportunity of assembling occasionally to grieve in unison, some sympathetic philanthropists in the vicinity have built a theatre or circus, wherein a Miss Hengler endeavours nightly to solace their incurable woes, by dancing on wires, balancing tobacco-pipes, and swallowing live cockchafers. Such an expedient was never hit upon at this distance from town, till the melancholy aspect of things in general pointed out the absolute necessity of it in this wretched year.

During the week we thought we would go to some of the London playhouses. We essayed Covent Garden. It was Miss Stephens' benefit: "boxes full" stared us in the face; the pit, too, was crowded with the more unfortunate classes of society; and upon inquiring if we could make our way into the gallery, we were told that both galleries had been crowded with squalid wretches, in a state of actual starvation, who had spent their last five shillings each that night in paying for admission, for oranges, apples and nuts, which, as everybody knows, is not the sort of food the noble and free-born Briton is accustomed to. We sighed and crossed the river, having been refused admission at Mathews's, because the crowd of deplorable beggars who had sought refuge in the Lyceum would admit of no increase.

At Astley's, a house we thought remote from woe, we again applied. "There's standing-room at the back of the boxes, sir," said a little round-shouldered man in black, "but not a place in the pit or gallery." "Good heavens!" we exclaimed, "and is there so general a calamity pervading even the suburbs?" We turned into the road, where we were stopped by a string of horsemen, and of gigs, carts, and coaches, filled, inside and out, with the lowest and most unhappy persons among the people, who had not chosen to assuage their sorrows in the theatres, but had preferred to indulge their tender sympathies in a fight, some twenty or thirty miles from town, to which the circumstance of the times had induced them to transport themselves at the nefarious expense, perhaps, of two or three pounds each. But what made us shudder still more, was seeing that they were, for the greatest part, in a state of intoxication, to which they had no doubt been urged by the disastrous acts of that empty pretender to politics, Pitt,—that weak man, Lord Londonderry,—or that misguided bigot, Peel,—or some others of those who are, or have been, at the helm of the State.

Having got clear of these, we crossed the bridge, and turned down to the House of Commons: the doors were fast—no house. Tried at the Lords: their lordships had adjourned at seven. "Ah!" said we, "this is a new proof of the truth of our friend's suggestions: these are noble and wealthy men; there is no distress here—no crowds—no misery—no assemblage."

We were baffled in our attempt to get up the Haymarket, several thousand unhappy persons having dressed themselves in diamonds, and lace, and gold, and pearls, and feathers, and flounces, to weep away the night, in the body of the Opera House. And at the Duke of Devonshire's wall, we were obliged to abandon our hackney-coach, into which we had stepped at the corner of St. James's Street, to avoid the crowd of carriages, which had brought an innumerable host of distressed families to his Grace's hospitable roof, in order that their immediate necessities might be alleviated by some Italian singing and Ponche à la Romaine.

Some of the females of these wretched groups we happened to encounter, and a more truly pitiable sight we never saw; in the middle of the night were they straggling out of the court-yard to look for their carriages, with clothes hardly sufficient to cover them from cold, or answer the purposes of common decency. To such straits our women are driven by necessity.

Here our doctrine that even the highest were exempt from sorrow fell to the ground, and we went to bed to dream of woe.

Pursuing, the next day, our course through the town, we dropped into the Somerset House Exhibition, where there could not have been less than two thousand of our unhappy fellow-creatures, who had paid, all of them, one shilling, most of them two shillings, mewed up in close hot rooms, with hardly space to move or breathe, and without the smallest refreshment; nay, not even a crust of bread—not even a drop of water to relieve them in their lamentable condition.

At Belzoni's Tomb the mourners were in myriads; at the Cosmorama several wretched-looking people were endeavouring to pass their lingering hours by peeping through little holes at coloured prints stuck against a wall. At the Panorama—at the British Gallery, the same horrid scenes were acting—the same deception was carrying on; and at the Soho Bazaar it was quite moving to see the hundreds of well-dressed suffering innocents who have been driven from the best mercantile parts of the town to this secondary quarter, merely because they are enabled, by this painful humiliation, to purchase gauze, and coloured paper, and bugles, and knitting-needles, and card-racks, and shuttlecocks, and fiz-gigs, and the other necessaries of life, nearly one hundred per cent. cheaper there than anywhere else in the metropolis.