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

THE
COMIC ALMANACK
For 1836.

PROCLAMATION.

Whereas some evil-minded folks,
It ill becomes to crack such jokes,
Have made a most unseemly rout,
By spreading false reports about,
That Francis Moore, the fam'd Physician,
Is still alive, in sound condition;
And all we said about his dying,
Last year, was nothing else but lying;
Our gravity was all a hoax,—
Our sober sayings only jokes—
'Twas but a trick to gain his pelf,
And lay the Conj'ror on the shelf,
That he might be as much forgotten
As tho' in earnest dead and rotten;
And thereby fill with consternation
The ancient female population.
To prove this true, they say that Moore,
Who, they assert, is not "NO MORE,"
Gives out predictions quite as clever,
And full of sense and truth,—as ever!
Shade of the mighty Seer! look down,
And blast the wretches with thy frown!
Thou know'st on us thy mantle fell;
Thou know'st, too, that it fits us well.

But baser caitiffs go much further,
And tax us with committing murther!
They swear we burst into his room,
And quickly seal'd his dreadful doom;
For that we hocuss'd first his drink,
Then poison'd him with writing ink;
And having thrown him on the floor,
We basely burk'd the gracious Moore!

They vow we did this bloody deed
That we might to his fame succeed;
But good, they say, can't come of ill,
For let us do whate'er we will,
We never shall,—and that is plain,—
The fools or the old women gain.

Now, to confirm this idle talk,
They swear they've seen his spectre walk;
And that he's got a strange vagary,
At times, to be quite Stationary,
And haunt a certain place, where he
Affects Old Women's Company,
Who, spite of all we've sung or said,
Cannot believe that he is dead,
But to persuade themselves they try
That Francis Moore can never die!

Now, having gather'd facts like these
(Enough to cause one's blood to freeze),
We've issued forth this Proclamation
To all the lieges of the nation,
(Surmounted by Moore's arms and crest,
Of which by right we've 'come possest,)
To seize the knave, and maul him sore,
Who passes off for Francis Moore;
(That is, if any such there be,
Of which we're much in dubity)
For Francis Moore, whom we succeed,
Is very—very dead, indeed.

But should it prove a real ghost,
Who, with a Fool's-cap, takes his Post,
To grasp the Crown we've fairly got,
We warn him he shall go to Pot,
And in the Red Sea soon be laid;
Or to his warm berth posted back,
Where he'll be hotpress'd in a crack,
Unless his exit's quickly made;
For none but nincompoops and fools
Let "dead men push them from their stools."

(Signed) Rigdum Funnidos.

JANUARY.			[1836.

		"Kind Reader!" (as old Francis always said,)
		Beware of counterfeits, for Frank is dead;
		Some Quack survives—physician—if he will,
		To swallow, of our physic, many a pill.
		We'll spread the caustic 'midst the town's applause,
		And thank the public that the blister draws.
M	Season's	Odd Matters.	WEATHER.
D	Signs.
1	When it
			My
2	freezes	"HARD FROST."
			profound
3	and	The day is clear, the frost is hard,—
		I very much incline,
4	blows	As I'm a dab, to have a skate	△ ⚹ ☉
		Upon the Serpentine.
5	take
		There's Mr. Tait,—he cuts an eight;	prognostifications
6	care of	He cannot cut a nine;
		And I could cut as good a figure
7	your	On the Serpentine.	of the

8	nose	I hate the eight of Mr. Tait,
		For he's no friend of mine;	weather
9	that it	He used me once so ungenteely
		On the Serpentine.
10	doesn't
		For in the tête of Mr. Tait	☿ △ ♂ ☉ ⚹
11	get	There harbour'd a design,
		To break the ice with Sophy Price	for
12	froze	Upon the Serpentine.
			the past
13	and	He cut in there, and cut me out
		Of my sweet Valentine,	year
14	wrap up	Which cut quite cut me to the heart,
		Upon the Serpentine.
15	your
		She cut me, while I thought that I	□ ☌ ⚹ ☉
16	toes in	Was cutting such a shine,
		By cutting out her pretty name	have all
17	warm	Upon the Serpentine.
			proved
18	worsted	So, Billy, bring my polish'd skates,—
		My love I wont resign;	so correct,
19	hose.	She meets her knight, I know, to-day,
		Upon the Serpentine.
20	At
		And if my sweet wont follow suite,	□ ♄
21	night	But still my suit decline,
		The thaw I'll wait, to seal my fate,	□ ☿ ♄ △ ♂
22	ere you	All in the Serpentine.
			and
23	slip
			I have
24	into

25	bed
			☉ □ △
26	you
			herein,
27	may
			as well as
28	sip a

29	can of
			☍ ☌ △ ♄
30	good
			in all
31	flip.

JANUARY.—"Hard Frost."

SLANGOLOGY.

"With many holiday and court-like phrase—"

Shakespeare's Henry IV., Part I.

Miss Arabella Wilhelmina Wiggins is the pattern of gentility:
She never utters vulgar words, but talks just like nobility.
I met her at Vauxhall, last year, and she gave me a sad relation
About Miss Briggs: I recollect it every word;—but here's her own narration:
"Oh, dear! my dear Miss Popkins! have you heard what befel Miss B.?
(I wish, Papa, you'd get up to snuff the lights; one can hardly see:
Oh, la! you've made 'em flare up so, I declare we are quite in a blaze:
And, bless me! there's all the people staring at us, all in amaze!)
I'll tell you, while Papa is taking his punch; his pipkin he calls the bowl,
(You make yourself scarce any punch at home, Papa; so I suppose you'll drink the whole).
I'm sure he will, Miss P.; and even then he wont have quench'd his drouth.
(I really wonder, Pa', how you can pour so much punch down in the mouth.)
But how I rattle on! quite forgetting all about Miss B.
You must know we were on a visit at a country cousin's; and after tea
We stroll'd about with Mr. Timbs, and Mr. Figgins, and Mr. Oddy;—
I declare there he goes with his eye out-staring every body.
Poor fellow! he has but one, for the other's made of glass;
'Twas a sad accident; and I'll tell you how it came to pass:—
One night, he went out rabbit-shooting; the moon was shining bright;
His gun was overloaded and bursted; and so one eye lost its sight.
Well, Miss Briggs is a very bold girl; as bold a girl as one knows;
And as we were walking along, the laundress caught my eye; and
'Betty Martin,' says Miss B., 'where do you hang out your clothes?'
She came to a well after that; and, really, I am almost ashamed to tell,
But, upon my word, she behav'd exceedingly ill about that well.
She began to kick the bucket; and to a man who was chopping down a tree,
She said: 'What are you with that axe about?' which was very rude indeed of Miss B.;
And when he left off chopping, she said, 'Why don't you cut your stick?'
The man was just then chopping a piece of wood that was thick.
Now this made him quite confus'd; and in his hurry his skill to show off,
He made a slip with his axe, and chopped poor Miss Brigg's little toe off.
The shock gave me such a terrible pain all over my eyes and limbs,
That I really should have fainted, if it hadn't been for that dear Mr. Timbs.
Poor Frederick Figgins was so affected that I vow he began to cry;
I'm sure he did, for I was close to him, and I saw a drop in his eye.
He's a nice young man; and I shouldn't wonder if he soon married Miss Briggs:
Her father is a coarsish man, and says he shall, please the pigs.
He wasn't very gracious, tho', at first, to Mr. Figgins;
For when he ask'd his consent, he said to him (I had the whole story from Mr. Higgins)
'How are you off? for soap and candles, and such-like, got me all my money;
And for my daughter to marry a poor man wouldn't be vastly funny.
How's your mother left you; or have you your fortune to get?
If you have I wish you may get it soon; but I can't let you marry Miss Bet;
But while I'm describing his bluntness, I'm wand'ring away from my point.
The limbs of my relation are indeed terribly out of joint.
Well, Mr. Figgins help'd Miss B. home to hop: the twig, which happen'd to lay across her foot,
Sav'd her other toes, to be sure, but there was a terrible large gash in her boot.
But poor Mr. F.! how he fretted! his fat cheeks than a mummy's were thinner;
He never could eat any breakfast, and seldom could eat any dinner.
His eyes were once bright as a star: the glaze on them now was quite ghostly;
A cloud seem'd to darken his day—lightsome and gay he'd been mostly.
A party he join'd at Vauxhall; but its gaieties fail'd to delight him:
He did nothing but swallow rack-punch; as to eating, 'twas vain to invite him.
He call'd to his friend: 'Jemmy Johnson, squeeze me a lemon;' and turning to me then,
He said, in a voice that quite shock'd me, and looking as wild as a heathen:
'My spirits I cannot keep up; your pluck'd flowers droop slower than I do;
I'm sure that I make no mistake,—my fate will be that of poor Dido.'
(I declare I am talking pentameters; quite forgetting you're not a Blue Stocking;
But that I am sure you'll excuse.)—Well, isn't the story quite shocking?
Miss Briggs, tho', got quite well at last; to the dolefuls he bade adieu quickly;
Yet a long while he talk'd of her death, though he no longer look'd mournful and sickly.
'All round my hat, while I liv'd,' he said, 'a crape hatband I should have worn,—
A shocking bad hat, to be sure; but just fit for a lover forlorn.
Think what would have been my despair, with no consolation to go to!
But tho' I have not lost her quite, yet, alas! I have lost her in toe-toe.'"

Paragraphs Extraordinary.

[Advertisement.]—We never admit puffs into our paper in any disguise or under any circumstances, for we are sure that "the man who would make" a puff "would pick a pocket." It is a love for veracity alone that induces us to state, that Monsieur Charlatan's TUSKOLATUM MYSTIFICATUM for renewing decayed TEETH is the most wonderful and surprisingly efficacious invention ever invented. How will those ancient maidens rejoice, who have only a colt's tooth in their heads, when they are told, that by sowing this panacea in their gums overnight, a fine crop of full-grown grinders will sprout up by the following morning! We speak from our own experience; and whereas, before we used this extraordinary invention, our great anxiety was how to get teeth for our food, the only matter that now troubles us is how to get food for our teeth.

Accidents.—We are happy to state that there is a great diminution in the number of accidents in the past week. Only 250 persons have been drowned by steam-boats; 320 women and children burnt to death by their clothes catching fire; 560 run over by omnibusses and cabs; 252 poisoned by taking oxalic acid instead of salts; 360 scalded to death by the bursting of steam-boilers; 200 blown to atoms by the explosion of powder-mills; and about 100—there or thereabouts—stabbed by drunken soldiers, off duty; all which evinces a great increase of vigilance, carefulness, and humanity, highly creditable to all parties concerned.

FEBRUARY.—"Transfer Day at the Bank."

1836.]		FEBRUARY.

		Look, Mrs. B——, what a crowd I see,
		And the bells they make such a clatter;
		And the people run, and I hear a gun!
		Whatever can be the matter?

		Mrs. C——, my dear, it's no good, I fear,
		For us honest women and our spouses,
		For the people say, the King's going to-day,
		To open two very bad houses.
M	Season's	Odd Matters.	WEATHER.
D	Signs.
1	In

2	this	"TRANSFER DAY."	other

3	gay	As I was walking past the Bank,	matters,
		(I know not why I stroll'd that way,)
4	month	I saw a lady tall and lank,	☽ ☍
		With golden ringlets mix'd with grey;
5	I	And as she tripp'd, or strove to trip,	☋ ♅ ♑ ♎ ⚹
		Adown the steps, so light and gay,
6	would	The greasy granite made her slip,	so
		And down she fell on Transfer Day.
7	not		worthily
		I rais'd her up with gallant air;
8	choose	For I'm a Major on half-pay,	stepped
		Who only live to serve the fair,
9	to	At any time, in any way:
		And while she blush'd a purple hue,
10	walk	Her eyes obliquely shot a ray,	♃ ☉ ♐ ♋ ♉
		Which seem'd to say, "You will not rue
11	the	Your service on a Transfer Day."	into the

12	streets	And while the glance she threw at me	shoes of my
		Was thro' my heart a-making way;
13	in	I straight began a colloquy,
		And to myself I thus did say:
14	dancing	If tradesmen, when their bills they bring,
		Would be contented with half-pay;	♊ ☿ ⚹
15	shoes	I'd soar aloft on freedom's wing,
		Nor care a rush for Transfer Day.	renowned
16	nor
		But needy men the needful need;
17	would	So, spite of ringlets golden grey,
		And eyes that squint, I'll take the hint,	☍ ☿
18	I	Nor throw the lucky chance away.
		Full soon I found—ah! pleasing sound!—	predecessor,
19	for	With wealth she could my love repay;
		No longer mute, I urg'd my suit,
20	the	Upon that very Transfer Day.
			♀ ♂ ☿
21	world	I leave untold our courtship fond:—
		I made her Mrs. Major Cox;	the great
22	be	And in return for Hymen's bond,
		She kindly placed me in the stocks.	FRANCIS
23	seen	Her heart is good, her temper mild;
		She rules with more than sov'reign sway;	MOORE,
24	to	Nor have I thought myself beguil'd,
		Or once regretted Transfer Day.	Defunct,
25	trip

26	along
			♊ ☌ ⊕ ♓
27	in
			which shoes,
28	light
			by-the-bye,
29	nankeen.

Humbuggum Ass-trologicum, pro Anno 1836.

VOX MULTORUM, VOX STULTORUM: the Voice of the Many is the Voice of a Zany.—It brawleth at all Places and Seasons.

Courteous Reader,

I DO herewith, present thee with an hieroglyphic, after the accustomed usage of my lamented precursor and prototype, Francis Moore, defunct. It prefigureth a mighty change now lying in the womb of futurity, and which doubtless will be brought forth in due season by the great man-midwife, Time.

And now do I most entreatingly invite thee to cast a Parthian glance at my foregone prophetic lucubrations, and especially towards that symbolical prefiguration or hieroglyphic, by which I brightly shadowed forth a certain notable event, the fulfilment whereof did so closely follow the heels of the prediction as to cause the multitude to marvel;—and when thou hast sufficiently pondered thereupon, I would ask thee whether thou dost not in verity deem me a fit and worthy successor of the renowned Francis Moore, defunct?

I do thus throw myself on thy candour, because certain of mine adversaries do most unworthily insinuate, that my astrological skill is stark naught; that I hold no correspondence with the stars; that I am no more acquainted with the Great Bear than with the Great Mogul; that I gather no signs of the Times from the signs of the Zodiac; and, in brief, that I am no conjuror! My only familiar, they affirm, is a little, insignificant, diminutive thing, called Common Sense, whose aid any one may have if he chooses; that the said Common Sense collects together certain things called Past Events, with which he compares Present Appearances, and they help him to Future Probabilities; they are then put into the crucible of Ordinary Judgment; and my sagacious and veracious prophecies and hieroglyphics are the result of this simple alchemy!

Candid Reader! Let thine own discretion decide, whether logical judgment or astro-logical fudgement be the art which influenceth my lucubrations.

INVITATION OF "THE SELECT"
To
Bartholomew Fair.

Come, buffers and duffers, and dashers and smashers,
Come, tag, rag, and bobtail, attend to my call;
Ye pickpockets, sally from court, lane, and alley,
The Lord Mayor in person has open'd the ball.
Come, Billingsgate sinners, and cat and dog skinners,
And play up a game to make Decency stare:
A fig for propriety, sense, and sobriety!
They never were known at fam'd Bartlemy Fair.

Come, nightmen and dustmen, and rovers and drovers;
Come, Whitechapel butchers, and join in the throng!
With marrow-bones and cleavers, delight the coal-heavers,
While broken-nose Billy shall snuffle a song.
Ye lazy mechanics, who dearly love one day,
For wives and for children who never know care;
Who reckon Saint Monday more holy than Sunday,
Come and spend all your earnings at Bartlemy Fair.

Ye wives and ye widows! here's plenty of bidders;
Come hither, and each get a swain for herself;
To deck yourselves gaily, and grace the Old Bailey,
The pawnbrokers' shops will lend plenty of pelf.
Ye youth of the city! ye servant-maids pretty!
Ye unmarried damsels with characters rare!
Come here and be jolly, for virtue's a folly;
So, come and be ruin'd at Bartlemy Fair.

MARCH.			[1836.

		Some ready cash Dick wants to borrow
		About this time—perhaps for rent;
		But like most folks, he finds with sorrow
		He's just too late—it's always Lent.
M	Season's	Odd Matters.	WEATHER.
D	Signs.
1	Blowing

2	growing	"DAY AND NIGHT EQUAL."	although

3	here's a	'Tis Six o'Clock;—and now the Sun	☊ ♅ ♌ ♑
		His daily course begins to run;
4	clatter!	While Folly's children slink away,	somewhat
		Like bats who dread the glare of day,
5	what the	From Masquerade or Fancy Ball,	clumsy
		Where pleasure reign'd in Fashion's Hall;
6	deuce	And sneak along, like guilty creatures,
		With tir'd limbs and haggard features.
7	can be		♄ ☉ ♊ ♃ ☌
		The sons of toil, as they come near 'em,
8	the	With coarse-spun jokes begin to jeer 'em;	withal,
		While, au contraire, each motley hero,
9	matter?	Whose wit is now far under zero,
		With 'not a gibe to mock their grinning,'
10	tiles	Has but a sorry chance of winning.	♏ ♐ ♀ ♎

11	and	The Clown, with phiz so dull and sad,	do fit me
		Looks grave as Ghost of Hamlet's Dad;
12	chimney	And Falstaff, now he's lost his stuffing,	with
		Looks lean as lath, and pale as muffin;
13	pots	While Harlequin, half muzz'd with wine,	marvellous
		Don't care a rush for Columbine,
14	come	But leaves her, like a careless loon,	accuracy:
		To draggle home with Pantaloon;
15	down	And Romeo, with empty purse,
		Abandons Juliet to her nurse.
16	and pay		♂ ♌ ♓ ♄ ♑
		The child of labour, when he sees
17	their	Such silly spectacles as these,—	for these
		How dissipation is repented,—
18	duty	May with his station be contented;	reasons,
		For mete them both with equal measure,
19	to the	He'll find the hardest toil is pleasure.	I say,

20	crown,

21	while		♓ ☊

22	surly		it behoveth

23	north		me to

24	usurps

25	the
			♓ ♌ ♄ ☌ ☊
26	south
			be tender
27	and
			of my
28	makes a

29	dusthole
			☉ ☿ ♂ ☽
30	of your

31	mouth		♂ ♊ ☿ ☽