The Comic Almanack, Volume 2 / An Ephemeris in Jest and Earnest, Containing Merry Tales, Humerous Poetry, Quips, and Oddities

A very curious creature, unknown hitherto to the philosophy of Monkeydom, has been lately brought to this city, and is now to be seen at the Zoological Gardens. The stranger has been examined by the most learned citizens of Ouran-outan Town, and particularly by the President and Scientific Committee of the Society for the Promulgation of Unintelligible Knowledge; but opinion is divided as to his probable genus, race, and species. It is confidently stated, however, that he shows symptoms of belonging to a debased and degenerated breed of some savage Ouran-outan race, who, cut off from civilization and refinement, offer now a humiliating example of what a monkey may come to. The conjecture is supported by a sort of unintelligible jargon uttered by the animal. He frequently repeats sounds which may be spelt thus—"johnsmithstrandlondon;" and "dammeifthesemonkeychapsdontthinkthey'remen;" but upon no possible rules of philological philosophy can the meaning (if, indeed, it have any) of this gabble be ascertained. The animal, when captured by a hunting party from Ape Valley, was covered in a most ludicrous and absurd manner, by pieces of cloth cut into barbarous shapes, and presenting a sad instance of the utter negation of all rules of taste and propriety. He is believed not to have any natural tail, and so conscious is he of the want that he seems to have fashioned two cloth artificial ones, in which, by a strange and savage ingenuity, are placed (or misplaced) pouches, or holes—to be used, it is conjectured, for hiding his young ones. The animal, when taken, made no resistance, but seemed considerably surprised, and repeatedly uttered a sound like "monkeyshaveme," or "monkeysgotme," opinions are divided as to which; afterwards he looked steadily at his captors and distinctly pronounced "sichalotoguys," the apparent spelling of which was taken down on the spot.

Since its arrival at the Zoological Gardens the animal has manifested signs of decided intelligence. Meat having been set before him, instead of eating it like a civilized Ouran-outan with his paws, he produced, from some of his pouches, two strange instruments, one of a cutting nature, the other furnished with prongs, by means of which he divided the morsels and raised them to his mouth. After feeding he now walks round the company upon his hind legs, in the manner of a rational being; and were it not for his absurd clothes, his habits of rubbing or brushing his hair, washing his face, never biting nor kicking, and especially were it not for a sort of chimney-pot which he wears upon his head, many Ouran-outans would really be inclined to think of him as approaching, in some degree, to the verge of a dim and cloudy rationality. At all events the creature is a matter of enlightened curiosity, and we understand is likely to form one of the main attractions at the approaching Exhibition of the Want of Industry of Monkeys of all Nations.

July 25th.—Determined to ascend the Jung-Frau mountain, which is totally inaccessible and impossible to climb. Difficulties only add fuel to the fire of a Briton's determination. Was asked what I should do when I got to the top. Replied, come down again. That's what everybody does who goes up high hills. Engaged guides, porters, &c. Provided ourselves with necessaries, such as ladders, umbrellas, skates for the glaciers, ropes, brandy, camp stools, &c., and started. Quite a sensation in the village. Landlord of hotel with tears in his eyes asked me to pay my bill before I went. Didn't. Began the ascent; ground became steepish, as may be seen by the illustration. Hard work. Suppose such a gradient would puzzle Mr. Stephenson. Talking of Stephenson, the whole party, puffing and blowing like so many locomotives. Pulled out our camp-stools and tried to sit down on them. Ground so steep that we all lost our balance, and tumbled down to the bottom of the slope. Never mind. Gathered ourselves up, and at it again. Recovered our former position, and getting higher, found the slope still more excessive. In fact, it was a wonder to me how we managed it at all. Approached the glacier region, and found it rather softish. Unpleasant consequence of which is that the whole of our party sink up to the neck in half-melted sludge.

Scrambling out again with much ado, we feel chilly, and refresh with brandy. Being apprehensive of the ava-lanches, we keep a sharp look-out and dodge them. At one time six huge masses of moving snow fell together, but we watch our chance and slip between them with the greatest dexterity.

Next danger a really dreadful one. Arrive at a fearful precipice, the edge very much overhanging the base, so that it formed a species of cave. Called a council of war. Council of war were for going home again. Rebuked them, and pointing to rough edges of rock, proposed to try to crawl to summit. Set to work accordingly. Dangerous business, but succeeded. On the top of this tremendous cliff, discovered a vast chasm or crevice, which appeared to bar all further progress. Guides in despair. Much too wide to jump. Looked down. Crevice did not appear to have any bottom in particular. Called another council of war, and at the same moment a violent squall of wind and snow sweeping by, put up my umbrella, when, horrible to relate, the storm caught it, and lifted me into the air; the principal guide, who caught my leg, being carried up also, and in a moment we were hurried, in the very thick of the squall, and deafened by its howling, across the abyss, and landed on the further bank. The guides on the other side now flung across the rope, which we caught, and fastened to a rock, and one of their number, unfortunately the heaviest, proceeded to come across. The remaining two, however, not having strength to support his weight, he fairly pulled them into the crevice, so that we were obliged to drag up the whole three. Found that we were now not far from the summit. Saw it before us rising in a sharp peak against the blue sky. More of the steep slope work. Guides at last become so dreadfully exhausted, that I have to drag up the whole four. Terribly hard work. Nothing but my splendid muscular development would have enabled me to go through with it. Ice decidedly too rough for skating over, as may be seen by the following diagram.

Close to the summit, when another dreadful crevice with a high rock on the opposite side threatens to stop our progress. Surmounted the difficulty by a daring gymnastic feat, performed as follows:—Standing on each other's shoulders, the lowest man let his body incline over the cliff, so that I, as highest, reached the edge of the opposite side, and made fast the rope to a projection in the rock.

Thus we happily got over, and in half an hour reached the extreme peak of the Jung-Frau, where we clustered together, and gave three British cheers, while half a dozen eagles flew round and round us.

Had no time to make scientific experiments; but ascertained that the strength of alcohol is not diminished in any sensible degree by the extreme rarefaction of the air at great heights. I subjoin a telescopic view of mountain scenery, as it appeared through my double-barrelled lorgnette. N.B. I squint.

Having got up, prepared to go down again, an operation which was performed in a much quicker style than the other. Started down a slippery slope, and missing our footing, and not being able to stop ourselves, proceeded in this manner, down at least 2000 feet, before we were brought up by a ridge of rocks, composed of uncommonly hard granite, against which we rebounded like footballs. Up, however, and at it again. Came to another difficulty; found ourselves in a dreadful gully or ravine, with no sort of exit but a narrow cleft, down which poured a tremendous cataract, into an awful black and foaming pool 500 feet below. There was nothing for it but to fling ourselves into the torrent, allow ourselves to go over the waterfall, and take our chance in the cauldron—which we did, in the manner shown in cut. The exploit was quite dreadful, from the roar of the water, and the speed with which we were hurled through the air, and soused at least 100 fathoms (for I counted them) into the pool below, where, after we had reached the surface, we were whirled about for at least an hour and a quarter before we managed to emerge. Found the experience I had picked up in the Holborn swimming baths of little avail in descending this cataract, but was only too happy to escape at any price. The rest of the journey was comparatively easy, owing to a very happy thought of mine. Happening to see a roundish-shaped avalanche roll past, remembered the globe tricks in the circus, where Signor Sadustini kept his balance on a big wooden ball going down an inclined plane. Communicated the notion to guides, waited for the next avalanche, jumped on it as it passed, and went down like winking, always keeping our places upon the top of the ball, which gradually increased to such a size, that it carried off several châlets beneath us. But that, of course, we had nothing to do with; keeping our places as well as Sadustini himself, until the huge snowball came to a full stop in the midst of a pine forest, where we clambered out of the snow, and after several hours' hard walking, reached the village, where we were greeted by a deputation of the authorities, headed by the hotel-keeper holding my bill in his hand, who delivered an address of congratulation, and inquired when it would be convenient for me to settle. Postponing, however, considerations of business to those of festivity, a romantic rural fête was got up in honour of our return. The happy peasantry poured in from all sides, singing, "Come arouse us, arouse us, we merry Swiss boys." The notary had a table in the corner, which is always usual. The Seigneur du Village and his lady sat on a rustic throne. All the peasants had jerkins and breeches, and bright stockings, with lots of ribands, and all the peasantesses had short muslin petticoats and pink satin shoes. Choosing then, as a partner, the loveliest and the most virtuous—I was particular about the last—I opened the ball.

The ladies are about to turn over a new leaf, a leaf in the matter of costume, unprecedented since the days of the fig leaf. Petticoats are to join hoops and farthingales; and long skirts, having long swept all before them, are now, in their turn, to be swept into the limbo of all the vanities.

Of course, now, breeches, trowsers, and all their synonymes, will no longer be forbidden words. The tribes of the "unmentionables" and the "unwhisperables" have had their day. We observe, however, that certain pretty modifications of the original terms are recommended, and we are told to choose between "Pantilettes and Pettiloons". But why not call the objects in question "trowser-ettos", or, if an Americanized phrase be thought appropriate, "limb envelopers" or "understanding swathers," might be advantageously adopted.

It is, of course, to be anticipated that the reformed costume will spread upwards, as well as downwards, in society; giving us an opportunity of reading, on the morrow of the first ensuing drawing-room day, that "Her ladyship wore a splendid pair of loud satin pants, of deep purple, with a double broad yellow stripe running down the leg, and new patent elastic straps, tastefully embroidered with gold." At the same time, as it is inherent in the nature of things, that pantaloons have to be kept up at the waist as well as down at the ankle, we shall expect to see advertised "The ne plus ultra ladies' braces," and the "Better than new plus ultra feminine suspenders."

One dreadful question remains unsolved: it looms upon us as we approach it, and the nerveless pen splutters in the nib. However, we will make the effort, and state the problem: Given—a horse, and a lady about to ride it. The lady is in Bloomer costume—the horse fully caparisoned for a lady in Bloomer costume. Query: Will the horse have two stirrups; one on the near side, the other on the off?

What the parks and public gardens will be we have confidently and fearlessly set forth. The mothers, daughters, grand-aunts, second-cousins, and great-grand-nieces of England, may be expected, one and all, to abjure the ancient faith of furbelows and flounces. Cedunt arma togæ, says our old Latin grammar, which literally translated, means, "Arms yield to the gown;" but now the gown has had its day, and in its turn, yields—not to arms, however, but to legs. Long was the reign of the proverbialized petticoat; but, like the speech of a prosy orator, it has been interrupted by the imperative cry of "cut it short."

Still we will not complain, even though Bloomerism may take a step still further, may aspire to Hessians with tassels, may dare to sport tops. For, as was sagely remarked by the American editor "Why, if female society be pronounced a humanizing agency, should we not endeavour to see as much of the ladies as possible?"

A brilliant victory has just been achieved by the troops of General Concord, Commander-in-Sheaf over a formidable field—not, however, of artillery, but of wheat. The enemy—i.e., the wheat, was very thickly planted on the ground, there being hardly room, indeed, amongst the heads for the insertion of another ear; and upon the approach of General Concord and his forces, immediate measures were taken for the attack. The Commander-in-Sheaf drew up his army in three lines: the first consisting of several brigades of the gallant Sickle-eers, supported by flanking parties of the Reaping-hook Light Bobs, and a strong detachment of regular and irregular Rakers. Behind, and designed to support this division, were the two celebrated brigades of Light and Heavy Binders. In the rear were disposed a powerful body of the Royal Horse Harvest Wagoneers. Scattered bodies of Foot Gleaners were dispersed here and there, and the refreshment of the forces was amply provided for by a perfect battalion of suttlers and vivandières, who, with the most cool and heroic courage, penetrated into those parts of the field where the enemy was falling fastest, with eatables and drinkables for the forces. So certain, also, was the Commander-in-Sheaf of victory, that he caused hospital accommodation, in the shape of barns and granaries, to be erected for the cut-down masses of the enemy, who were conveyed thither by the gallant Wagoneers.

The battle commenced at sunrise, by a combined attack from the Sickle-eers and Reaping-hook Light Bobs. The effect was tremendous. The enemy could not stand a moment before the sweep of our forces, who penetrated slowly but surely into their dense ranks, mowing them down by thousands. All this time the Light and Heavy Binders supported their comrades with the greatest efficiency and effect; and the Rakers, regular and irregular, performed prodigies of valour. Indeed, the coolness of the troops, in one sense was as remarkable as their heat in another. Every movement was performed with unflinching steadiness, and not a man fell (by tripping over a rake) but his comrade stepped into his place (until he got up again). The Binders also distinguished themselves by their discipline; and the order, "Form Sheafs! Prepare to receive Harvest Carts!" was regularly obeyed with splendid promptitude. The fate of the day became speedily evident. The Corn made no resistance worth mentioning, but it certainly stood up with great pluck to be cut down; and by the direction of the Commander-in-Sheaf, was carried to the receptacles provided for the disposal of a brave enemy, with all the honours of the harvest field.

By sundown the victory was complete. Not an individual of the enemy held his head erect. On our side there was a terrible effusion of perspiration, and a great quantity of provisions and drink were reported missing; but on the whole the Battle of the Harvest Field may be considered as one of the most advantageous victories ever won.

A truly affecting copy of verses, made by a British Tar in Spit-head last August, and corked up in a bottle, floated to the end of the Herne Bay Pier last week. The bottle was speedily uncorked, in a vague expectation of Cognac; but the finders, discovering that the only spirit which it contained was the spirit of the verses, magnanimously surrendered the whole to the board of Admiralty, as justly and legally appertaining to that body. The Board, having sat upon the bottle (and broken it), rose as soon as possible after instructing the First Lord to transmit to us the poetry, with a polite note, stating how they had come by it, and lamenting that the poet should have so obstinately adhered to his peculiar mode of spelling the word "Yacht."

MODES OF ADDRESSING PERSONS OF
VARIOUS RANKS.
(By Our Fast Professor.)

A Duke, or other Titled Person. "Now, old Strawberry-Leaves;" or, as the case may be. An Earl carries Five Balls, and a Baronet a Bloody Hand, which naturally points out the mode of addressing the bearers. A Bishop is gratified by being addressed as "Old Shirt-Sleeves." If the ecclesiastic wears spectacles, it is de rigueur to add, facetiously, that you observe his is not a "See Sharp." An Archdeacon you will, of course, call "Archy;" and a Rural Dean you will address as "My Rustic." The Clergy, as a body, you will speak of as the "White Chokers." The Lay Aristocracy are simply styled "The Nobs." Attention to this rule is requested. An irreverent young reporter (from Ireland) having recently incautiously asked an official of the House of Lords "who that Buffer was?" (indicating a nobleman who was speaking,) was solemnly answered: "Sir, we have no Buffers here; they are all Peers of the Realm."

A Police Magistrate. Before you are fined—"My Lord;" "Your Worship;" "Your Reverence;" "Your Excellency;" "Your Majesty;" or whatever title of honour comes readiest to your tongue. After Justice has done her worst, you will merely allude to your enemy as the "Beak."

Your Father. Speaking to him, say, "Guvnor," or "Old Strike-a-Light;" of him, "The Old 'Un."

A Tradesman. Your address in this case will depend upon the state of accounts between yourself and the party spoken to; but an easy familiarity should generally be preserved; and it is a good rule, if you wish to please a tradesman, to call him by a name, or make some allusion, derived from the trickery of his particular trade. A Grocer you will call "Young Chicory;" or, if a female, "Mrs. Beans." A Sausage Vendor's shop you will enter playfully imitating the cry of the itinerant merchant who supplies daily food to the canine and feline menial. And a Woollen Draper you should salute with, "Well, Devil's Dust."

The Waitress at a Restaurateur's, or elsewhere. "Mary, my love, my only angel, come here;" "Sarah, my darling, what's good for my complaint?" "Jane's very sweet upon me, ain't you, Jane?"

A Box-keeper. "Here, Pew-opener."

A Pew-opener. "Here, Box-keeper."

All sorts and conditions of Men. In any manner in which a gentleman would not address them.

THE TRUE HISTORY OF THE KOH-I-NOOR.

The Koh-i-noor is made of the very best crown glass, and the workmanship is very superior. It was originally a chandelier ornament in a dancing school kept by a Mr. Fogrum at Ponder's End, about the middle of last century. Mr. Fogrum, however, growing serious, turned his dancing-school into a Newlight chapel, and preached a charity sermon in behalf of himself. That night two rascals determined to rob the chapel of the collection, and accordingly opened the door with a one-pronged fork, and got in. Finding, however, that the collection consisted only of a penny token, a card counter, a penny farthing, and a bad half-crown, one of them, under the impulse of vexation, jerked the half-crown into the air, when it struck down the Koh-i-Noor from the chandelier—the would-be thief putting the bit of glass into his pocket as a memento of the transaction.

The next day William Priggins, for so was he named, enlisted in the H.E.I.C.'s service, and presently joined his regiment, the 007th, at Juggerbadab. Not liking the service, however, he deserted, blacked himself all over, gave up wearing clothes, and set up as a Thug. After doing a good stroke of business in this new line, he was ultimately apprehended by the officers of the Rajah Jibbety-Jibbety, and, to save his life, offered to give up the Koh-i-Noor, which he told the Rajah he had stolen out of a pawnbroker's shop in Whitechapel. The Rajah was at the time in pecuniary difficulties—so much so, as to have serious notions of coming to London and taking a crossing, or singing Hindostanee lyrics, with a tum-tum and his heir-apparent, in the streets. Being a statesman of great acuteness and foresight, however, he saw that something handsome might be made of the Koh-i-Noor, and, in the first place, christened it by that name, it having been formerly called "Bit-o'-Glass". In the Rajah's capital, the city of Huggerymug, resided a jeweller of enormous wealth, called Tiffin Gong. This man the Rajah caused to be summoned before him.

"What is the value of this inestimable diamond?" he demanded, showing him the Koh-i-Noor.

Tiffin Gong made his salaam, and after looking at it, replied, "May the Rajah live for ever, and until the middle of the week after. The value is eighteen pice," which amounts to three farthings English money.

"Tiffin," said the Rajah, "just look again; and then look at this bowstring. Is not the value of that diamond just twenty millions of lacs of rupees?" And he put his hand to his throat, and made a cheerful choking noise with his tongue.

"On second thoughts," said the jeweller, "the value of the diamond is exactly twenty millions of lacs of rupees".

The Rajah ordered in his Durbar or council, who were smoking their pipes, sitting on the door-mats in the lobby, and then before them repeated his question; to which the jeweller, with one eye on the bowstring, returned his second answer.

"You see," said the Rajah, "Tiffin Gong is an excellent judge of jewels. He declares this wonderful gem worth twenty million of lacs; he shall have it for nineteen and a half, which is just as though I had given him a half lac as a present."

Of course the Durbar were in raptures at this liberality, and sung the national anthem, "Bramah save the Rajah!" with the greatest enthusiasm. As for Poor Tiffin Gong, he saw that he was but a departed coon, and turned very nearly white with rage and terror. He had not got exactly nineteen millions and a half of lacs, but he handed over nineteen and a quarter. Upon which the Rajah, holding this to be a breach of engagement, retained the Koh-i-Noor and the rupees too; and when Tiffin Gong complained of being kept hanging about the court trying to get his own, the Rajah said he might try another sort of dangling, and so hanged him literally, and in thorough good earnest.

Being thus undoubted possessor of the jewel, the Rajah ordered the Chroniclers and Keepers of the Records to invent all sorts of stories about the Koh-i-Noor, and to stick them as notes into the next edition of the History of Jiggerydam, his kingdom, all of which was done to admiration, and everybody who did not believe the notes, was beheaded, except a few, who were hanged. The after story of this wonderful jewel may be soon told. The Rajah wore it in his nose, but was speedily made war upon by another Rajah, who was determined to have a grab at the priceless stone. The Rajahs met in single combat, and were found after the battle with only a hand of each remaining, a whisker which could not be identified, and the Koh-i-Noor between them. It then fell into the possession of the Emperor Mahommed Bung, from whom it was taken after fifteen years' war by the celebrated Mahratta chief, Tater Khan. Bung, in fact, had, as a last resource, swallowed the stone, which choked him; but Tater Khan had it out in no time, as he said himself, "by the help of Allah and an oyster knife." The Khan's descendants, who were continually conspiring against each other, and putting arsenic in each other's curry with intent to get possession of the bone, or rather stone, of contention, at length fell into arrears of tribute to their proud landlords, the H.E.I.C., who at last, backed by the Government, put in a distress, seized the Koh-i-Noor, and sent it home; when Mr. Bramah, who is no relation to the idol of that name, made a cage for it, and all the world had lately an opportunity of seeing it. We regret that all the rubs which the Koh-i-Noor has received have failed to heighten its brilliancy, and it is the opinion of those best acquainted with the facts, that the gem is not brighter now than when Mr. Fogrum hung up his chandelier in his dancing-school at Ponder's End.

Well, my love, Charles thought that as I had vowed I would never marry into furnished lodgings, we had better wait until he had saved money enough to furnish a house comfortably. I was sillier then than I am now, and I thought his wanting to postpone our marriage didn't look much like love, so I sulked. He was sillier then than he is now, and minded a woman's sulks. He furnished a house completely from top to bottom, from an advertising warehouse, and the whole bill came to 29l. 11s. 3½d. We married and took possession. Here is my diary of the week, love; I preserve it for any of my young friends who are in a hurry to marry.

Monday.—Charles, while shaving, rested his left hand heavily on the dressing-table. It smashed under his hand, he cut himself severely, and it was a mercy he didn't have his dear nose off. I flew to the drawers for something to stop the bleeding, and the keys broke or the locks wouldn't work, and we had to open the drawers with the shovel. The hay, with which the easy chair was stuffed, smelt so disagreeably, that we were obliged to send it out of the room, and, as Anne was carrying it, the chair came in halves, the back and arms falling away from the seat.

Tuesday.—The frame of the looking-glass gave way, the glass fell out, and smashed the beautiful little French clock dear uncle Brooks gave us.

Wednesday.—I had a headache, so Charles wheeled the sofa near the fire for me. Doing so, two of the legs came off. He propped it up with books, but by-and-bye I heard a sort of frizzling; it was the glue, which the fire was frying. Hastily removing the sofa, we divided it between us; Charles fell down with the end, and I got the back on my poor toes.

Thursday.—The dining-room table suddenly parted in the middle. The lamp fell on Charles's head (making him swear sadly), and I received a lovely goose, and all the gravy, in the lap of my new satin dress. That night the screws of the bed slipped in the rotten wood, and one side gave way. We came to the floor: I was sadly bruised, and Charles hurt his head, and used very strong language against the advertising wretches.

Friday.—One of the brackets of the curtain-rod broke, the curtains, rings and all, came on mamma's head, crushing her new bonnet. Getting on a footstool to dust a picture the stool broke, and I fell against the picture, breaking the glass, and cutting my forehead. The pole of a music desk came out of the stand, the candles fell and greased the carpet (which was actually beginning to lose its colour already), and the book smashed Charles's violoncello. N.B. Not so sorry about this last.

Saturday.—Moved into furnished lodgings, where we stayed until we could afford to deal with a respectable upholsterer.

In consequence of the difficulties and disputes which have attended recent sales by auction in Ireland, under the Encumbered Estates Act, and otherwise, the Irish authorities have published an official set of conditions of sale, framed in conformity with the spirit of business in the sister country, which are, in future, to be universally adopted there. Anxious to render this Almanack of as much use as possible to the man of business, the editor has, at the last moment, found room for this document:—

I. The highest bidder to be the purchaser, unless some gentleman bids more.

II. If any dispute arises as to who was the highest bidder, the sale is to stop until the parties have fought it out: but if either combatant is killed, he shall be allowed to amend his bidding for the sake of his bereaved family.

III. If after a piece of land has been sold, it cannot be found in the estate to which it belongs, it shall be taken from the estate that lies most convenient to it; but the purchaser shall pay the owner of the latter the full price of the piece thus taken; but this purchase-money shall be laid out in improving the same. Anyhow, they must settle it between them.

IV. If a lot has been wrongly described, such misdescription shall not vitiate the sale; but compensation shall be granted as may be just. If a piece of land has been described as a house, the auctioneer shall be bound to build a house thereon with the money paid for the same: and if it is not convenient for the purchaser to pay for his purchase, the money may be borrowed out of the poor-rates. If the vendor or the poor complain of this, they must write to the newspapers; and if they can't write, more shame for them.

V. The auctioneer shall not be liable to be called out upon any pretence whatever connected with the sale now about to take place; but this condition shall in no wise prevent his giving satisfaction in regard to any other sale, or his conduct in knocking down other lots or bidders.

VI. In regard to its being insulting to ask a gentleman to show his dirty parchments, and make out titles, and all that bother, no title shall be required beyond the seller giving his word of honour that the title is as good as possible, and better. After this, if there's any awkwardness, it's a case for the Phaynix Park.

VII. If what the lawyers call "outstanding terms" can't be "got in," they must stop out.

VIII. If it shall turn out that the seller has sold property to which he was not entitled, and which belongs to somebody else, and the right owner, upon proper application, unreasonably refuses to give up possession, the trouble and expense of bringing him to a sense of what is gentlemanly conduct shall be equally divided between the seller and buyer.

IX. If the purchaser thinks he has paid too much, the balance shall be handed back to the auctioneer, to be treated as liquidated damages, that is, laid out in claret, to be drunk by all the bonâ fide bidders at the sale.

X. The auction duty shall not be paid at all, as it only helps to maintain English ascendancy.

XI. Should there be much starvation on the estate, or much difficulty in getting enough rent out of the tenants, part of the purchase-money shall be laid out in publishing, in the English papers, an appeal to the charitable.

XII. That none of these conditions shall be binding on anybody who disapproves of them.

PROPHETIC AND MYSTERIOUS HINTS FOR 1852.

JANUARY.

Another new year! Something will probably happen before long. If it does not something else will. Look round corners as much as possible; and don't go to the end of the world, for fear of falling over the edge. Begin new undertakings which promise to be profitable. A bad month for marrying a shrew.

FEBRUARY.

Give no bills in which February is included, in respect of its being so short. Never pull your shirt collars so high as to run the risk of the nether man's catching cold. A bad month for hanging yourself—put it off. Eat as much as you can. If anybody make you a handsome present—take it, and fear not. One of your friends will cut himself shaving—seek not to know which; pry not into the secrets of destiny.

MARCH.

Never take hold of the poker by the wrong end. Go forth into the streets and gather a bushel of March dust; it is worth a king's ransom. Take it to the Goldsmiths' Hall, and they will pay you for it—(a king's ransom is 30,000l., which will be at once handed to you). Spring commences. Cut the pearl buttons off your shirts and sow them in the flower-pot; they will come up oysters. Avoid the vanities of dress, but do not go abroad without your pantaloons.

APRIL.

Lie in bed all this month for fear of being made an April fool. Many things happen in April. A good month to receive a large legacy in, but don't reject a small one. Clouds will gather in the social horizon. You will have a quarrel with your wife, which will be brought to an amicable conclusion by means of a shawl. Avoid bonnet shops. A bad month to be bankrupt in.

MAY.

A merry month. Gather May dew (query: what are you to do with it when you get it?) Dance round the maypole. On no account dance round the north pole, or the south. Get your friends to do bills—it promotes generosity and liberality, which are virtues. Your hat will be blown off—if it be windy enough, and you don't hold it on. Be obliging; give anybody who asks, free permission to run pins into anybody else—innocent amusement ought to be encouraged.

JUNE.

A bad month for your house to be burnt down—unless, indeed, it be insured for double its value, or your wife be in it. When you ride in the Park and the boys tell you to get inside the horse and draw down the blinds, don't—it's not seemly. Make money—Pass your bad half crowns. Give your clean-picked bones to the poor—charity covers a multitude of sins. If a comet appears, let it alone; and when it is tired of appearing it will disappear. If you see a ghost, tell it to stay there; and come for us, and we will go and look at it.

JULY.

Walk about in armour for fear of mad dogs. The planetary system this month will go on as usual; distrust anybody who tells you to the contrary. Be a philosopher, and have as few wants as possible—cut off your legs, and then you wont require boots, which you will find to be a saving. When you sleep in church do not snore; it is disrespectful to the establishment. If you go to the opera and drop a double-barrelled lorgnette from the fifth tier, and it cracks a man's skull below, bring an action against his representatives for the value of the glass. Make yourself comfortable.

AUGUST.

Events will take place and circumstances will happen; also things will come to pass. Beware, therefore, and trust the stars. You may have a cold in the head, and you may not. Tace is Latin for a candle, and things must be as they may. Avoid apoplexy, give no encouragement to rheumatism, and, if you are taken ill with typhus fever, don't stand it. Drink not physic slowly, and take chloroform when you're having your hair cut or sitting for your daguerreotype.

SEPTEMBER.

Go out a shooting; but shoot not the moon, unless you find it convenient. A good month for drinking beer, but avoid salts. Recollect what the wise man sayeth: a bush in the hand is worth two in the bird. Be sage, stuffed with sage. The time for travelling. If you let your moustaches grow, you will immediately begin to speak French and German. Get a passport from the beadle of your parish, viséd by the turncock. Avoid sea-sickness by never ceasing eating and drinking when at sea. If you see the devil have nothing to say to him; he is very far from respectable; cut him.

OCTOBER.

The harvest is gathered, and the barns are full. The best month for brewing—domestic storms and natural convulsions brewing as well as porter. Get all you can out of your friends. Make love to pretty women with money. If you go to California take care you don't dig up brass for gold. Take heed, the world will come to an end some day; pay your rent if you are obliged—not otherwise. Avoid breaking your leg in three places, five of your ribs, putting your collar-bone out, and fracturing your skull.