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The Comic Almanack, Volume 1 / An Ephemeris in Jest and Earnest, Containing Merry Tales, Humerous Poetry, Quips, and Oddities cover

The Comic Almanack, Volume 1 / An Ephemeris in Jest and Earnest, Containing Merry Tales, Humerous Poetry, Quips, and Oddities

Chapter 110: CHESS.—"BLACK MOVES AND WINS."
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About This Book

The volume collects annual almanac-style material—satirical sketches, comic essays, mock-astrological pieces, humorous verse, and brief narrative vignettes—assembled as a running sequence of yearly numbers. Multiple contributors supply witty sayings, droll observations, and recurring columns, all accompanied by hundreds of woodcuts and engraved plates by prominent illustrators. The pieces alternate light parody and sharper social satire, using playful formats, topical jokes, and caricatured scenes to amuse readers across varied short items.

THE CONCERT SEASON.

State of the
Weather.
——
Hocus Pocus
look for
Rain.

Hoaxem
Folksem
Fine
again!

Would you
know the
Wet from
Dry,
"Buy, Buy, Buy."
It's like to
Change when
cats do cry.
That very merry pleasant month of May
Is made for Music, as the poets say;
Whether in shady groves we seek retreat,
Or view the Concert bills in Regent-street,
'Twould seem as though the world was gone a-singing—
Green bowers and Opera boxes all are ringing
With strains of melody that pour upon us,
From thrushes, nightingales, and prima Donnas.
The little birds sing treeos in each nook,
And turn over the leaves for want of book;
While operas, scored for twenty kettle-drums
By Costa, sent to pot our tympanums.
But what harmonious armies now besiege
The ears and pockets of each simple liege:
Jew German minstrels, in Whitechapel born,
Brazen performers on a brazen horn,
And he who, having nothing to put in
His empty mouth, plays tunes upon his chin.
Forsaking soap, my washerwoman's daughters
Practise soprano, "o'er the dark blue waters,"
On drying days supreme their glory shines,
And soars aloft, to C above the lines.
But far and wide they solo, catch, and glee 'em
At Eagle, Conduit, Stingo, Call-an-seum,
Where unknown throngs from unknown regions go,
For gin, tobacco, and "The Chough and Crow,"
And Melodists', where shopmen, quite sublime,
In counter-tenor murder tune and time,
And while for pleasure, perhaps, abroad they roam,
A little concert waits for them at home.

"A small Music Party."

I hate all amateurs who play the flute—
All sulky singing ladies who sit mute—
I hate a piece, made up of variations
On tiresome ditties borrow'd from all nations;
I hate, although I love a cheerful song,
To be obliged to listen all night long.

MAY.—Restoration Day.

As the month of May is considered, by poets and other philosophers, to be devoted by Nature to the great purpose of love-making, I may as well take advantage of that season and acquaint you with the result of my amours.

Young, gay, fascinating, and an ensign, I had completely won the heart of my Magdalen; and as for Miss Waters and her nasty uncle the Doctor, there was a complete split between us, as you may fancy; Miss, pretending, forsooth, that she was glad I had broken off the match, though she would have given her eyes, the little minx, to have had it on again. But this was out of the question. My father, who had all sorts of queer notions, said I had acted like a rascal in the business; my mother took my part, in course, and declared I acted rightly, as I always did: and I got leave of absence from the regiment in order to press my beloved Magdalen to marry me out of hand—knowing, from reading and experience, the extraordinary mutability of human affairs.

Besides, as the dear girl was seventeen years older than myself, and as bad in health as she was in temper, how was I to know that the grim king of terrors might not carry her off before she became mine? With the tenderest warmth, then, and most delicate ardour, I continued to press my suit. The happy day was fixed—the ever-memorable 10th of May, 1792; the wedding clothes were ordered; and, to make things secure, I penned a little paragraph for the county paper to this effect:—"Marriage in High Life. We understand that Ensign Stubbs, of the North Bungay Fencibles, and son of Thomas Stubbs, of Sloffemsquiggle, Esquire, is about to lead to the hymeneal altar the lovely and accomplished daughter of Solomon Crutty, Esquire, of the same place. A fortune of twenty thousand pounds is, we hear, the lady's portion. 'None but the brave deserve the fair....'"

"Have you informed your relatives, my beloved," said I to Magdalen one day after sending the above notice; "will any of them attend at your marriage?"

"Uncle Sam will, I daresay," said Miss Crutty, "dear mamma's brother."

"And who was your dear mamma?" said I, for Miss Crutty's respected parent had been long since dead, and I never heard her name mentioned in the family.

Magdalen blushed, and cast down her eyes to the ground. "Mamma was a foreigner," at last she said.

"And of what country?"

"A German; papa married her when she was very young:—she was not of a very good family," said Miss Crutty, hesitating.

"And what care I for family, my love," said I, tenderly kissing the knuckles of the hand which I held; "she must have been an angel who gave birth to you."

"She was a shoemaker's daughter."

A German shoemaker! hang 'em, thought I, I have had enough of them, and so I broke up this conversation, which did not somehow please me....

Well, the day was drawing near: the clothes were ordered; the banns were read. My dear mamma had built a cake about the size of a washing-tub: and I was only waiting for a week to pass to put me in possession of twelve thousand pounds in the five per cents., as they were in those days, Heaven bless em! Little did I know the storm that was brewing, and the disappointment which was to fall upon a young man who really did his best to get a fortune.

"O Robert!" said my Magdalen to me, two days before the match was to come off, "I have such a kind letter from uncle Sam, in London. I wrote to him as you wished. He says that he is coming down to-morrow; that he has heard of you often, and knows your character very well, and that he has got a very handsome present for us! What can it be, I wonder?"

"Is he rich, my soul's adored?" says I.

"He is a bachelor with a fine trade, and nobody to leave his money to."

"His present can't be less than a thousand pounds," says I.

"Or, perhaps, a silver tea-set, and some corner dishes," says she.

But we could not agree to this: it was too little—too mean for a man of her uncle's wealth; and we both determined it must be the thousand pounds.

"Dear, good uncle! he's to be here by the coach," says Magdalen. "Let us ask a little party to meet him." And so we did, and so they came. My father and mother, old Crutty in his best wig, and the parson who was to marry us next day. The coach was to come in at six. And there was the tea-table, and there was the punch-bowl, and everybody ready and smiling to receive our dear uncle from London.

Six o'clock came, and the coach, and the man from the Green Dragon with a portmanteau, and a fat old gentleman walking behind, of whom I just caught a glimpse—a venerable old gentleman—I thought I'd seen him before....

Then there was a ring at the bell; then a scuffling and bumping at the passage: then old Crutty rushed out, and a great laughing and talking, and "How are you?" and so on, was heard at the door; and then the parlour-door was flung open, and Crutty cried out with a loud voice—

"Good people all! my brother-in-law, Mr. STIFFELKIND!"

Mr. Stiffelkind!—I trembled as I heard the name!

Miss Crutty kissed him; mamma made him a curtsey, and papa made him a bow; and Dr. Snorter, the parson, seized his hand and shook it most warmly—then came my turn!

"Vat," says he, "it is my dear goot yong friend from Doctor Schvis'hentail's! is dis the yong gentleman's honourable moder" (mamma smiled and made a curtsey), "and dis his fader! Sare and madam, you should be broud of soch a sonn. And you, my niece, if you have him for a husband you vil be locky, dat is all. Vat dink you, broder Crotty, and Madame Stobbs, I ave made your sonn's boots, ha! ha!"

My mamma laughed, and said, "I did not know it, but I am sure, sir, he has as pretty a leg for a boot as any in the whole county."

Old Stiffelkind roared louder. "A very nice leg, ma'am, and a very sheap boot too! Vat, you did not know I make his boots! Perhaps you did not know someting else too—p'rhaps you did not know" (and here the monster clapped his hand on the table, and made the punch-ladle tremble in the bowl), "p'rhaps you did not know as dat yong man, dat Stobbs, dat sneaking, baltry, squinting fellow, is as vicked as he is ogly. He bot a pair of boots from me and never paid for dem. Dat is noting, nobody never pays; but he bought a pair of boots, and called himself Lord Cornvallis. And I was fool enough to believe him vonce. But look you, niece Magdalen, I ave got five tousand pounds, if you marry him I vil not give you a benny; but look you, what I will gif you, I bromised you a bresent, and I vil give you DESE!"

And the old monster produced THOSE VERY BOOTS which Swishtail had made him take back....

I didn't marry Miss Crutty: I am not sorry for it though. She was a nasty, ugly, ill-tempered wretch, and I've always said so ever since.

And all this arose from those infernal boots, and that unlucky paragraph in the county paper—I'll tell you how.

In the first place, it was taken up as a quiz by one of the wicked, profligate, unprincipled organs of the London press, who chose to be very facetious about the "Marriage in High Life," and made all sorts of jokes about me and my dear Miss Crutty.

Secondly, it was read in this London paper by my mortal enemy, Bunting, who had been introduced to old Stiffelkind's acquaintance by my adventure with him, and had his shoes made regularly by that foreign upstart.

Thirdly, he happened to want a pair of shoes mended at this particular period, and as he was measured by the disgusting old High-Dutch Cobbler, he told him his old friend Stubbs was going to be married.

"And to whom?" said old Stiffelkind, "to a voman wit gelt, I vil take my oath."

"Yes," says Bunting, "a country girl—a Miss Magdalen Carotty or Crotty, a place called Sloffemsquiggle."

"Schloffemschwiegel!" bursts out the dreadful bootmaker, "Mein Gott, mein Gott! das geht nicht—I tell you, sare, it is no go. Miss Crotty is my niece. I vill go down myself. I vill never let her marry dat goot-for-noting schwindler and teif." Such was the language that the scoundrel ventured to use regarding me!

1839] JUNE

HOW TO SCREW AN AUTHOR.—Dr. Slop's Complaint.

20. Mr. Serjt. Talfourd withdrew his Copyright Bill, 1838.

Words are
Wind,

all
know it.
Driving a Bargain!
Never think
to please
a Poet.
O Longman, Longman, Orme, Brown, Green, and Co.
And other dons of Paternoster Row!
O enemies of authors here below,
From those who're great to those who are but so—
so;
Against you, Slop indignant does complain,
Clanks in your face his literary chain;
Stop, tyrants! who, for your peculiar gain,
By day and night the contents of his brain
drain.
He sows the seed, you gather in the crops;
You sack the till, and he supplies your shops;
You quaff champagne, while meanest malt and hops
Do scarcely once a fortnight enter Slop's
chops.
So wickedly does fortune treat our crew;
So partially she deals betwixt us two;
Nothing can miserable authors do
But squeeze and squeeze, while pitilessly you
screw,
Until you squeeze the hapless carcass dry.
For such great wrongs is there no remedy?
O, callous House of Commons! tell us why
You pass poor authors' wrongs so careless-ly
by?
Be these the terms for literary men:
First pay us authors, let booksellers then
Feed after us who wield the godlike pen.
O what shall I. O. U, learn'd ION,
when,
Thy happy bill, by law shall here prevail,
Leaving to me (and to my sons in tail),
Of all my works the profit of the sale:
As for the publishers—why, rat it, they'll
fail.

JUNE—Marrowbones and Cleavers.

Was there ever such confounded ill-luck? My whole life has been a tissue of ill luck: although I have laboured, perhaps, harder than any man to make a fortune, something always tumbled it down. In love and in war I was not like others. In my marriages, I had an eye to the main chance; and you see how some unlucky blow would come and throw them over. In the army I was just as prudent, and just as unfortunate. What with judicious betting, and horse-swapping, good luck at billiards, and economy, I do believe I put by my pay every year,—and that is what few can say who have but an allowance of a hundred a-year.

I'll tell you how it was. I used to be very kind to the young men; I chose their horses for them, and their wine; and showed them how to play billiards, or écarté, of long mornings, when there was nothing better to do. I didn't cheat: I'd rather die than cheat; but if fellows will play, I wasn't the man to say no—why should I? There was one young chap in our regiment of whom I really think I cleared 300l. a-year.

His name was Dobble. He was a tailor's son, and wanted to be a gentleman. A poor, weak young creature; easy to be made tipsy: easy to be cheated; and easy to be frightened. It was a blessing for him that I found him; for if anybody else had, they would have plucked him of every shilling.

Ensign Dobble and I were sworn friends. I rode his horses for him, and chose his champagne: and did everything, in fact, that a superior mind does for an inferior—when the inferior has got the money. We were inseparables—hunting everywhere in couples. We even managed to fall in love with two sisters, as young soldiers will do, you know; for the dogs fall in love with every change of quarters.

Well: once, in the year 1793 (it was just when the French had chopped poor Louis's head off), Dobble and I, gay young chaps as ever wore sword by side, had cast our eyes upon two young ladies, by the name of Brisket, daughters of a butcher in the town where we were quartered. The dear girls fell in love with us, of course. And many a pleasant walk in the country; many a treat to a tea-garden; many a smart riband and brooch, used Dobble and I (for his father allowed him 600l., and our purses were in common) to present to these young ladies. One day, fancy our pleasure at receiving a note couched thus:—

"Deer Capting Stubbs and Dobble—Miss Briskets presents their compliments, and as it is probble that our papa will be till 12 at the corprayshun dinner, we request the pleasure of their company to tea."

Didn't we go! Punctually at six we were in the little back parlour; we quaffed more Bohea, and made more love, than half-a-dozen ordinary men could. At nine, a little punch-bowl succeeded to the little tea-pot; and, bless the girls! a nice fresh steak was frizzling on the gridiron for our supper. Butchers were butchers then, and their parlour was their kitchen, too; at least old Brisket's was.—One door leading into the shop, and one into the yard, on the other side of which was the slaughter-house.

Fancy, then, our horror when, just at this critical time, we heard the shop door open, a heavy staggering step on the flags, and a loud husky voice from the shop, shouting, "Hallo, Susan! hallo, Betsy! show a light!" Dobble turned as white as a sheet; the two girls each as red as a lobster; I alone preserved my presence of mind. "The back door," says I.—"The dog's in the court," says they. "He's not so bad as the man," says I. "Stop," cries Susan, flinging open the door, and rushing to the fire: "take this, and perhaps it will quiet him."

What do you think "this" was? I'm blest if it was not the steak!

She pushed us out, patted and hushed the dog, and was in again in a minute. The moon was shining on the court, and on the slaughter-house, where there hung a couple of white, ghastly-looking carcasses of a couple of sheep; a great gutter ran down the court—a gutter of blood!—the dog was devouring his beefsteak (our beefsteak) in silence,—and we could see through the little window the girls bustling about to pack up the supper-things, and presently the shop door opened, old Brisket entered, staggering, angry, and drunk. What's more, we could see, perched on a high stool, and nodding politely, as if to salute old Brisket, the feather of Dobble's cocked hat! When Dobble saw it he turned white, and deadly sick; and the poor fellow, in an agony of fright, sunk shivering down upon one of the butcher's cutting blocks which was in the yard.

We saw old Brisket look steadily (as steadily as he could) at the confounded impudent, pert waggling feather; and then an idea began to dawn upon his mind, that there was a head to the hat; and then he slowly rose up—he was a man of six feet, and fifteen stone—he rose up, put on his apron and sleeves, and took down his cleaver.

"Betsy," says he, "open the yard door." But the poor girls screamed, and flung on their knees, and begged, and wept, and did their very best to prevent him. "OPEN THE YARD DOOR," says he, with a thundering loud voice; and the great bull-dog, hearing it, started up, and uttered a yell which sent me flying to the other end of the court.—Dobble couldn't move; he was sitting on the block, blubbering like a baby.

The door opened, and out Mr. Brisket came.

"To him, Jowler," says he, "keep him, Jowler,"—and the horrid dog flew at me, and I flew back into the corner, and drew my sword, determining to sell my life dearly.

"That's it," says Brisket, "keep him there,—good dog,—good dog! And now, sir," says he, turning to Dobble, "is this your hat?"

"Yes," says Dobble, fit to choke with fright.

"Well, then," says Brisket, "it's my—(hick)—my painful duty to—(hick)—to tell you, that as I've got your hat, I must have your head;—it's painful, but it must be done. You'd better—(hick)—settle yourself com—comfumarably against that—(hick)—that block, and I'll chop it off before you can say Jack—(hick)—no, I mean Jack Robinson."

Dobble went down on his knees, and shrieked out, "I'm an only son, Mr. Brisket! I'll marry her, sir; I will, upon my honour, sir.—Consider my mother, sir; consider my mother."

"That's it, sir," says Brisket—"that's a good boy—(hick)—a good boy; just put your head down quietly—and I'll have it off—yes, off—as if you were Louis the Six—the Sixtix—the Sixtickleteenth.—I'll chop the other chap afterwards."

When I heard this, I made a sudden bound back, and gave such a cry as any man might who was in such a way. The ferocious Jowler, thinking I was going to escape, flew at my throat; screaming furious, I flung out my arms in a kind of desperation,—and, to my wonder, down fell the dog, dead, and run through the body!


At this moment a posse of people rushed in upon old Brisket—one of his daughters had had the sense to summon them—and Dobble's head was saved. And when they saw the dog lying dead at my feet, my ghastly look, my bloody sword, they gave me no small credit for my bravery. "A terrible fellow, that Stubbs," said they; and so the mess said, the next day.

I didn't tell them that the dog had committed suicide—why should I? And I didn't say a word about Dobble's cowardice. I said he was a brave fellow, and fought like a tiger; and this prevented him from telling tales. I had the dog-skin made into a pair of pistol-holsters, and looked so fierce, and got such a name for courage in our regiment, that when we had to meet the regulars, Bob Stubbs was always the man put forward to support the honour of the corps. The women, you know, adore courage; and such was my reputation at this time, that I might have had my pick out of half-a-dozen, with three, four, or five thousand pounds a-piece, who were dying for love of me and my red coat. But I wasn't such a fool. I had been twice on the point of marriage, and twice disappointed; and I vowed by all the Saints to have a wife, and a rich one. Depend upon this, as an infallible maxim to guide you through life—It's as easy to get a rich wife as a poor one;—the same bait that will hook a fly will hook a salmon.

JULY. [1839

1. New registration of births commenced, 1837.

THE FORCE OF HABIT. {"Now, Sir, the father's name—this column—so—
  {There, very well—what is it?"—

SO-HO-LOGICAL SOCIETY.

At the annual July meeting of this renowned establishment, petitions were presented from the animals of the menagerie, respecting their grievances: the following were the greatest cases of hardship:—The Carnivora, in a body, complained of a diminution and recent alteration in their diet; the Society having, from a regard to economy and its diminished finances, changed their food from good ox beef to asses' flesh. They feared that, should they become addicted to this kind of viand, they might, in a moment of desperation, be tempted, from the similarity, to make free with the bodies of any of the members that came in their way, a piece of ingratitude of which the great brown bruin, in particular, said he could not bear the thought. The Royal Tigers complained that some of their family had been carried off by a disorder resembling the "King's evil;" this they attributed to the Society's being under Royal patronage, which they had, in the course of their travels, observed to be fatal in many other establishments. The Dogs begged that, if they were to have no more meat, they might, at least, be indulged with a copy of "South on the Bones." The beasts and birds, generally, declared themselves ashamed of the shabby appearance of their friends in the Museum, asserting that, living and dead, they were alike badly stuffed. The Parrots spoke of the smallness of their cages, which, they entreated, might be enlarged in dimensions by at least a perch or two. The whole tribe of Simiæ, like the Baronets, prayed for a badge of distinction. They stated that their appearance was so closely imitated by numerous individuals who crowded around their cages on fine days in the fashionable season, that their visitors did not know one from the other, and frequently asked "Which are the monkeys?"

All the animals prayed the benefit of clergy for the remission of their Sunday fasts, and implored the Bishop of London, though he could not get them a holiday on that day, to at least interfere to procure them a dinner.

15. St Swithin begins to reign. Umbrellas look up.

JULY.—Summery Proceedings.

Dobble's reputation for courage was not increased by the butcher's-dog adventure; but mine stood very high: little Stubbs was voted the boldest chap of all the bold North-Bungays. And though I must confess, what was proved by subsequent circumstances, that Nature has not endowed me with a large, or even, I may say, an average share of bravery, yet a man is very willing to flatter himself of the contrary; and, after a little time, I got to believe that my killing the dog was an action of undaunted courage; and that I was as gallant as any one of the hundred thousand heroes of our army. I always had a military taste—it's only the brutal part of the profession, the horrid fighting, and blood, that I don't like.

I suppose the regiment was not very brave itself—being only militia; but, certain it was that Stubbs was considered a most terrible fellow, and I swore so much, and looked so fierce, that you would have fancied I had made half a hundred campaigns. I was second in several duels; the umpire in all disputes; and such a crack-shot myself that fellows were shy of insulting me. As for Dobble, I took him under my protection; and he became so attached to me that we ate, drank, and rode together, every day; his father didn't care for money, so long as his son was in good company—and what so good as that of the celebrated Stubbs? Heigho! I was good company in those days, and a brave fellow, too, as I should have remained, but for—what I shall tell the public immediately.

It happened, in the fatal year ninety-six, that the brave North-Bungays were quartered at Portsmouth; a maritime place, which I need not describe, and which I wish I had never seen. I might have been a General now, or, at least, a rich man.

The red-coats carried everything before them in those days; and I, such a crack character as I was in my regiment, was very well received by the towns-people; many dinners I had; many tea-parties; many lovely young ladies did I lead down the pleasant country-dances.

Well; although I had had the two former rebuffs in love, which I have described, my heart was still young; and the fact was, knowing that a girl with a fortune was my only chance, I made love here as furiously as ever. I shan't describe the lovely creatures on whom I had fixed whilst at Portsmouth. I tried more than—several—and it is a singular fact, which I never have been able to account for, that, successful as I was with ladies of maturer age, by the young ones I was refused regular.

But "faint heart never won fair lady;" and so I went on, and on, until I had really got a Miss Clopper, a tolerably rich navy-contractor's daughter, into such a way that I really don't think she could have refused me. Her brother, Captain Clopper, was in a line regiment, and helped me as much as ever he could; he swore I was such a brave fellow.

As I had received a number of attentions from Clopper, I determined to invite him to dinner; which I could do without any sacrifice of my principle, upon this point; for the fact is, Dobble lived at an inn—and as he sent all his bills to his father, I made no scruple to use his table. We dined in the coffee-room; Dobble bringing his friend, and so we made a party carry, as the French say. Some naval officers were occupied in a similar way at a table next to ours.

Well—I didn't spare the bottle, either for myself or my friends; and we grew very talkative, and very affectionate as the drinking went on. Each man told stories of his gallantry in the field, or amongst the ladies, as officers will, after dinner. Clopper confided to the company his wish that I should marry his sister, and vowed that he thought me the best fellow in Christendom.

Ensign Dobble assented to this—"But let Miss Clopper beware," says he, "for Stubbs is a sad fellow; he has had I don't know how many liaisons already; and he has been engaged to I don't know how many women."

"Indeed!" says Clopper. "Come, Stubbs, tell us your adventures."

"Psha!" said I, modestly, "there is nothing, indeed, to tell; I have been in love, my dear boy—who has not?—and I have been jilted—who has not?"

Clopper swore that he would blow his sister's brains out if ever she served me so.

"Tell him about Miss Crutty," said Dobble; "he! he! Stubbs served that woman out, any how; she didn't jilt him, I'll be sworn."

"Really, Dobble, you are too bad, and should not mention names; the fact is, the girl was desperately in love with me, and had money—sixty thousand pounds, upon my reputation. Well, everything was arranged, when, who should come down from London, but a relation."

"Well; and did he prevent the match?"

"Prevent it—yes, sir, I believe you, he did; though not in the sense that you mean; he would have given his eyes: ay, and ten thousand pounds more, if I would have accepted the girl, but I would not."

"Why, in the name of goodness?"

"Sir, her uncle was a shoemaker. I never would debase myself by marrying into such a family."

"Of course not," said Dobble, "he couldn't, you know. Well, now—tell him about the other girl, Mary Waters, you know."

"Hush, Dobble, hush! don't you see one of those naval officers has turned round and heard you? My dear Clopper, it was a mere childish bagatelle."

"Well, but let's have it," said Clopper, "let's have it; I won't tell my sister, you know;" and he put his hand to his nose, and looked monstrous wise.

"Nothing of that sort, Clopper—no, no—'pon honour—little Bob Stubbs is no libertine; and the story is very simple. You see that my father has a small place, merely a few hundred acres, at Sloffemsquiggle. Isn't it a funny name? Hang it, there's the naval gentleman staring again,—(I looked terribly fierce as I returned this officer's stare, and continued in a loud, careless voice) well—at this Sloffemsquiggle there lived a girl, a Miss Waters, the niece of some blackguard apothecary in the neighbourhood; but my mother took a fancy to the girl, and had her up to the park, and petted her. We were both young—and—and—the girl fell in love with me, that's the fact. I was obliged to repel some rather warm advances that she made me; and here, upon my honour as a gentleman, you have all the story about which that silly Dobble makes such a noise."

Just as I finished this sentence, I found myself suddenly taken by the nose, and a voice shouting out,—

"Mr. Stubbs, you are a Liar and a Scoundrel! take this, sir,—and this, for daring to meddle with the name of an innocent lady."

I turned round as well as I could, for the ruffian had pulled me out of my chair, and beheld a great marine monster, six feet high, who was occupied in beating and kicking me, in the most ungentlemanly manner, on my cheeks, my ribs, and between the tails of my coat. "He is a liar, gentlemen, and a scoundrel; the bootmaker had detected him in swindling, and so his niece refused him. Miss Waters was engaged to him from childhood, and he deserted her for the bootmaker's niece, who was richer;"—and then sticking a card between my stock and my coat-collar, in what is called the scruff of my neck, the disgusting brute gave me another blow behind my back, and left the coffee-room with his friends.

Dobble raised me up; and taking the card from my neck, read, CAPTAIN WATERS. Clopper poured me out a glass of water, and said in my ear, "If this is true, you are an infernal scoundrel, Stubbs; and must fight me, after Captain Waters," and he flounced out of the room.

I had but one course to pursue. I sent the Captain a short and contemptuous note, saying, that he was beneath my anger. As for Clopper, I did not condescend to notice his remark; but in order to get rid of the troublesome society of these low blackguards, I determined to gratify an inclination I had long entertained, and make a little tour. I applied for leave of absence, and set off that very night. I can fancy the disappointment of the brutal Waters, on coming, as he did, the next morning, to my quarters and finding me gone, ha! ha!

After this adventure I became sick of a military life—at least, the life of my own regiment, where the officers, such was their unaccountable meanness and prejudice against me, absolutely refused to see me at mess. Colonel Craw sent me a letter to this effect, which I treated as it deserved.—I never once alluded to it in any way, and have since never spoken a single word to any man in the North-Bungays.

Association of British Illuminati, to be held in the Town Hall,
Birmingham, in August, 1839.

[We have been specially favoured with an account of some of the most important affairs to be transacted at the 1839 meeting; many of which, from the general inaccuracy of the published report, will, perhaps, not meet the public eye in any other way.]

The Lions of the day from all parts of the world are pledged to be present, among others those of Mr. Van Amburgh. The man with the goats and monkeys as yet sticks out for terms. Miss Amany Amal and sisters will remain in this country, and attend, by permission from the Adelphi, to communicate their interesting discoveries in Indian Toe-pography. The president of the Nose-all-ogical Society will be engaged, as also Grace Darling, if not too dear.

A Deputation from the Female Temperance Society will wait on the section devoted to the investigation of mesmerism, to know if they may take infinitesimal doses of brandy in their tea; and the section of moral science will be requested, for the satisfaction of the scrupulous, to state whether persons who abjure gin, rum, and brandy, because they do not like them, are, therefore, fit members of a temperance society.

Professor Murphy will announce his discovery of the real philosopher's stone, by which he will prove to them the possibility of converting all sorts of rubbish into gold. It is intended to present to him the freedom of the town in a brass snuff-box.

Dr. Crow will read a paper on the sagacity of rooks, in which he will propound and defend the extraordinary conjecture that they never make a noise without caws.

A Deputation from the Fellows of the Zoological Society will attend, to request the Homœopathic section to devise some means for the application of animal magnetism to the purpose of drawing more visitors to the menagerie. Many of the public, it seems, are cured of their wish for seeing "by smelling only;" and as it is supposed that the council "nose" all about it, they will now begin to vent-too-late.

Mr. Owen will attempt to explain his plans for getting rid of old discord by the establishment of New Harmony, and his peculiar notions of the preservation of peace, by the disposal of the ladies on the circulating library principle. Should he prove unable to make his views clear, either to his auditors or himself, he will finish with a catalogue of his own perfections, accompanied on the trumpet stop of the town organ.

Mrs. Graham and her husband will cause to be read to the meeting a paper, detailing numerous experiments, all tending to prove that it is a popular fallacy to suppose that balloons have a tendency to rise in the air.

Mr. Curtis will exhibit his celebrated acoustic chair, and explain its capabilities. He will display the gold medal presented to him by Government for the loan of it during the last year, and will show how a foreign or colonial secretary may slumber in it from morn till night, and yet hear what is going on all over the world. Mr. Curtis will further develope, by experiments on all who choose to try, its amazing property, by which a gentleman has only to sit in the chair, and appear to sleep, when he will be astonished to hear what all the world says of him.

Mr. Serjeant Talfourd will read a paper on the wrongs of authors, and instance many affecting cases in which, after having been allowed to live in splendour for a few years, they have been so reduced, by the illiberality of the trade and the ingratitude of the public, as to actually want a bottle of Champagne. He will illustrate the state of civil degradation to which they are reduced by the fact that at one of his literary dinners, a gentleman who had laboured in the Grub Street line all his life, actually did not know the names of some of the dishes set before him. Mr. Babbage will follow, with calculations produced by his machine, proving that every book is profitable, and that booksellers have neither rent, taxes, stock, nor bad debts to trouble them. He will allude to the fact of a West-end publisher having lately retired with a competence, and will suggest the propriety of a special meeting to inquire into the circumstances of such an atrocity. He will be supported by Captain Ross, who, however, will not state that author-ship is the worst vessel in which he ever put to sea.

Professor Fang, of Manchester, will present an interesting series of tests for ascertaining the existence of the vital principle in Factory children after they drop; and will suggest various novel stimulants when the billy roller has ceased to be effective. He will point out the evil of legislating on the subject of their ages, of which he will show the impossibility of obtaining the requisite proofs, arising from that beautiful economy of nature which bestows nothing in vain, and, therefore, withholds from them the usual supply of teeth, seeing that they have no time to use them.

Dr. Doubledose will communicate some interesting discoveries in the science of taw-tology, illustrated with real marbles. All the town's boys will be allowed to stand at this sitting.

Many other elaborate papers will be read to the various sections; but, as they will generally be about nothing, it is considered that they need trouble nobody.

Mrs. Williams, of the Old Bailey, will attend, for the accommodation of the visitors, with a copious supply of pewter plates, two-pronged forks, and handsome waiting maids; and a constant succession of buttocks and flanks, hot and hot, will be received by every train from Euston Square.

The inhabitants of the town are determined to shew their hospitality to the illustrious strangers they expect, and all the bachelors of arts and unmarried professors will be warmly welcomed at the houses of the single ladies.

1839.] AUGUST.

1. Abolition of Negro Slavery, 1834; of Negro Apprenticeship, 1838.

St. Swithin at his post.

CHESS.—"BLACK MOVES AND WINS."

Dozing in his easy chair,
Round his nose mosquitoes flitting,
Sweltering in the sunny air,
Was Nine-tail Joe of Kingston sitting.
Now Nine-tailed Joe loved cheerfulness,
And he chanced in a pleasant mood to be,
So he flogged his niggers, and played at chess,
And drank a full jorum of Sangaree.
What can be the matter with flogging Joe?
His eyes are rolling to and fro,
And he rubs his nose with his finger and thumb,
And gasps to speak, like one that is dumb.
The forms that lately were pawns and knights,
And bishops, and queens, and kings,
Were reeling and wheeling, like so many sprites,
Or other unearthly things.
And beings all fearfully black were there,
And they roll'd their eyes at Joe,
And wildly flourished the cat in air,
And danced to "Jump Jim Crow."
Before them fled both bishop and knight,
While pawn and king were seen
Rolling and tumbling, in awful plight,—
Decorum was gone, and they fled outright,—
And surely it was a most terrible sight
When the bishop fell over the queen.
With burning head and aching heart,
Up from his chair did the planter start:
But the vision had fled, and there, instead
Of dancing niggers' furious tread,
Was seen the Bill, the dreadful Bill,
The Whiggish Act of Slavery,
That made him rich against his will,
And stopped him in his knavery.
——————
The planter's dream doth plainly seem
To point a moral deep:
If you choose to whack a nigger's back,
You should never go to sleep.